The sound shouldn’t have done that to me. My body was still vibrating from adrenaline, wrists aching under my sleeves, nerves buzzing like exposed wiring. Laughter should not have felt like safety. And yet. My muscles loosened before my brain could object, like they trusted him without checking in first. That bothered me. I let it.
I cleared my throat, too loudly. “Wait—I… I realized something.”
He tilted his head, focused completely on me, which didnothelp my brain function.
“I got your number,” I said, awkwardness bubbling up. “But not your name. That seems backwards.”
A spark of warmth touched his expression, something almost pleased. “Arthur.”
Arthur. It suited him. Strong, old-fashioned, a name worthy of a knight.
I liked the sound of it far too much.
“I’m Artie,” I said, then winced. “Well—Artemis. But Artie is fine. Most people use Artie.”
His mouth curved, soft and warm. “Artie,” he repeated, like he was testing the shape of it.
My heart tripped over itself.
His expression softened in a way that made heat rush straight to my ears. “It was on the library website. Your name, that is.”
“Oh… right.”
Look away, Artemis.
I cleared my throat, because my body had decided this was the moment to feel everything at once, and I was absolutely not equipped for that. “Well. Thank you. Arthur. For saving me.”
The words felt too small the second they left my mouth, like a thank-you card written after a natural disaster.
I risked a glance at him and immediately regretted it. He was watching me with that same steady attention, either checking for cracks I hadn’t noticed yet or making sure I was real.
“I mean,” I added, because silence pressed too close, “I had a whole plan in there. Very elaborate. Mostly involved biting and yelling obscure Latin phrases until someone panicked.”
That earned me the faintest shift in his expression. Not amusement exactly. Something softer. Something that made my chest tighten in a way I didn’t want to examine.
I pulled my sleeves down farther over my wrists, sudden and instinctive. “But you were… faster. So. Points for that.”
My voice stayed light.My hands did not.
I hated that he could probably see that.
“Still,” I said, quieter now, because it mattered, “thank you.”
He met my gaze, unflinching. “You were targeted because of me.”
My stomach dipped.
“So my rescuing you,” he continued, “was not a favor. It was a correction.”
For a second, I didn’t know what to do with his guilt or the realization that something awful had happened. My instinct was to argue, to minimize, to take responsibility for things that weren’t mine because that had always felt safer than standing still under someone else’s scrutiny.
Instead, I turned.
Movement helped. Purpose helped.
“Then,” I said, keeping my voice even as I crossed the room, “let’s correct the part where you haven’t actually seen the thing that caused all this.”
I reached the table and slid the book toward him. The moment I placed the book in his hands, something changed in him. His shoulders lowered. His attention narrowed. His entire presence shifted into something steady and reverent.
