The Braxton Library was quiet in that unsettling, old-money way — too polished to be cozy, too grand to feel human. Everything was a little too still, like the walls themselves were listening.
Emory Vale sat at the far end of the third floor, tucked near a leaded-glass window that bled pale autumn light onto her open notebook. A half-finished essay sat before her, untouched. A black coffee had gone cold at her elbow.
But her thoughts were louder than the silence.
She had kept it together all morning. The first day back had always been performative — a balancing act of grace, beauty, indifference. But seeing him again, after two years, without warning…
And he hadn't even said it.
Not once.
Not that name.
Not Selene.
Just Emory, like the rest of them.
Which should have been a relief.
It wasn't.
---
The chair across from her dragged softly against the marble floor.
She glanced up and blinked into the easy, boyish smile of Nick Holloway. Wavy blonde hair, dark blue hoodie, and a stack of books that screamed I only read literature if it helps me flirt.
"You looked like you were writing your own murder confession," he said.
"Maybe I am."
He slid into the chair. "How's the crime scene?"
"Messy," she muttered, closing her notebook.
Nick reached into his bag and pulled out a wrapped muffin. He tossed it to her casually. "You skipped breakfast."
"I didn't."
"You did. You only eat when you're in control, and right now, you're… not."
Emory arched a brow, but unwrapped the muffin anyway. "You keep analyzing me like this and I'm going to have to start charging you therapy rates."
Nick grinned. "I'll pay in muffins."
---
They talked for a while — nothing heavy. Books. The new professor. The rumors about a secret Halloween gala hosted by the Society of Noctem. He didn't bring up Skye. Not yet.
But Emory could feel the topic lurking under every sentence.
Eventually, it surfaced.
"I saw him too, you know," Nick said, quieter now.
Emory didn't answer.
Nick went on. "He sat behind you like it was intentional."
"It wasn't."
"You sure?"
She sighed. "It doesn't matter."
"He didn't say it."
Her eyes flicked to his.
Nick tilted his head. "That name. What he used to call you."
Emory stayed very still. "He doesn't get to use it anymore."
"You sure about that?"
"Yes."
Nick's voice dropped. "Because if he says it now, in front of me... in front of everyone... he's not just saying your name."
She swallowed.
"He's saying you're still his."
---
That was when the air shifted.
Not just the temperature — the weight of the silence itself changed.
Nick sat up straighter.
Emory already knew why.
Skye Thorne had entered the library.
She didn't need to see him. She could feel the cold gravity of him behind her skin.
He moved like a secret whispered too loud — slow, graceful, laced with something dangerous. A black long coat over dark denim. No bag. No books. Just him, and the casual threat that followed him wherever he walked.
Students noticed. They always did.
Some moved out of his way.
Others pretended not to look.
But everyone felt it.
Skye walked directly toward her table without hesitation.
Emory didn't turn.
Not yet.
But her spine straightened. Her hand curled tighter around her pen.
He passed behind Nick like he didn't exist.
Stopped behind Emory's chair.
And said, for the first time in two years—
> "Hello, Selene."
The word hit her like a slap made of velvet and memory.
Everything in her froze — her blood, her breath, her balance.
Nick stood.
"What the hell did you just call her?"
Skye didn't glance at him.
His gaze was locked on Emory.
> "Selene," he said again, quieter this time. "You remember, don't you?"
She stood, turning slowly to face him. Her heart pounded in her throat. Her jaw was tight.
"Don't call me that."
> "Why not?" Skye's voice softened into something she hated. "Because it still makes you feel something?"
Nick stepped forward. "She said no."
Skye looked at him like he was a gnat buzzing too close to flame.
> "This doesn't involve you."
"It does if she needs someone to remind you how 'no' works."
Emory placed a hand on Nick's arm.
Not to calm him.
To stop herself.
Skye's eyes dropped to that hand. His jaw flexed once.
> "You don't get to rewrite it," he said to her. "What we were."
"We weren't anything."
> "You still lie well," he said softly. "But your pulse is louder than your mouth."
She stepped in close, ignoring Nick's low warning behind her.
"If you think saying that name is going to drag me back, you're wrong."
Skye tilted his head, voice so quiet only she could hear it.
> "It's not meant to drag you back," he said.
"It's meant to remind you... you never left."
---
She pushed past him and walked out.
Fast. Sharp. Spine straight, heart a mess.
The library doors swung shut behind her with a heavy click.
Nick stood frozen in place for a few seconds, then picked up her books and followed.
But Skye stayed.
Watching.
Thinking.
The taste of Selene still on his tongue.
And he knew now—she wasn't over it.
Not even close.
🖤 End of Chapter Two