Page 55 of First Echo

The irony of his statement wasn't lost on me. If only he knew the storm that had been raging inside me since Madeline had grabbed my wrist after the race. If only he could see how her mere presence across the room was making my skin feel too tight, my breath too shallow. Nothing about me felt straightforward or drama-free in that moment.

But that wasn't his fault. And the fact that he saw me as uncomplicated was actually something of a relief—a reminder that there was still a version of Brooke Winters that existed outside the confusing orbit of Madeline Hayes.

"Thanks," I said, offering him a smile that felt more genuine than any I'd managed all day. "I appreciate that."

As I smiled at Luca, I felt it again—that prickling awareness, stronger now. I glanced up reflexively, my eyes finding Madeline's across the room. She was watching us, her expression unreadable. Our gazes locked for a long moment, something electric passing between us even at this distance.

Then Sam said something to her, drawing her attention back to their table. But not before I'd seen it—the flash of something in her eyes that looked dangerously like jealousy.

She can't stand seeing me happy when she's not the reason for it.

The realization was as startling as it was illuminating. Madeline Hayes, who claimed to want nothing from me, couldn't bear to see me smiling at someone else. The contradiction was so obvious, so human, that it almost made me laugh.

But I didn't. Instead, I turned back to Luca, offering him my full attention, engaging more fully in our conversation than I had all evening. If Madeline was watching, let her watch. Let her see that I could exist, could connect, could smile without her involvement.

Throughout dinner, I felt her eyes on me more than once. Each time, I deliberately didn't look her way, focusing instead on Luca, on my food, on anything but the blonde girl across the room who couldn't seem to decide what she wanted from me.

After dessert had been served and cleared, students began to drift out of the dining hall, heading for the large lounge area with its roaring fireplace and comfortable seating. Luca stood, pushing in his chair.

"Some of us are hanging out by the fire for a bit," he said, nodding toward the exit. "Care to join? No pressure if you'd rather call it a night."

I hesitated. Part of me wanted nothing more than to retreat to the solitude of a quiet corner, to process the emotional whiplash of the day. But another part—the part still smarting from Madeline's dismissal, from her insistence that she wanted nothing from me—was tempted by the prospect of normal social interaction, of conversation that didn't feel like navigating a minefield.

"Sure," I said, standing up and smoothing my hands down the front of my blouse. "For a bit."

The lodge's main lounge was warm and inviting, with its massive stone fireplace and comfortable seating arranged in conversational groupings. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting a golden glow over everything. Students had claimed various spots around the room, some playing board games, others just talking and laughing.

Luca led me toward a small group I vaguely recognized from the slopes, introducing me with a casual "This is Brooke, the onewho destroyed everyone in the race today." There were smiles, nods of recognition, easy acceptance as they shifted to make room for us in their circle.

The conversation flowed around me, uncomplicated and light. At one point, Luca said something about a spectacular wipeout he'd witnessed earlier that day, his impression of the unfortunate skier so spot-on that I found myself laughing genuinely, the sound surprising even to my own ears.

It felt good—this moment of normalcy, of connection without complication. For a few precious minutes, I wasn't thinking about Madeline, about her fingers on my wrist, about the electricity that had passed between us as I fastened her necklace.

And then, as if summoned by the mere thought of her, Madeline appeared. She and her group entered the lounge, claiming space near the fireplace. Her eyes found me immediately, as if she'd been searching for me, her gaze lingering on Luca beside me before sliding away with practiced indifference.

I didn't look at her again, didn't acknowledge her presence. But I was aware of her the entire time, a persistent hum beneath my skin, a magnetic pull I resisted with every fiber of my being. I laughed a little louder at Luca's jokes, leaned in a bit closer when he spoke, made myself the picture of someone completely unbothered by the presence of Madeline Hayes.

When Luca suggested grabbing drinks from the refreshment table at the back of the lounge, I agreed easily, following him through the crowded room. He told some story about a disastrous ski trip with his cousins, the punchline making me laugh just as we passed near the fireplace, near the spot where Madeline stood with her friends.

I didn't look at her. Not once. Just kept walking, still smiling at Luca's story.

But as we approached the drink table, I sensed movement—Madeline breaking away from her group, making her way in our direction with steps that tried too hard to look casual. My pulse quickened despite my best efforts, my body responding to her proximity in ways my mind couldn't control.

She reached the table just after we did, standing close enough that I could smell her perfume, could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. Luca was occupied with pouring drinks, unaware of the tension crackling in the small space between Madeline and me.

"Making new friends already?" she muttered, her voice low and bitter, meant for my ears alone.

I turned slightly, meeting her eyes for the first time since dinner. Her face was carefully composed, but there was something raw in her gaze, something that belied the casual cruelty of her words.

"You told me you didn't want anything from me," I said quietly, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. I let the words settle between us, each one landing with deliberate weight. "I'm just giving you what you asked for."

Her eyes widened slightly, the blow finding its mark. For a moment, she looked almost vulnerable, stripped of her usual confidence. Then her walls slammed back into place, her expression smoothing into practiced indifference.

But it was too late. I'd seen it—that flash of hurt, of confusion, of something that looked dangerously like longing.

I didn't wait for her response. I turned back to Luca, accepting the cup he offered with a smile that felt more like armor than genuine pleasure. Then I walked away, leaving Madeline standing alone by the drinks table, her composure slipping just enough that anyone looking closely might have seen the truth beneath her perfect façade.

As I rejoined the group by the fireplace, settling into easy conversation about tomorrow's plans for the slopes, I kept a small part of my awareness fixed on Madeline. She remained by the drink table for several long moments, her back straight, her shoulders tense, before finally returning to her friends with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

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