Chapter 16: Building Something Like Trust
The library was nearly empty by the time Evelyn and Liam finished compiling their notes.
Stacks of files surrounded them—some stolen, some borrowed, and some scribbled hastily on post-its. The glow from Evelyn’s laptop flickered across Liam’s face, casting long shadows under his eyes.
They hadn’t spoken in the last fifteen minutes, both focused on connecting the threads. But the silence between them wasn’t heavy. It had grown... comfortable.
It was strange, Evelyn thought, how safety could feel like shared silence.
She glanced at him—hood down for once, dark hair falling into his face, glasses perched low on his nose as he squinted at the screen.
He caught her staring.
“What?” he asked, not looking up.
Evelyn blinked, startled. “Nothing.”
“You’re definitely staring,” he said without inflection, clicking his pen twice.
“I was just thinking,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You look... normal. Not broody.”
He rolled his eyes. “Wow. Heartfelt.”
She smirked. “You know, when we first met, I thought you were going to punch someone before you said a single word.”
“And now?”
“Now I think you’d only punch someone for the right reasons.”
He cracked a grin—just the ghost of one, but it lit up his whole face.
“I’ll take that as progress.”
After a while, Evelyn leaned back and stretched, wincing as her spine popped.
“I think my brain’s melting.”
“You say that every time you hit a wall,” Liam replied, still typing.
“And every time, I’m right.”
She let her head rest against the back of her chair and closed her eyes for a moment. The day had been long—class, club meetings, and now, conspiracy hunting.
But here, in the half-lit library with Liam beside her, the pressure in her chest felt... lighter.
“I used to think I knew what love looked like,” she murmured.
Liam’s fingers paused on the keyboard. “Yeah?”
“Flowers. Compliments. Grand gestures. Logan had all of that. He knew exactly how to make a moment look perfect.”
Liam didn’t say anything.
“But it was never real,” she continued. “It was performance. Control. A version of love that only existed if I played my part right.”
She opened her eyes.
“You don’t do that.”
Liam looked at her then—really looked. “Do what?”
“Pretend.”
He swallowed hard, then went back to typing. “Pretending takes too much energy.”
Evelyn smiled softly. “That’s what makes you dangerous, you know.”
He raised a brow.
“You don’t lie. You just... exist. And people don’t know how to deal with that.”
Liam leaned back, arms crossed. “And how are you dealing with it?”
She tilted her head. “I’m figuring it out.”
Later, as they packed up, Evelyn glanced at the wall clock. “It’s almost ten. My mom’s going to think I joined a cult.”
“Want a ride?” Liam offered, slinging his bag over one shoulder.
Evelyn blinked. “You drive?”
“Sometimes.” He shrugged. “I borrowed my uncle’s car tonight. He owes me gas money and moral support.”
She smiled. “I won’t say no.”
The drive was quiet, but not awkward. The kind of silence that existed between people who were learning to breathe in sync.
Evelyn watched the streetlights blur past the window. “Can I ask you something?”
Liam nodded without taking his eyes off the road.
“Why did you agree to help me?”
He was quiet for a beat too long.
Then he said, “Because you looked like you were drowning.”
Evelyn blinked. “So you just decided to throw yourself in with me?”
“No,” he said, a hint of a smirk in his voice. “I’ve been underwater a long time. You looked like someone who was fighting to surface. I figured... maybe if I helped you, I’d find air too.”
She didn’t respond.
Couldn’t.
Because something about that truth hit her so deeply, it ached.
When they pulled up in front of her house, she hesitated before getting out.
“You want to come in?” she asked. “There’s leftover lasagna. My mom always makes extra. It’s her love language.”
Liam raised a brow. “I’m not sure if I’m ready for your mom.”
“She loves broken boys with manners. You’ll do fine.”
He snorted. “Tempting, but I should head back.”
Evelyn nodded, reaching for the door.
“Hey, Evelyn,” he said suddenly.
She turned.
“I’m glad you’re not pretending anymore.”
She smiled.
“I’m glad you’re still here.”
She watched him drive off, heart thudding gently—not in fear, or anxiety, or anger.
But something closer to hope.
Tentative. Unsteady.
But real.
Like the beginnings of a friendship she hadn’t known she needed.