Chapter 79 Restless Heart
Phoebe
When I got back to the dorm, the first thing I saw was Tyra sitting on her bed, her lips curled into a dreamy smile as she stared at her phone. She didn’t even notice me at first — that was how lost she was in whatever world she’d fallen into.
“What’s making you smile like that?” I asked, tossing my bag onto my chair.
She jumped, clutching her phone to her chest. “Nothing! Just—uh, a video.”
I arched a brow and reached for it before she could stop me. The screen showed a clip from the last match of the Divergent Howl game play — Phoenix with his aura, his golden eyes gleaming under the spotlight as he stood at the venue.
Tyra sighed dreamily. “He’s so… perfect. I mean, look at him, Phoebe. That focus, that calmness. You can’t fake that.”
A soft laugh escaped me. “So… how’s your little mission going?”
She flushed. “Still ongoing. He’s not exactly easy to approach. But I’ve been texting him. He’s polite… too polite.”
“Classic Phoenix,” I said, smiling. “He hates small talk. You’ll need to talk about something that challenges him — strategy, discipline, that kind of thing. Oh, and his favorite color’s midnight blue. He drinks black coffee, hates mint, and—”
Tyra gasped, grabbing her pillow and hugging it. “Oh my goddess, you do know him well. This is gold!”
I shrugged, pretending not to notice the small twist of nostalgia in my chest. “I’m his twin. He’s easy to read once you know what drives him.”
Before Tyra could ask more, my phone buzzed.
Finley.
I’m waiting outside your dorm.
My heart skipped a beat.
I didn’t even bother replying — I just grabbed my hoodie and rushed downstairs.
He was there, leaning against the lamppost near the entrance. The faint glow of light brushed against his dark hair and the quiet, knowing smile on his lips.
“Hey,” he greeted softly, his voice low and familiar — the kind of tone that made my heartbeat slow down and speed up at the same time.
“I thought you were still busy with your studies,” I said, trying to sound casual.
“I missed you.” He smiled a little. “That’s more important.”
For a moment, I couldn’t find words. I just stood there, feeling the air shift between us — heavy with warmth and something unnamed.
He reached for my hand. “Walk with me?”
We didn’t go far, just around the quiet path circling the dorm building. The night was cold, and he slipped his jacket over my shoulders. I could still feel the heat from his body in the fabric, the faint scent of cedar and rain clinging to it.
“You seem distracted,” he murmured.
I sighed. “It’s the Light Walker pack. Zion’s parents found out about… the prophecy. About me having four mates.”
Finley’s brows drew together. “How did they take it?”
“His father’s uncertain. His mother was kind. But the whole thing left me feeling… wrong. Like I’m the problem that breaks everything.”
Finley stopped walking. His fingers brushed my cheek, warm and steady. “Phoebe. You’re not a problem. You’re the reason things make sense. The Moon Goddess doesn’t make mistakes.”
His confidence settled over me like a balm, soothing the ache that had followed me since the vision.
Then his phone buzzed. He frowned, checking the message. His expression faltered.
“Bad news?” I asked quietly.
“My brother. He says… Grandma’s not well.” His voice cracked just a little. “I might have to go home tomorrow.”
I stepped closer. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He shook his head. “Not tonight. I just want to stay here—with you.”
The way he said it — quiet, rough, full of longing — sent a shiver through me.
He took my hand again, pulling me toward the small sitting room near the dorm’s back entrance, where the lights were dim, and the world felt far away. We sat close, shoulders brushing, and the silence between us deepened into something unspoken.
His thumb traced the back of my hand. “You always look like you’re about to run away,” he whispered.
“Maybe I am,” I breathed. “But only because you make me want to stay.”
He smiled faintly, then leaned closer. The warmth of his breath brushed against my skin — slow, deliberate, almost questioning. I didn’t move.
When his lips met mine, it wasn’t rushed. It was the kind of kiss that built slowly — hesitant at first, then hungry, pulling me closer until I forgot where one of us ended and the other began.
His hand moved to the side of my neck, his thumb tracing lazy circles. I felt my heart thundering against his chest. The world around us blurred — there was only the warmth of his touch, the taste of his breath, the steady rhythm of our closeness.
“Phoebe,” he murmured against my lips, “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”
“I think I do,” I whispered back.
The night wrapped around us, soft and quiet, and the rest of the world faded away.
Everything after that happened in silence — the kind of silence that didn’t need words. Just the sound of two hearts finding their rhythm, the slow pulse of something real and inevitable.
Later, when I finally rested my head on his shoulder, his fingers brushed through my hair. “Winter holiday,” he said, voice barely a whisper, “I’ll take you to meet my family. I want them to see the girl who makes me forget the world.”
I smiled — not because everything was perfect, but because for that one fragile moment, it felt like it could be.
“I love you, Finley. I love the way you make me feel.”
“Wanna stay at my dorm?”
“Yes, of course. I miss you a lot today.”