Page 26 of Shadowed Whispers

Rude.

“I’m not going to miss class,” I mumble defiantly, burying my head under the pillows, seeking refuge in their cool, soft embrace. I inhale deeply, the scent of lavender fabric softener mingling with the mustiness of old dorm room walls.

“Frankie, it’s almost nine in the morning. You are going to miss class,” Tori persists, her hand landing on my thigh with a slap that’s both playful and insistent.

I toss the pillow off and glare at her, my eyes squinting as they adjust to the morning light that sneaks past our threadbare curtains. Tori looks impeccable, as if she stepped out of a fashion magazine for university chic. Her hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and her makeup is flawlessly applied. She probably got up at the crack of dawn to get ready.

Can’t relate.

“Why do you care?” Knowing I won’t be able to go back to sleep now, I slowly rise, blinking the sleep from my eyes, my body stiff from the uncomfortable dorm mattress.

With a huff and a grunt, she answers, “Because we’re roommates, and I won’t have a shitty student as a roommate on my watch.” Her tone is both joking and serious, a strange mix that characterizes our odd friendship.

“Right,” I drawl sarcastically. “My sleeping in to the last minute makes you look bad. Sure, that makes perfect sense. It’s like your academic reputation is somehow tied to my sleep habits.” My voice drips with sarcasm, a defense mechanism I’ve honed over the years.

“See? You aren’t so stubborn that you don’t get it.” Her tone turns saccharine, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

She’s lucky I’m not awake.

“Go away,” I grumble, my voice groggy as I pull my hair over one shoulder and begin braiding it absentmindedly. The repetitive motion is soothing.

Rolling her eyes, Tori grabs her book bag and stomps toward the door. She pauses at the threshold, her silhouette framed by the doorway, and then slams it behind her with a final grunt of disapproval. The sound echoes in the small room, a stark reminder of the day that awaits me.

I let out a slow breath, trying to calm the irritation bubbling inside me. The last two weeks flash through my mind—a blur of late nights, scrambling for textbooks, and dodging every familiar face on campus, especially Leo. The quiet had been a relief, his absence a respite as he was likely busy with rugby practices or whatever those players did together.

That thought alone sends my imagination running wild.

Running my hand down my face, I try to blink away the thought of a bunch of rugby players forming a circle jerk. I admit I did sneak around and watch them practice, but only once. I eavesdropped on Tori and the other cheerleaders gushing about Matteo and Leo, so I had to see for myself.

They claim Matteo’s involvement in rugby always seemed more about guarding his friend than playing the game. I remember overhearing them talk about how he sees his role on the team as keeping everyone safe, a sentiment that seems to echo his approach to life.

Grabbing the door, I yank it open, only to be greeted by a smiling Leo, complete with dimples—and is that coffee he’s holding?

“Coffee?” he offers, pushing a cup toward me with a playful smile. “Two sugars, just the way you like your humor.”

“You’ve been stalking me,” I declare as I accept the cup, because free coffee is free coffee. How on earth does he know how I take my coffee? “Or should I say, espresso-ly for me?” I quip, raising an eyebrow at him.

He taps his temple. “Nah, I just remember what you told me about the cup I spilled on you.”

“So a freakishly good memory then,” I observe, sipping the coffee, which is, of course, the perfect temperature. The warmth slowly spreads through me, battling the residual chill of the morning air and the unnerving sensation of being watched.

Peering behind him, I spot his friend, Matteo, the one who stalked me after work. I haven’t seen them since that night, but just because I can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t watching me. It’s a lesson I’ve learned from the past. I sink my thumbs into the holes I cut in my sweater, a small act of comfort, and shift from foot to foot as Leo smiles down at me, his presence imposing yet oddly comforting.

What the hell does he want?

“Thank you?” I drawl the words out like a question, infused with a mixture of skepticism and a trace of curiosity. My voice trembles slightly, betraying my attempt at nonchalance.

Matteo snorts while Leo gives me a full-blown smile, apparently pleased with my response. “You’re welcome. Can I walk you to class?”

“Psych.” I yawn, my voice heavy with fatigue. I think I’ve slept a total of ten hours in the past two weeks, one of which was last night. The words are barely a whisper, lost in the early morning din of campus life.

“Matteo has psych.” Leo turns to look at Matteo, whose dark eyes seem to peer right through me, piercing and intense.

Well, that’s unnerving.

Matteo just jerks his head once in response. A man of few words. I don’t hate that. They usually fuck the fastest and hardest.

“We’re going to be late,” he says, his voice dark and slightly gravelly, hinting at an urgency that seems to be about more than just class.

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