Chapter 17

ARIA

I was shelving books in the archive when the lights cut out.

“Hello?” I whispered.

A shadow moved, and I realized I wasn’t alone.

“Aria?” Blackwell’s voice came from somewhere nearby, low, cautious.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to steady my breathing. My heart was already racing.

Thunder cracked outside, the windows rattling. The storm outside made the room feel smaller, tighter. I could just make out his outline moving closer.

“Step back,” he said, and I tried, but the narrow space between the shelves kept us forced together.

“Blackwell…” My voice barely carried. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say, but I had to say something.

He stopped a foot away. Close enough to see the tension in his shoulders, the faint tightening of his jaw. I could feel the heat radiating off him, even through the dark.

“Are you okay?” he asked, finally. His voice had a softness I’d never heard before.

“I’m fine,” I lied, though the words sounded small even to me. My hands gripped the edge of the shelf, knuckles white.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the room in a brief, electric white. I caught the sharp outline of his face, the curve of his lips pressed tight. He looked startled, a flicker of something unspoken crossing his expression.

“I think… we should wait here until the power comes back,” he said, almost more to himself than me.

I nodded, even though I didn’t trust the dark. I didn’t trust anything right now. My stomach churned. Every second felt heavier, tighter.

A second lightning strike lit the archive again. Our eyes met, just for a moment, and I couldn’t look away. He stepped closer instinctively, though not touching me.

“I didn’t expect anyone to be here,” he muttered.

“I didn’t expect the blackout,” I said, trying to sound casual.

Another flash, another clap of thunder, and I stumbled slightly on a pile of books that had fallen from the shelves. He reached out instantly.

“Got you,” he said, his hands steadying my elbows. I froze, feeling the warmth of him so close. My chest thumped, and I didn’t dare look away.

“Thanks,” I whispered, trying to pull back, but there wasn’t much space.

“You’re shaking,” he said quietly.

“I’m… fine,” I said, forcing a smile, though it came out stiff.

Lightning lit the room again. This time, our shadows merged across the scattered books, stretched and twisted on the walls. My hand brushed the corner of a desk accidentally. He noticed, stepping even closer to guide me past it.

“I… don’t know why it feels like the room is smaller,” I said.

“Neither do I,” he said, voice low.

The storm outside roared again, the rain hammering the windows. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. Every small sound in the archive felt loud. A book fell from a shelf, and we jumped simultaneously, our shoulders brushing. I felt his presence like a weight against me, steady, real.

The darkness stretched on. We didn’t speak much, just small murmurs, each word heavy with meaning we couldn’t say aloud.

Finally, the emergency lights flickered on, casting a dull orange glow. I blinked, adjusting to the sudden brightness.

He stepped back immediately, like he’d been holding himself in check, and his face tightened.

“We shouldn’t… stay here,” he said, voice clipped. His hands fell to his sides.

I nodded, heart still hammering. I wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in my throat.

He gestured toward the exit. “Go ahead. I’ll follow in a second.”

I moved toward the door slowly, glancing back at him. He avoided my eyes, staring at the floor instead. His jaw was tight, his posture rigid. The warmth I had felt moments ago seemed to vanish, replaced by… guilt? I wasn’t sure.

As I stepped out, I could still feel the echo of his presence behind me, like it lingered even in the normal light. I swallowed, trying to keep my emotions in check.

“Aria…” he started, then stopped.

I didn’t look back, just kept walking, my hands brushing the doorknob.

The rain had slowed outside. The campus was quiet again, but the tension didn’t leave me.

Somewhere deep down, I knew nothing would ever feel normal after that blackout. Not our closeness, not the silence, not the way he’d looked at me.

And I knew one thing for sure: he was more human than anyone let on, and somehow, I’d seen it.