The limo pulled up in front of the dorm like it had taken a wrong turn out of a movie.

  Actual limo. Shiny black, tinted windows, a driver in a suit hopping out to open the door. A couple of kids on the front steps stopped mid?conversation to stare. One of them elbowed the other. I wanted to sink into the sidewalk.

  Theo stepped out.

  He wore a suit. Dark charcoal, no tie, white shirt open at the collar. Somehow it shouldn’t have worked on him—he was too messy, too…Theo—but it did. The lines fit him, like he’d been born in something tailored.

  His gaze swept the dorm entrance, found me, and his face lit up.

  “Sinclair,” he said, smiling like this was the most natural thing in the world. “You made it.”

  “Hard to miss the giant car,” I muttered, coming down the steps. I tugged at the hem of my black dress—thrift store, nice enough, but not this nice. My boots suddenly felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.

  “You look good,” he said.

  I rolled my eyes automatically. “Sure. Next to you in your fancy…whatever this is? I’m underdressed by, like, three tax brackets.”

  “I’m serious.” His eyes swept down and back up, not in a gross way, more like he was cataloguing. There was something in his expression I didn’t know how to file—warmth, and a little surprise. “You look really good.”

  The stupid thing was, I believed him.

  There was the faintest tug in the air, familiar now—the Satyr?kin effect, the part of him that he turned on by reflex. It brushed against me and slid off like always. Whatever made my stomach flip wasn’t that.

  “Come on,” he said, offering a hand.

  I took it, because refusing would mean a scene, and I was already starring in one. The driver held the door and Theo guided me into the limo like we’d practiced it. Soft leather seats, little lights in the ceiling like someone had tried to recreate the night sky. I tried not to gawk.

  “Subtle,” I said.

  “What can I say,” he replied. “I’m a subtle guy.”

  The restaurant was one of those places with a hard-to-pronounce name and more forks than strictly necessary. White tablecloths, low lighting, waiters who moved like they were on wheels.

  I felt wrong from the second we walked in. Everyone else seemed older, shinier. The women wore dresses that looked like they came with security tags; the men all had watches that cost more than our rent. I caught our reflections in a big mirror by the bar: Theo in his tailored suit, me in my not?terrible thrift dress.

  “Relax,” he murmured. “You belong here more than half these people.”

  “Lies,” I said.

  He led me to a table by the window. The waiter pulled out my chair. I sat gingerly, afraid of touching anything.

  Theo slid into his seat, glanced at the menu once, and rattled off an order in fluent restaurantese—dishes I’d never heard of, a dessert I couldn’t pronounce. When the waiter left, he looked back at me and grinned.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I made sure there’s actual food under the art.”

  Over the next hour, he did what he does best: put people at ease.

  He told stories about Northbridge before I got there, about Vinh getting tricked into a water?balloon ambush by the twins, about Luis accidentally kicking a ball through the headmaster’s window. He poked fun at himself—how he’d tripped over his own sword the first time he sparred with Okafor, how Janessa had once used him to win a student council election bet.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  He was funny. Annoying. Charming. Infuriating. Intriguing. The whole contradictory package. He’d lean back and say something razor?smart, then lean forward with this earnest intensity that made you feel like you were the only person in the room.

  Even without his power humming at full, he lit low fires under people.

  It unsettled me.

  I found myself laughing more than I meant to, talking more than I’d planned. He asked about Sketch—lightly, not pushing—and about Mom, and about how it felt to go from cracked asphalt to manicured quads. I deflected where I needed to. He let me.

  Dessert arrived—something chocolate and ridiculous, divided neatly between two plates.

  I pushed a bite around with my fork, then cleared my throat.

  “So,” I said. “Can I ask you something?”

  He arched a brow. “Depends.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Serious something.”

  He nodded, the playfulness dimming a notch. “Okay. Shoot.”

  I thought about the cafeteria, about the knot of boys around him that first week—him at the center, laughing, flirting shamelessly, hands brushing arms, leaning in close, eyes doing that crinkly thing that made people melt.

  The question came out softer than I meant it to. “Do you…like boys better than girls?”

  The moment the words left my mouth, mortification punched me in the gut. Why had I said it like that? Why did my voice do that stupid breathy thing?

  He blinked, caught off guard. Then he smiled, smaller than his usual.

  “Um. No,” he said. “Not really.” He toyed with his spoon, thinking. “I mean, I like who I like. But I have more in common with them. And they’re easier to…persuade.”

  He looked pointedly at me.

  Heat crawled up my neck. “Oh,” I said.

  “Besides,” he added, the grin sliding back into place, “girls are dangerous. Most of you can see through the artifice, and half of you know how to use it better than we do.”

  I snorted despite myself.

  By the time the check was taken care of—some mysterious combination of scholarship funds and family money I didn’t want to think about—I was full and dizzy and more tired than I had any right to be.

  The limo ride back to campus was quieter. City lights smeared past the windows in long streaks; the divider was up, leaving just us and the soft hum of the engine.

  He didn’t try to hold my hand. He didn’t move closer than necessary. We talked about stupid things—the worst cafeteria meals we’d ever had, what movie deserved a remake and what absolutely didn’t. It almost felt…normal.

  Until we pulled up in front of the dorm.

  Theo got out first. He came around to my side, and opened the door. When he offered his hand to help me out, I took it. I’d started something and I was going to see it through.

  I stood, smoothing my dress, already calculating how fast I could bolt up the steps and disappear into the relative safety of my room.

  I didn’t get the chance.

  Before I could step around him, Theo moved.

  He planted one hand on the car door frame and the other on the roof, bracketing me in. Not crushing, not trapping, but very much…there. His suit jacket brushed my arm. He was close enough that I could see the shadow of stubble along his jaw, the darker ring around his irises.

  I was pinned between him and the car. Part of me wanted to back away. But the part that wanted to stay right where I was, won.

  He leaned down and touched his lips to mine.

  Soft, at first. A question, not a demand. His hands slid from the metal to my face, cupping my cheeks, thumbs warm against my skin. The world narrowed to the point where our mouths met.

  He kissed me gently, then deeper. A teasing nibble at my lower lip, a slow press that sent tiny shocks up my spine. The heat built, a steady climb, and I found my hands had gripped the lapels of his suit without me giving the order.

  It felt…incredible.

  When he finally pulled back, my head was spinning. Sound did a funny, distorted thing—too loud at the edges, too quiet in the middle. The dorm, the limo, the murmur of someone talking on their phone nearby all felt like they were happening under water.

  He was watching me, expression unreadable for once.

  “So,” he said lightly. “Best kiss ever?”

  My tongue felt thick. “First,” I managed.

  He blinked. “First what?”

  “First kiss,” I said, because apparently we were being honest now. “First date.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Wow.”

  For the first time all night, he looked genuinely thrown.

  He leaned in again, not for another kiss, just to rest his forehead against mine for a second. His breath puffed warm against my lips.

  “Good to know,” he murmured.

  I stepped to the side before my knees did something dramatic. “I—um. I should—”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Get inside before I ruin your reputation any more.”

  I snorted, because it was that or melt. Then I turned and walked up the steps, fingers brushing my lips like they belonged to someone else.

  Inside, the dorm hallway smelled like old carpet and laundry detergent. Normal. Safe.