Chapter Twenty-Five: Carol's POV
The holiday ended with a quiet finality I hadn't expected.
One day I was hiding in the house pretending to read books, not absorbing a single word.
The next I was back at university, standing in front of the library, looking up at the building as if it might have changed while I was gone.
But it hadn't. Same stone facade, same revolving doors, same smell of old books and floor polish when I stepped inside.
I went up to the third floor, toward the science section.
The air was colder there, lighting dimmer. Students rarely ventured here unless desperate or deeply masochistic.
I pulled a biochemistry journal from the shelf, randomly flipped it open.
Then I saw it. A footnote citation in an article about cellular regeneration.
That name reached out like a hand from the page, gripping me: St. Claire, M.
My fingers went numb. I read the title of his paper twice, then three times, trying to understand what the words meant.
Nanoparticle Integration in Epidermal Tissue: Applications in UV Radiation Resistance.
Nanoparticles. UV resistance. Maurice had invented a way to coat skin with microscopic particles that blocked ultraviolet light.
That was how he could walk in sunlight without burning.
That was why a vampire—a dark creature supposedly afraid of the sun—could teach classes in broad daylight, stand by windows, move through the world like an ordinary person.
This discovery made my chest tighten. Curious and afraid. It explained so much but made everything worse.
Because it meant Maurice wasn't bound by the rules other vampires followed. He was smarter, more dangerous, harder to predict.
It also made that night at The Emerald even more confusing.
If he could walk in sunlight, if he'd conquered his species' greatest weakness, why lie?
Why look me in the eye afterward and deny everything, as if the whole thing was a hallucination in my head?
As if I was crazy for remembering his hands on me, his mouth at my throat, whispering my name like a prayer?
The only explanation I could think of was that he wasn't afraid of the sun.
He was afraid of losing his position. If anyone found out what he'd done—if the university, if Simon, if the Council discovered he'd crossed the line with a student—he'd lose everything.
His reputation, his lab, the respectability he'd spent centuries building.
So he lied. And I let him, because what else could I do?
A hand landed on my shoulder.
I jerked so hard the journal slipped from my fingers and hit the floor with a dull thud.
I spun around, heart hammering. It was Emma. She stood there with raised eyebrows and a smile on her face.
"Jesus, Carol," she said, laughing. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
I bent down to pick up the journal, shoving it back onto the shelf.
"There's a party tonight," she said, falling into step beside me as I headed for the stairs. "Off-campus. Some business school guys are hosting. I heard there'll be decent music, actual food, and—" she lowered her voice, "—Jake Donovan will be there."
I glanced at her. Emma had been crushing on Jake all semester.
Watching him from across lecture halls, engineering "accidental" run-ins at coffee shops. As far as I knew, she'd never actually talked to him, but she spoke about him like he was some unattainable ideal.
"You want to go?" I asked.
"Obviously," she said. "But I'm not going alone. Come on, Carol. You need to have some fun."
"Okay," I heard myself say. "I'll go."
Emma's face lit up. She grabbed my arm, squeezing tight like I'd agreed to something monumental.
The party was in a house a few blocks from campus.
The kind that had been nice once but was now rented to students who didn't care about scuff marks on walls or beer stains on carpet.
Music pounded from inside, loud enough that I could feel the bass vibrating in my chest as we walked up the front steps.
Emma pushed the door open without knocking, and we were swallowed by heat, noise, and bodies pressed too close.
I followed her through the crowd, past clusters of people shouting over the music, past a table covered in red plastic cups and half-empty vodka bottles.
Emma grabbed two cups and handed me one. I took it without thinking, tasting the burn of alcohol mixed with something sweet and artificial.
It wasn't good, but I drank it anyway. The warmth spread through my chest, dulling the edges of everything slightly.
I couldn't see faces clearly, couldn't hear who was saying what.
The drink was sour and bitter, but I started on a second one.
Emma was scanning the room, eyes bright, looking for someone. Then she saw him—Jake Donovan, standing near the kitchen with friends, laughing at something someone said.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, carrying that easy confidence of someone who never had to doubt their place in the world.
"There he is," Emma whispered, gripping my arm again. "Oh my god, Carol. Do you think I should go talk to him?"
"I think you should do whatever you want," I said, taking another sip.
She bit her lip, wavering. Before she could decide, another guy approached me.
I didn't know his name, but I recognized the look on his face—his eyes moving over me, assessing.
"Hey," he said, leaning in too close, voice low like he was trying to create intimacy only we could share. "I've noticed you for a while. You come alone?"
"With a friend." I glanced at Emma, but she was staring at Jake, not paying attention here.
"That's good." He smiled, fingers slowly tracing the rim of his cup. "But you don't look like someone who likes crowds. I bet you prefer somewhere quieter?"
I didn't respond. He didn't wait for me to.
"I have a room upstairs," he continued casually, like discussing weather. "Quieter than here. Less music, fewer people. Want to go sit for a bit?"
The offer was clear. He wanted to take me somewhere private, somewhere we could be alone, somewhere he could touch me without an audience.
My stomach turned, but I kept my expression neutral.
I'd dealt with worse. I could refuse without mercy.
"I'm good here." My voice was flat.
He frowned, like he hadn't expected rejection. "Don't be like that."
Emma had been nervous and excited, now her expression shifted, sharper.
She opened her mouth to say something, but her hand touched my elbow first. "Try it," she said quietly, mischievously. "What's the worst that could happen?"
Maybe Emma was right. Maybe I should try. Maybe I should let myself be a normal twenty-year-old for once, instead of this complicated thing I'd become in Simon's orbit.
But I looked at the guy in front of me, at his expectant smile, and I knew I couldn't. Not tonight. Not with him.
"No," I said again, firmer this time. "Not interested."
His expression soured, but he didn't push it. He shrugged, muttered something, and walked away.
Emma sighed beside me, not surprised but a little disappointed.
"Your loss," she said lightly, but I could hear the concern underneath.
Then Jake appeared, like Emma had summoned him just by thinking.
He smiled at her, that easy, devastating smile, said something I couldn't hear over the music.
Emma's face went pink. She glanced at me, torn.
"Go," I pushed her. "I'll be fine."
She hesitated for half a second, then let Jake lead her toward the back door, toward the terrace where it would be quieter, where they could actually talk.
I watched them go, feeling a strange pang of something—maybe envy, maybe loneliness, maybe just exhaustion.
I stayed at the party longer than I should have, nursing my second drink, drifting through rooms full of strangers.
The alcohol made everything softer, blurrier, easier to ignore.
But slowly people started leaving, and I realized I hadn't seen Emma in over an hour.
I pulled out my phone and called her. It rang three times, then went to voicemail.
I texted her. No response.
I checked the terrace, the kitchen, even the upstairs bathroom, but she wasn't anywhere.
My chest tightened.
Emma wasn't the type to leave without saying goodbye, wasn't the type to ignore my calls.
I tried again. Nothing.
At first it was just a nagging unease, but with every unanswered call, every empty room, that unease grew heavier.
I told myself she probably went home with Jake, that she was fine, that I was overreacting—but something felt wrong.
I walked outside. The cold wind hit my face hard.
The street was empty, houses dark on both sides except for occasional porch lights.
I started walking toward campus, phone clutched in my hand, breath fogging in front of me.
I was looking down at my phone when a shadow fell across the screen.
I looked up. Seraphina stood in front of me, arms crossed, a smile on her lips. That smile she always wore before hurting someone.
My whole body tensed immediately.
But I had no time for her. My mind was full of Emma—where she'd gone, why she wasn't answering, why I couldn't find her anywhere.
"Looking for something?" Seraphina's voice floated over.
I didn't answer, kept walking, fingers quickly dialing Emma's number again. Still no answer.
"Your friend?" Seraphina followed. "I think I saw her earlier. She left with some guy."
I stopped, turned to face her. "What are you trying to say?"
She smiled, pulled out her phone, tapped a few times, then turned the screen toward me.
It was Emma. Tied to a chair, mouth gagged, eyes wide with terror.
I stared at that photo. My mind filled with the fear on Emma's face, the rope cutting into her wrists.
"Where is she?" My voice was low, suppressing fire.
Seraphina's smile widened. "Want to know?" Her tone light, playful. "Then lose whoever's following you. Midnight, school gym."
She turned and walked away, heels clicking on the pavement, leaving me alone under the streetlight.
Heart racing, hands shaking, Emma's face spinning in my mind.
I forced myself to breathe deeply, forced myself to calm down.
Leon was watching me—he always was, Simon's orders.
I couldn't let him follow me to the gym, or Emma would be in more danger. I had to lose him first.
I walked back to the dorm, steps as steady as possible, expression neutral.
Leon was somewhere nearby, I knew, though I couldn't see him.
Back in my room, I did everything I normally did each night. Changed into pajamas, brushed my teeth, turned off the lights.
I lay in bed waiting, listening to the building gradually quiet down. Distant cars, muffled voices of other students in the hallway.
Then I heard Leon's footsteps. He paused outside my door, then after a moment, he walked away. The hallway went completely silent.
I waited another five minutes. Then ten.
Then I got out of bed and went to the window.
The drop wasn't too bad—I'd done it before, back when I was younger, more impulsive, when escaping felt like the only way to breathe.
I pushed the window open, swung my legs over the sill, and dropped.
I landed hard, knees buckling, but I rolled with it and came up running.
The night wind rushed into my lungs, cold.
The campus was dark and empty. I didn't look back.
Didn't dare think about what would happen if Leon found out I was gone, if Simon found out.
All that mattered was getting to Emma before it was too late.
The gym loomed ahead, windows dark, doors locked.
But I knew there was a side entrance that never latched properly, a door that didn't quite close all the way.
I found it and slipped inside. The darkness swallowed me whole.
The smell hit me first. Sweat and old rubber.
"Emma?" I called out. My voice echoed in the empty space.
No answer.