Chapter2: The Boywith the Bandage at Elante

WEEK HAD PASSED SINCE FIORA FIRST SAW THE ENTITY IN HER WINDOW. HER

NIGHTS STILL ECHOED WITH WHISPERS, BUT HER HEART NO LONGER TREMBLED. IT

RACED WITH QUESTIONS INSTEAD.

SHE HAD BEGUN RESEARCHING—LIBRARY ARCHIVES, OLD BOOKS, ANY SCRAP OF

KNOWLEDGE ABOUT HAUNTINGS AND SPIRITS. HER INTEREST WAS BLOOMING LIKE AN

OBSESSION. THAT’S WHEN SHE STUMBLED UPON THE COLLEGE ELECTIVE:

PARANORMAL THEORY AND METAPHYSICS. AND THE NAME THAT KEPT POPPING UP IN

WHISPERED CONVERSATIONS AROUND CAMPUS?

LUCA.

THE BOY NO ONE REALLY KNEW.

HE WASN’T POPULAR, NOR LOUD. HE WAS A PRESENCE FELT MORE THAN SEEN.

ALWAYS IN THE BACK ROW, SCRIBBLING NOTES WITH UNMATCHED FOCUS. LEAN,

BROWN-SKINNED, ALWAYS IN OVERSIZED WHITE SHIRTS, AND HIS SOFT MIDDLE￾PARTED HAIR CONSTANTLY FALLING INTO HIS EYES. PEOPLE CALLED HIM ODD, BUT

THEY DIDN’T KNOW.

FIORA WAS CURIOUS.

THAT DAY, THE AIR OUTSIDE WAS UNUSUALLY WARM FOR VALMONTA. SHE HAD

TAKEN A BREAK FROM HER NEW OBSESSION AND WANDERED INTO THE ELANTE MALL

—A RARE, MODERN STRUCTURE IN A TOWN STILL CLINGING TO ITS PAST. SHE NEEDED

SPACE. SHE NEEDED FRIES.

AS SHE WALKED THROUGH THE ENTRANCE, HER EYES CAUGHT A FIGURE SLOUCHED

ON A BENCH TO THE RIGHT,

CLUTCHING HIS KNEE.

IT WAS HIM.

LUCA.

THERE WAS A CUT ON HIS LEG, FRESH AND BLEEDING THROUGH THE CLOTH. HE

WASN’T FLINCHING, JUST QUIETLY TENDING TO IT WITH THE CORNER OF HIS SLEEVE.

BEFORE SHE COULD OVERTHINK IT, FIORA WALKED UP.

“ARE YOU OKAY?” SHE ASKED, NERVOUS BUT FIRM.

HE LOOKED UP, SURPRISED. “YEAH. . . JUST CLUMSY. SLIPPED NEAR THE FOUNTAIN.”

SHE KNELT, OPENED HER BAG, AND PULLED OUT TISSUES AND A MINI FIRST AID KIT.

HE BLINKED. “YOU CARRY THAT AROUND?”

“I LIKE BEING PREPARED,” SHE REPLIED, DABBING THE WOUND.

THE AIR BETWEEN THEM SOFTENED.

“WANT TO HEAD TO THE FOOD COURT UPSTAIRS?” SHE ASKED AFTER A MOMENT.

HE NODDED.

TOP FLOOR. ELANTE MALL. FOOD COURT.

THEY SAT SIDE BY SIDE, HANDS AWKWARDLY CLOSE ON THE TABLE. THEY HAD ORDERED A BURGER AND

A SANDWICH, EACH PRETENDING THE OTHER WASN’T STEALING GLANCES.

THEN LUCA SPOTTED IT—A SMALL, LONE FLOWER IN A GLASS JAR ON THE TABLE. IT LOOKED SILLY

THERE, MISPLACED, BUT SOMETHING ABOUT IT FELT... PERFECT.

HE PLUCKED IT.

AND BEFORE FIORA COULD REACT, HE GENTLY TUCKED IT BEHIND HER EAR, SMILING PLAYFULLY.

“LOOKS BETTER ON YOU THAN IN A JAR.”

HER HEART SKIPPED.

THEY LAUGHED, TALKED, AND FOR ONCE, EVERYTHING FELT SIMPLE. EASY.

“WANT TO WATCH A MOVIE?” SHE ASKED.

HE NODDED AGAIN.

CINEMA HALL. LAST ROW. LEFT CORNER.

THE THEATER WAS DIM, COLD. SHE WAS SHIVERING LIGHTLY, HIDING IT BEHIND CROSSED ARMS.

LUCA NOTICED.

HE SHIFTED, SUBTLY WRAPPING AN ARM AROUND HER SHOULDER.

SHE DIDN’T RESIST.

SHE LEANED IN, HEAD RESTING AGAINST HIS CHEST.

THEY WHISPERED THROUGHOUT THE MOVIE. SMILING. JOKING. SLOWLY FORGETTING THE SHADOWS

THAT HAUNTED THEM.

A LOUD SCENE BLARED, AND SHE MISSED WHAT HE SAID TWICE.

“I SAID YOU’RE CUTE,” HE REPEATED, LOUDER.

THEN, WITHOUT THINKING, HE LEANED IN AND KISSED HER CHEEK.

SHE FROZE.

THEN TURNED HER FACE AWAY—BLUSHING CRIMSON.

OUTSIDE, THE RAIN HAD STARTED. A SOFT, MELODIC DRIZZLE THAT PAINTED VALMONTA SILVER.

IN THE TAXI BACK TO COLLEGE, THEY SAT CLOSE. SHE LOOKED OUT THE WINDOW, WATCHING DROPLETS

RACE. THEN, SHE TURNED TOWARD HIM.

THEIR EYES MET.

HE MOVED SLIGHTLY, LEANING IN FOR A KISS—BUT SHE TURNED AWAY.

HE TENSED.

BUT THEN, AFTER A PAUSE, SHE TURNED BACK, GRABBED HIS COLLAR—AND KISSED HIM.

HARD.

NO HESITATION. THEIR LIPS MOVED WITH A HUNGER THEY DIDN’T UNDERSTAND. SHE CLIMBED OVER,

INTO HIS LAP, THE RAIN BLURRING THE WORLD OUTSIDE. ALL THAT REMAINED WAS HEAT, BREATH, AND

THE SCENT OF RAINWATER AND NERVES.

THEIR STORY HAD JUST BEGUN.

BUT NEITHER OF THEM KNEW THAT WHAT TIED THEM TOGETHER… RAN DEEPER THAN LOVE.

IT REACHED ACROSS LIFETIMES.

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