6.

SUMMER'S POV

I was still frozen inside Kingsley's arms, my heart doing something embarrassingly complicated, when I heard it.

"Aye, Dark Bird!"

My blood turned to ice.

I pulled back from Kingsley so fast he actually stumbled. I spun around, every muscle in my body coiled tight, braced for the worst.

It was just a group of guys. Four of them, loud and shoulder-bumping each other as they moved through the corridor like they owned it. One of them was mid-conversation with his friends, not even looking my way.

"Nah, bro, I'm telling you, Dark Bird was fire last night. You missed out." He laughed, loud and careless. "She has this sexy body. Guy, if you see how she twirl ok the poll, you will almost die. She is so enchanting."

They passed. Just like that. Gone around the corner, their voices fading into the general noise of the hallway.

I stood completely still. My exhale came out shaky and too long.

"You okay?" Kingsley asked quietly from behind me.

"Fine." The word came out clipped and automatic.

"You just went completely white."

"I said I'm fine, Kingsley." I turned around, and the look on his face was genuinely concerned, brow furrowed — made something uncomfortable twist in my chest. I didn't want him looking at me like that. Because I didn't know what to do with it.

I smoothed the front of my jacket and straightened up. "It was nothing. People talk. It happens."

He studied me for a moment, like he was deciding whether to push it. Then he let it go.

"Okay," he said simply.

---

George found me twenty minutes later outside the department building, sitting on the steps with my notebook open and nothing written in it.

"You look like someone ran over your cat," he said, dropping down beside me.

"I don't have a cat."

"Exactly. That's how bad you look." He nudged my shoulder. "What happened after I dragged Felix away? Did you two sort things out or did you bite his head off?"

"We sorted it." I paused. "Mostly."

"Mostly," he repeated flatly. "That's encouraging."

I stared at a fixed point across the courtyard. A group of students were laughing near the fountain. Someone was playing music from a small speaker. Everything looked so breezy and uncomplicated. I almost resented it. Like why can't my own life be free of problem? Why can't I live in peace and don't in fear of my secret getting out?

"George." I kept my voice low. "What if coming back to school was a mistake?"

He was quiet for a second. That was how I knew he was taking me seriously — George was never quiet.

"Why would it be a mistake?"

"Because I thought I could just separate things. The club, that life, all of it. I thought if I just stepped away from it, it would stay where I left it." I closed my notebook. "But it doesn't work like that, does it?"

George looked at me carefully. "Did something happen today? Something you're not telling me?"

I opened my mouth.

Then I heard footsteps on the stone behind us and Kingsley's voice, easy and unhurried. "Professor Finerty wants both of us to confirm a rehearsal slot before end of day."

I closed my mouth.

"Right." I stood up, brushing off my jeans. "Let's go do that."

George caught my wrist as I passed him. Just for a second. His eyes asked the question his mouth didn't.

"Later," I mouthed.

He let go.

The rehearsal slot was confirmed for Thursday evenings, starting this week. Forty-five minutes of small talk with Professor Finerty, song suggestions, and Kingsley being effortlessly charming to everyone in the office while I mostly stared at the wall and agreed to things.

By the time we stepped back into the corridor, the building had mostly emptied out. The late afternoon light came in long and golden through the tall windows.

Kingsley fell into step beside me. Neither of us spoke for a while.

"You never told me what song you want to do," he said eventually.

"I have a few ideas. I'll send them to you."

"You don't have my number."

"George will give it to me."

He almost smiled. "You're really committed to keeping this as personal as possible, aren't you?"

I didn't answer that.

We reached the main exit. I pushed through the door, and the evening air hit me — cool and smelling faintly of rain that hadn't arrived yet.

"Summer."

I stopped, and turned halfway.

He was standing in the doorway, backpack slung over one shoulder, the golden light doing absolutely unfair things to his face. I hated that I noticed. I mean, who looks more beautiful, day after day?

"I meant what I said earlier," he said. "Your secret is my secret. I don't know what's going on with you. I'm not asking you to tell me." He paused. "But I'm also not going anywhere. So you might as well get used to me."

I looked at him for a long moment.

"Thursday," I said. "Don't be late."

I turned and walked down the steps before he could see whatever my face was doing.

I was almost at the gate when my phone buzzed.

Unknown number. I almost ignored it. My thumb hovered, and then, against every instinct I had, I opened it.

"Welcome back to school, Dark Bird. We'll be in touch."

I looked around, to see who it was, or who was watching me. The message was already gone by the time I read it twice. Deleted from my screen like it had never existed.

I stood at the gate completely still, the evening crowd moving around me like a river splitting at a rock.

My phone buzzed again. Same unknown number.

But this time it wasn't a message. It was a photograph of Clyde. Taken today, from a distance. He was laughing with someone outside what had to be his department building. He had no idea anyone was watching.

Beneath the photo, three words:

"Beautiful kid. Watch your back!"