Page 89 of Godless Saints

“Yes. I would never let anyone hurt her.”

“I expect this resolved within forty-eight hours.”

He hung up.

“Well,” I said. “Fuck me.”

I stood. “I need to see him.”

Vivienne stepped in front of the door, arms crossed. “Absolutely not. You cannot reward him for publicly blowing up your life,” she snapped.

“I’m not rewarding him.”

Sawyer tilted his head. “Then what exactly are you doing?”

“Finding out why.”

Lie.

Vivienne saw straight through it. “No. You want to know if he meant it.”

I said nothing. Father’s voice still scraped my skull. Distance yourself. Immediately. My fingers itched to throw the phone through the nearest stained-glass window.

I picked up my coat, anyway.

Vivienne grabbed my arm. “Hyun.”

I shook free from her grip and looked back at her.

“He matters to me, Vivi.”

Her eyes flashed. For half a second she looked ready to physically drag me back. Then she stepped aside.

“Fine. Go see him. But make one thing clear: if he wants a place in your life, he stops making your life harder.”

I walked out.

Vivienne wasn’t wrong. Every rational part of me knew it. But I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t want him anymore. I thought he’d moved on. Fucking liar. Both of us. Until he stormed into Aster Court and kissed me.

Fuck it.

I couldn’t stay away any longer. The Highland cold hit me. The wind cut across my face, carrying the scent of pine, stone, and distant snow.

He was gone. I scanned the courtyard and the long drive. Pale winter sun. Light snow on the gravel. No Cillian.

“He already took off.” Another Aster student passed me without stopping.

Then I heard it, the low, guttural roar of a motorcycle engine already fading into the distance. My body moved. One desperate step. Then another. I stopped. Where the hell would I even go? Thorn territory? Briar House?

No thanks.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel behind me. Sawyer appeared, out of breath, trying for that usual amused drawl and failing miserably.

“He’s already left,” I said.

His gaze dropped to my undone coat, then flicked away.

“Fuck… Hyung,” he muttered, dragging a trembling hand through his hair. “I don’t even know how to tell you this.”