Chapter 52
Ellie's POV
The week dissolved into a blur of dance rehearsals and coding assignments, each day bleeding into the next until I barely registered time passing at all.
Saturday afternoon—Halloween, though I'd somehow completely forgotten—found me in my usual spot at the library's second floor, tucked into a window seat with my laptop and what felt like my tenth cup of coffee that day. The October sunlight streamed through the glass, warm despite the autumn chill outside, and I'd blocked out the world with my noise-canceling headphones, completely absorbed in debugging a particularly nasty piece of code.
I didn't notice the guy dressed as a ghost—literally just a sheet with eye holes—who wandered past my table. Didn't see the gaggle of "witches" in pointy hats taking selfies by the circulation desk. Didn't register that the library population had shifted from studying zombies to actual costume-wearing students.
The first indication that something was different came when someone tapped my desk three times in quick succession.
I pulled off my headphones and looked up to find Jackson standing there with two Starbucks cups and a paper bag that smelled like cinnamon and sugar. His amused smile made my stomach do a weird flip.
"Please tell me you didn't forget," he said, setting the drinks down. One had my name scrawled on it in Sharpie—a pumpkin spice latte, my seasonal weakness that I'd mentioned exactly once in passing.
I blinked at him, then at the costumed students visible through the window behind him, then back at his expectant face. My brain scrambled to connect the dots.
"Forget what—" I started, then felt my eyes widen as reality crashed over me. "Oh my god."
"There it is," Jackson laughed, that low rumble that I'd started associating with safety and warmth. "Seven o'clock, the warehouse near Oak Square Mall. Don't tell me you actually forgot about tonight's party."
I dropped my face into my hands with a groan. "I literally... this entire week just... I didn't even realize what day it was—"
"I figured." He pushed the coffee and the bag toward me. The scent of cinnamon rolls made my mouth water—when was the last time I'd eaten? "That's why I'm here. Intervention before you work yourself into a coding-induced coma."
My mind flashed to the past few nights—coming back to the dorm so late that Lily and Megan were already asleep, their breathing soft and even in the darkness. And my Halloween prep? Still that crude cardboard tombstone I'd half-heartedly sketched out last weekend, shoved under my bed and forgotten.
"But I haven't—my costume—" Panic started creeping in as I mentally calculated how much time I had. "The girls are going to kill me. They probably think I bailed—"
"Relax," Jackson interrupted, his voice taking on that soothing quality that somehow always managed to calm my racing thoughts. "You've got almost four hours. And I'd bet money that Lily and the others already have something planned for you."
I looked up at him suspiciously through my fingers. "How would you know that?"
"Ryan mentioned it yesterday." He shrugged, the movement casual but his eyes holding that knowing glint I was starting to recognize. "Something about a group theme and making sure you didn't wiggle out of it."
The mention of Ryan—Jackson's roommate who'd apparently been messaging Lily with increasing frequency—made me relax slightly. Of course they'd been coordinating. That made sense. Totally normal friend-group communication.
I picked up the latte, wrapping both hands around the warm cup. "Thanks for this. And for... you know, making sure I don't become a Halloween hermit."
"That's what friends do." The way he said 'friends' held a weight I couldn't quite interpret, but before I could overthink it, he gestured to my laptop. "Now close that before you hurt yourself, and actually taste the coffee instead of just using it as a caffeine IV drip."
Twenty minutes later, we were sitting on the stone steps outside the library, autumn leaves crunching under our feet in shades of crimson and gold. The campus had fully transformed into Halloween central—everywhere I looked, students were decked out in increasingly creative costumes. A group of skeletons tap-danced past. Someone dressed as a very convincing Pennywise lingered by the fountain, successfully terrifying a cluster of freshmen.
I sipped my latte, savoring the spice and sweetness, while Jackson demolished his own coffee—black, no sugar, which somehow suited him perfectly. The cinnamon roll sat between us on the paper bag, already half-gone despite my claims that I wasn't hungry.
"So," I ventured, curious despite myself. "What's your costume situation? Please tell me you're not going as a vampire. Everyone does vampire."
Jackson's mouth quirked up at the corner, his eyes catching mine with an intensity that made my pulse jump. "You'll see when you see it."
"That's not an answer."
"No," he agreed, clearly enjoying my frustration. "It's not."
I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to read his expression. "Werewolf? Frankenstein's monster? One of those inflatable T-Rex things?"
He actually laughed at that, his head tilting back slightly. "Definitely not a T-Rex."
"Then what—"
"I can promise you this much," he interrupted, leaning slightly closer. His voice dropped lower, almost conspiratorial. "Our costumes will... match really well."
I felt heat creep into my cheeks, my heart doing that annoying accelerated thing that I couldn't blame entirely on the approaching full moon. "That's impossible. I don't even know what I'm wearing yet. How could we possibly—"
"Trust Lily's taste," Jackson said simply, his eyes holding mine with an expression I couldn't quite decipher. "She's got good instincts."
How does he know what Lily picked? The question flickered through my mind, along with a dozen others. Had Ryan told him? Had they all been coordinating this without me?
"You're overthinking," Jackson observed, breaking into my mental spiral. "I can literally see the gears turning."
"I don't overthink," I protested weakly.
"Right. And I don't notice when you go nonverbal during advanced combinations because your brain is running six different calculations simultaneously." His tone was teasing but not unkind. "Speaking of which—Martinez project. Next Sunday's the performance. You feeling good about it?"
I latched onto the subject change gratefully, letting him guide the conversation away from my spiraling thoughts. We talked through the choreography, discussed timing tweaks, debated whether the lighting cues needed adjustment. Normal, safe, professional topics that didn't make my pulse race or my wolf instincts stir restlessly beneath my skin.
But even as we talked, that phrase kept echoing: Our costumes will match really well.