Chapter 64 Return to Vanguard

Chapter 64 Return to Vanguard

Tasha's POV

THE NOTE stayed in my pocket for the entire train ride back to Vanguard. I must have read it at least twenty times.

Be careful who you trust at Vanguard.

Every time I looked at it, I found myself wondering what it meant. More importantly, I wondered why she had felt the need to slip it into my bag in secret instead of simply telling me herself.

If she knew something, why not say it?

If she suspected something, why not explain it?

The more I thought about it, the less sense it made. By the time the train pulled into the station near Vanguard, my head was already full of unanswered questions.

Unfortunately, unanswered questions had become a recurring theme in my life. Old Man Reyes still hadn't told me the identity of my father's trusted friend.

The investigation into Ricardo Hamilton's death continued producing more mysteries than answers. And now there was a mysterious warning sitting in my pocket.

The moment I stepped onto campus grounds, I realized how much I had enjoyed being away.

The familiar stone buildings stood exactly as I remembered them. Students crossed the walkways carrying books and laptops while conversations echoed from every direction.

Nothing had changed. Yet somehow everything felt different.

Maybe because I had changed. Or maybe because I knew too much now.

I adjusted the strap of my bag and headed toward the Engineering Complex.

My train had arrived later than expected, and I was already cutting it close for the afternoon racing simulation meeting.

Normally, that realization would have made me walk faster. Today, another thought occupied my mind.

Carlos.

I hated how quickly his name appeared. I hated it even more because I had spent most of the train ride trying not to think about him. The distance between us had only grown during the past few weeks.

Before Monaco, I had convinced myself that maybe things would improve after some time apart. Maybe emotions would cool down. Maybe whatever misunderstanding had lodged itself between us would somehow disappear.

Now that I was back, I wasn't so sure. The closer I got to the Engineering Building, the tighter my chest felt.

By the time I entered the simulation laboratory, several students had already arrived. Large screens lined the walls displaying track data and performance analytics.

Teams sat together discussing race strategies. Voices filled the room. I immediately spotted Luigi near one of the workstations.

The moment he saw me, his face brightened. "Tasha." A genuine smile appeared on his face as he walked over. "When did you get back?"

"About thirty minutes ago."

Luigi took the bag from my shoulder before I could protest. "You came straight here?"

"We have a meeting."

"You could've rested first."

I laughed softly. "You sound like Old Man Reyes."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

The easy conversation relaxed me slightly. Until my eyes drifted across the room.

And found Carlos. The relief disappeared instantly.

He stood beside a simulation console speaking with two other racers. His posture was relaxed. His expression calm.

For a moment, I simply watched him.

Maybe because I hadn't seen him in person for several days. Maybe because part of me still expected things to return to normal.

As though sensing my attention, Carlos glanced in my direction. Our eyes met. For one brief second, hope flared inside me. Then it vanished. His expression didn't change. Nothing.

Carlos simply nodded politely. The kind of acknowledgment you might give a classmate you barely knew. Then he turned back to his conversation.

As if I wasn't important enough to hold his attention for more than a second. The reaction shouldn't have bothered me. Yet it did. Far more than I wanted to admit.

"Tasha?" I blinked. Luigi was watching me carefully.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

The lie came automatically.

Thankfully, he didn't push. A few minutes later, the meeting officially began. Students gathered around the main display while simulation results appeared across multiple screens.

Professor Adler started discussing performance metrics from the academy's latest practice race.

Normally, meetings like this involved a constant stream of interruptions from Carlos. He would challenge assumptions. Argue over statistics. Throw sarcastic comments at anyone within range. Most of the time, those comments were directed at me.

Especially me.

The memory surfaced unexpectedly. A flash of Carlos leaning over my shoulder. Grinning. Telling me my calculations looked suspicious. Then spending twenty minutes helping me improve them anyway.

The memory hurt more than I expected. I forced myself to focus on the meeting.

Unfortunately, Carlos made that impossible. Not because he was causing trouble. Because he wasn't. The change was impossible to ignore.

Throughout the entire discussion, he remained professional. When he spoke, every comment related directly to racing data. Several students seemed to notice as well.

Carlos Santiago wasn't known for silence.

Halfway through the meeting, Professor Adler displayed a simulation report comparing vehicle response times.

"Tasha," he said, pointing toward one of the graphs, "your team handled the calibration adjustments. What caused the delay here?"

I immediately stepped forward. "The issue originated from inconsistent tire temperature readings during sector three. We compensated for it, but the correction cost approximately six tenths of a second."

The professor nodded. Then he looked toward Carlos. "Carlos?"

Carlos glanced at the screen. "The explanation is accurate."

The professor looked mildly surprised. Honestly, so did I. A few students exchanged confused looks because everyone knew how these meetings usually went.

Carlos loved debating engineering decisions. Especially mine.

Yet now he acted as though speaking any additional words would physically inconvenience him.

The meeting continued. Several times I found myself waiting for him to say something. Instead, he remained distant.

When our eyes accidentally met across the room, he looked away first. As though maintaining distance required effort. And he was committed to it.

By the time the meeting ended, frustration had replaced confusion. Not because Carlos was being rude. That would have been easier. At least anger made sense. The problem was that none of those things felt like Carlos.

Students slowly began leaving the room. Within minutes, only a handful remained. I watched Carlos gather several reports from the table.

For a moment, I considered leaving. Avoiding the conversation. Preserving what little dignity I still possessed.

Instead, I walked toward him. "Carlos."

His hands paused briefly. Then he looked up. "Yes?"

The single word felt formal.

"I wanted to ask about the simulation adjustments for next week."

It wasn't what I actually wanted to ask. What I wanted to ask was: Why are you treating me like this?

But I wasn't brave enough for that conversation.

Carlos picked up a folder. "We can email the revised specifications."

"Email?"

He nodded. "That would be most efficient."

Most efficient. The phrase almost made me laugh. When had Carlos Santiago started sounding like an office manager?

"We've never needed emails before."

His expression remained neutral. "We're managing larger workloads now."

The answer was reasonable. Completely reasonable. Which somehow made it worse.

I shifted uncomfortably. "Did something happen while I was gone?"

For the first time, a crack appeared in his composure. But I saw it.

His jaw tightened slightly. Then it disappeared. "No."

The answer came too quickly.

I stared at him. "Carlos."

"What?"

The question sounded patient and painfully distant.

I swallowed. Suddenly every prepared sentence vanished. All of them disappeared beneath one overwhelming realization.

I missed him. Not a little. Not enough to be mildly inconvenient.

I missed him constantly.

I missed his ridiculous confidence.

His annoying comments.

The way he always challenged me.

The way he somehow appeared whenever things became difficult.

I missed talking to him.

I missed laughing with him.

And standing in front of him now made me realize just how much of my daily life had quietly revolved around his presence. The realization scared me. Because I hadn't noticed it happening.

Somewhere along the way, Carlos had become important.

He adjusted the reports beneath his arm. "If that's all, I should go."

The words pulled me from my thoughts. "Wait."

Carlos stopped.

I took a step forward. "I feel like you're avoiding me."

For several seconds, neither of us spoke. Then Carlos looked directly at me. His expression remained unreadable.

"I don't think that's a productive conversation."

The answer hit harder than it should have. Because it wasn't denial. It wasn't reassurance. It wasn't even an argument. It was dismissal.

"Carlos—"

"I have another meeting."

I stared at him. The excuse sounded weak. Even he seemed aware of it. Yet neither of us challenged it.

For a moment, I thought he might say something else. Instead, he simply nodded. Then he turned and walked away.

I stood there watching him leave. Watching the distance grow with every step. And, suddenly, the pain wasn't confusing.

Carlos was walking away while I was still trying to talk to him.

And for the first time, it genuinely hurt.