Beth shut the door behind Brandon with a quiet click and leaned her forehead against it, eyes closed, exhale sharp.
He had bolted like the room was on fire.
She heard his footsteps echoing down the dorm hallway—fast, uneven. She didn't blame him. The moment had ended, and reality had come crashing back with a vengeance. The cold light of morning wasn't kind to… whatever that had been.
She turned around and sighed.
Ashes was sitting on the bed like a tiny, judgmental gargoyle. Tail neatly tucked, ears perked. Watching her. With that look. That smug, feline expression that said, "I saw what you did."
Beth narrowed her eyes. "Don't look at me like that."
Ashes meowed, slow and knowing.
Beth pointed at her. "You're not allowed to be smug about this. You didn't even try to stop us."
The cat just blinked.
Beth flopped onto the bed with a groan, one hand dragging over her face. The sheets were still warm. Smelled like him. She hated how easily her brain latched onto that detail.
Memories flickered—his hands on her waist, the taste of that last drink on his lips, the heat between them as he filled her up, the way he whispered her name like it was something sacred.
She definitely didn't blush. Her face just got warm because of the… pillow. Pressure.
Circulation.
God.
Beth grabbed the pillow and smacked herself in the face with it. "What the hell are we doing?"
she muttered.
Ashes chirped in agreement.
Beth sat up and stared at the ceiling. It wasn't supposed to go this way. Brandon was the guy who carried her into his dorm after saving her life. The guy who lectured her about having a moral code while helping her bury a body. The guy who killed Jamal and told her about it just to see if she'd break.
He wasn't supposed to be the guy who held her like that. Whispered to her like that. Made her feel… human.
Goddamn it.
But even now—thinking about it, about him—there wasn't the spike of rage she expected. No hatred. No need for vengeance. Just this glowing warmth in her chest that shouldn't be there.
It made her uncomfortable.
It made her feel safe.
And that scared her more than anything.
Beth pushed herself to her feet, heading toward the small mirror above her desk. She looked like hell. Hair a mess, smudged eyeliner, hickeys on her collarbone, lipstick smeared, blissfully soar in all the right places.
"Classy," she muttered.
Her eyes flicked toward Ashes in the mirror's reflection.
"Don't say it."
Ashes stretched and yawned, then curled up on the corner of the bed again, smug little queen of chaos.
Beth sat down at her desk. Tried to focus on anything other than the way her stomach still fluttered if she thought too hard about the night before. She'd always been good at compartmentalizing. At stuffing things into little boxes and burying them deep.
But this?
This was messier.
Real.
She closed her eyes.
If Jamal hadn't died—if Brandon hadn't shown up in her life like a morally confused avenging angel in black—what would've happened to her?
Beth didn't even have to guess.
She would've kept killing. Careless. Sloppy. Getting closer and closer to crossing some invisible line that couldn't be uncrossed. She'd already been spiraling—sleepwalking through blood and pretending she was in control.
And someone like Kym—self-righteous, gun-happy Kym—would've taken her out. Probably in some campus hallway with a bullet to the head. Maybe two. Or three. Kym didn't believe in half measures.
The thought didn't even make her mad.
Beth rubbed her arms, the phantom ache of old bruises flickering in her memory. Those frat boys… That night was a turning point. She'd been seconds away from dying, and Brandon had chosen to save her.
Even when he shouldn't have.
Even when it made everything more complicated.
Beth sighed.
Maybe… maybe this was better.
Maybe she needed someone who could look her in the eye and still see more than a killer. Someone who challenged her rules with his own. Someone who didn't try to fix her, but didn't let her completely fall either.
And maybe—just maybe—she didn't want to lose that.
Her eyes drifted back to the bed, to the spot where he'd slept.
"God, I'm so screwed," she whispered.
Ashes purred, like she agreed. Like she'd known all along.
Beth flopped onto the mattress again and buried her face in the blanket. For the first time in a long while, the silence didn't feel heavy.
Maybe pretending wasn't so bad.
Maybe—if she let herself believe it—this was the start of something she didn't hate.
Even if it still scared the hell out of her.