Page 138 of Stormbreaker

He nods as I dig through my closet and pull out a few things, clutching them to my chest.

“Are we going to talk about it?” I ask as he arches a brow.

“Talk about what?”

“You know what.”

Gripping the towel at his hip, he approaches until he’s standing right in front of me. His free hand slips under my hair and cups the back of my neck.

“What do you want to say about it?” he asks as he tips my face up.

“I . . . liked it,” I say in a rush, earning me a warm chuckle.

“Did you?”

I nod as my cheeks heat, wondering what possessed me to say that.

“I liked it, too,” he says, easing the tangled emotions in my chest. “And for whatever it’s worth, I don’t regret it.”

“Oh,” I answer as warmth melts through my limbs. “Okay.”

He smiles slowly. “I think a storm is coming. Should we go out tonight?”

“Yes,” I say. “I need it.”

“Same.” He leans in closer, his soft breath dusting my lips. I want to kiss him again. I think he might be considering it, too.

“Go get yourself ready,” he says a moment later. “Or you’ll be late for class.”

He straightens up, but the look in his eyes tells me this isn’t a dismissal but rather a . . . let’s wait and see.

Almost reluctantly, his hand slips away, and I disappear into the bathroom with my heart beating hard and my limbs trembling, remembering every moment of his touch.

When I emerge twenty minutes later, Rook is gone. I cross over to my bed and spend a moment straightening up. Teddy lies tangled in the sheets, and as I reach for him, I notice a piece of paper tucked under his arm.

I’m so surprised that I stare at it before I slide it out. Rook left me a note. It’s clear he ripped a corner from one of his books, and I’m so shocked I’m having trouble comprehending it. He tore a page just to leave me a message?

Had to see Brooklyn about my training plan, but I’ll meet you at the tunnel exit after class. The room code is 3452. — R

His writing flows elegantly across the scrap in whirls and loops with a practiced hand.

Most of us have little use for handwriting. We use our screens for everything, and while we’re offered some lessons with a stylus when we’re young, signing anything beyond our names isn’t much of a priority.

But I cherish these words and how he delivered them, even if they don’t say much. Maybe they do. Maybe they’re revealing something between the lines. I fold it back up and slide the paper under my phone case to keep it close.

It feels silly, but also kind of right.

After I’ve made my bed, I consider hiding Teddy in a drawer but decide maybe it isn’t necessary.

Rook has now played witness to more of my secrets than anyone at Amery besides Trinity.

Instead, I tuck my bear against the pillow where he can sit and wait for me to return.

I stare about the quiet room, hovering on the verge of content.

It says something that after almost five months at Amery, the only place I’ve felt I could be myself is with the one person I wasn’t ever supposed to trust.

With a deep breath, I head out to my first class, unsure whether I’m more anxious about seeing everyone again . . . or meeting up with Rook tonight.