Chapter 76 CHAPTER 76
Vivienne's POV
I groaned out loud before I could stop myself.
The sound echoed in the sudden quiet.
Several heads turned. A few people snickered.
"Mr. Reeves," I said quickly, sitting up straighter. "I don't think—I'm really not the best person for this."
He looked at me over the rim of his glasses. Patient. Unmoved.
"You're one of my top students," he said calmly. "You're organized. You take good notes. You show up prepared. You're exactly the right person for this."
"But I'm—" I scrambled for an excuse. Any excuse that would sound legitimate. "I'm really busy right now. I have a lot going on. Personal stuff. Family stuff."
It wasn't even a lie.
"I'm not asking you to spend hours with him," Mr. Reeves said, his tone still maddeningly reasonable. "Just help him catch up during class time. Answer questions when he has them. Share your notes."
"Can't someone else do it?" I tried, desperation creeping into my voice now. "Emma's really good at explaining things—"
"Emma talks too much," Mr. Reeves said without missing a beat.
"Hey!" Emma's protest came sharp and immediate from the seat beside me.
I ignored her.
"What about Jessa?" I continued, grasping at straws now. "Or Marcus? Or—or literally anyone else in this entire classroom?"
Mr. Reeves just looked at me.
That look.
The one teachers perfected over years of dealing with students trying to get out of things. Patient. Slightly amused. Completely unbothered.
The look that said I'm not budging and we both know it.
"Vivienne," he said slowly, like he was explaining something to a child. "It's two weeks. You'll survive."
"I really don't have the time—"
"You have time."
"I'm struggling in my other classes—"
"Your GPA is a 3.8," he said flatly. "Try again."
My mouth opened.
Closed.
I had nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Mr. Reeves turned his attention to Cole, who'd been sitting there the entire time watching this exchange with what could only be described as barely concealed amusement.
His mouth wasn't quite smiling but his eyes definitely were.
"Cole," Mr. Reeves said. "Do you have a preference here? Would you rather work with someone else?"
No.
Don't ask him.
Don't give him a vote in this.
Cole turned to look at me.
I stared back, putting every ounce of telepathic energy I had into communicating a single message:
Say yes. Say you'd prefer literally anyone else. Say you want Jessa or Marcus or that kid in the back who never talks. Say anything except—
He smiled.
Slow. Easy. Like he knew exactly what I was thinking and found it entertaining.
"Vivienne seems like a good fit," he said.
I wanted to throw my notebook directly at his head.
Wanted to stand up and walk out of this classroom and never come back.
Wanted to scream.
"Great," Mr. Reeves said, looking entirely too satisfied with himself. "Then it's settled. Vivienne will be your mentor for the next two weeks. She'll help you get caught up, answer any questions you have, make sure you're ready for midterms."
"Mr. Reeves—" I tried one last time. One final desperate attempt.
"Vivienne," he said, his voice dropping into that firm teacher tone that left zero room for argument. "It's done. Help your classmate."
And then—because the universe had apparently decided that today was the day to systematically destroy every plan I'd made—the bell rang.
Sharp. Loud. Final.
Like a judge's gavel coming down.
Mr. Reeves waved a hand toward the door. "Alright, everyone out. Don't forget the reading assignment for Monday. Chapter seven through nine."
The room erupted immediately into motion.
Chairs scraping against linoleum. Bags zipping. Voices rising into the familiar chaos of class ending and freedom beginning.
I sat there for a second longer than I should have.
Just sat.
Staring at my desk.
At the single word I'd written in my notebook.
Yes.
This was not happening.
This could not actually be happening.
I had just made the biggest, most terrifying decision of my entire life. I had just decided to risk everything—my life, my future, my chance at anything resembling normal—to save someone who meant more to me than I fully understood yet.
I was supposed to find Rafael.
Tell him I'd made my choice.
Tell him yes.
I had maybe thirteen minutes before second period started.
And now I was stuck being a mentor to some transfer student who apparently thought my suffering was hilarious.
I shoved my notebook into my bag.
Hard.
Hard enough that the spine bent slightly.
Grabbed my pens. My textbook. Everything.
Emma was already standing beside me, her bag slung over one shoulder, watching me with an expression that was part concern, part sympathy, and part something that looked suspiciously like she was trying not to laugh.
"Vivienne," she said quietly. Carefully. "It's not that bad—"
"Yes, it is," I muttered, standing up fast enough that my chair scraped loudly against the floor.
"It's just two weeks—"
"Two weeks I don't have." I yanked my bag onto my shoulder, barely avoiding hitting the desk. "I don't have time for this. I don't have time to babysit some—"
"I can hear you," Cole's voice said from directly beside me.
I turned.
He was standing there, backpack hanging from one hand, looking completely unbothered by the fact that I'd just essentially called him a burden to his face.
Still smiling.
Still looking amused.
"Good," I said, meeting his eyes. "Then you heard that I don't want to do this."
"Loud and clear," he confirmed, nodding slowly. "But we're stuck with each other anyway, so—"
"We're not stuck with anything," I interrupted, my voice sharper than I meant it to be. "Mr. Reeves said during class time. That's it. That's the agreement. I'll answer questions in class. I'll share my notes if you need them. But that's where it ends. You don't follow me around. You don't ask me for help outside of this room. You don't—"
"Vivienne," Emma cut in, putting a hand on my arm. Her voice had that strained quality it got when she was trying to manage a situation. "Breathe. Just—calm down for a second."
I was not calm.
I was the polar opposite of calm.
I pulled my arm away—not roughly, just enough to free myself—and started walking toward the door.
Emma followed immediately.
So did Cole.
Of course he did.
"Seriously?" I said, spinning around to face him. "What are you doing?"
"Walking to my next class?" He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like I was the one being unreasonable.
"Walk a different direction."
"My class is this way."
"Then walk slower. Or faster. Or—or take a different route."
"There's only one hallway."
"Then use it after I'm gone."
"Vivienne," Emma said, and now her voice had shifted from concerned to somewhere between amused and exasperated. "You're being kind of—"
"I don't care," I said, not looking at her. Still staring at Cole. "Look. I'm your mentor during school hours. In this classroom. That's it. You don't get my number. You don't get my time outside of class. You don't get to just—just show up and expect me to drop everything and help you catch up on work you should be doing yourself."
Cole held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. Palms out. Still infuriatingly calm.
"Got it," he said. "School hours only. In class. I understand."
"Good."
"But," he added, and I could hear the smile in his voice even before I saw it on his face, "technically right now still counts as school hours. So—"
"Oh my god," I muttered, turning sharply on my heel and heading for the door.
Emma fell into step beside me as we merged into the crowded hallway.
People everywhere. Lockers slamming. Voices overlapping. Someone's phone playing music too loud.
Normal chaos.
"You're being kind of harsh," Emma said quietly, leaning closer so only I could hear.
"I don't care," I repeated for what felt like the hundredth time.
"He seems nice—"
"I don't care if he's nice." My hands were clenched around my bag strap hard enough to hurt. "I don't care if he's the nicest person on the entire planet. I don't have time for this. I don't have time for him."
"It's just two weeks—"
"Emma."
I stopped walking.
Turned to face her fully.
The hallway kept moving around us. People streaming past on both sides. Someone bumped my shoulder without apologizing.
"I just decided to risk my life," I said, keeping my voice low but letting her hear every word. "I just decided to go through with a ritual that has a fifty-fifty chance of killing me. I need to find Rafael right now. I need to tell him before I lose my nerve. And I don't have the time or the energy to babysit some transfer student who apparently can't read a syllabus on his own."
Emma's expression shifted.
The amusement drained out of it completely.
Replaced by understanding. And guilt.
"Right," she said quietly. "Yeah. You're right. I'm sorry. I wasn't—I wasn't thinking."
"It's fine." I took a breath. Let it out. "I just need to find Rafael. Now. Before second period."
"Okay," Emma said, nodding quickly. "Let's go. Do you know where he is?"
"No, but—"
I stopped.
Because I could feel it.
That pull.
The mate bond doing its thing, tugging gently but insistently in a specific direction.
Like a compass pointing north.
"This way," I said.
We started walking again.
Faster now.
I could hear footsteps behind us.
Even through the noise of the hallway—the voices, the locker doors, the shuffle of dozens of people moving—I could pick out one specific set of footsteps.
Following us.
I didn't even have to turn around to know it was him.
"Are you serious right now?" I called over my shoulder, not bothering to look back.
"My class is literally in this hallway," Cole's voice came from somewhere behind us. Still calm. Still unbothered.
"Then walk on the other side of it!"
"Vivienne—" Emma started.
"I know," I cut her off. "I know I'm being mean. I know I'm being unfair. I'll apologize later. I'll be nice later. Right now I just need to—"
"Vivienne."
The voice stopped me mid-sentence.
Mid-step.
Mid-breath.
It came from ahead of us.
Not Emma's voice.
Not Cole's voice.
Not anyone else in this hallway.
A voice I would recognize anywhere
.
In any crowd.
In any situation.
I stopped walking.
Looked up.
And there—standing about twenty feet ahead, leaning against the lockers with his arms crossed and his dark eyes already locked on mine with an intensity that made the rest of the hallway blur slightly at the edges—
Was Rafael.