Chapter 8

The walk home was a blur. Mark moved through the deserted streets, his mind replaying night’s craziness. The adrenaline had faded, leaving behind a throbbing pain in his shoulder and a dull ache in his bruised muscles.

Pushing the front door open carefully, he scanned the dim living room for Lida but found no trace of her. Breathing out a sigh of relief, he tip-toed up the stairs, each step making his shoulder flared even more.

The bathroom’s harsh light revealed the damage. A jagged gash marred his left shoulder, crimson staining the edges of his once-white T-shirt. Several other scrapes and bruises peppered his arms and legs, souvenirs of the night’s chaos.

He stripped off his shirt, hissing as the fabric pulled against the wound. With sluggish movements, he cleaned the gash, applying antiseptic and a makeshift bandage from the first-aid kit. The other injuries were minor in comparison, mere stings that barely registered anymore.

Splashing cold water on his face, he tried to wash away the grime and lingering adrenaline rush.

The digital clock on the bathroom counter flashed 5:48 AM. He considered trying to get a few hours of sleep before his morning class, but the thought of closing his eyes and facing the inevitable onslaught of nightmares made him shudder. Yeah, that’s not happening.

Collapsing onto the bed, he stared up at the ceiling, his mind racing. How the hell did things escalate so quickly? One minute I am training, the next, battling a teleporting psychopath.

The memory of the woman tied up and vulnerable flashed through his mind. He’d risked his life for her, yet he didn’t even know her name.

What was all that about? Why were they kidnapping her?

The questions gnawed at him, but after a few minutes of fruitless pondering, Mark decided to let it go. It’s none of my business.

He’d done his part, saved the girl. It wasn’t his problem anymore.

Time slipped by, his thoughts a jumbled mess of adrenaline, fatigue, and a nagging sense of unease. The first rays of dawn crept through the window, painting the room in a soft, golden light.

“Mark! Breakfast!” Lida’s voice echoed up the stairs.

He dragged himself out of bed and opened his door, leaning against the frame. “Not hungry!” he called back. “I’ll grab something at the cafeteria.”

“Alright, but don’t be late for class.”

“Actually,” he said, improvising, “my first class is pretty late today. I’m gonna sleep in.”

“Fine.”

Mark breathed a sigh of relief. He knew if he went downstairs now, Lida would see right through his facade. He was a terrible liar, especially when it came to his aunt. She’s got a sixth sense for this stuff. He wasn’t ready to face her questions, her concern, or her inevitable disappointment. Yeah, not happening. Not now. He needed a moment to collect himself before dealing with that storm.

“Mark!” Lida’s voice boomed again. “Are you going to talk to her today?”

“Who?”

“Ria.”

“Uhh ... Y—Yeah.”

“Good,” she said. “Don’t forget.”

Mark settled back onto his bed, burying his head in pillow. He’d had to deal with this. Shit.

The memory of their encounter, the intensity of their connection, that damn dream, the lingering scent of her perfume - it was all too vivid. He knew he needed to talk to her, but what the hell was he supposed to say?

His thoughts raced. How do I even find her?

Going back to her house— no, that was creepy stalker territory.

Maybe someone at college knows her? He grabbed his phone, scrolling through his contacts. He called a few of his friends, describing Ria’s appearance, hoping someone would recognize her. Some offered vague possibilities - “I think I saw her in the cafeteria once” or “She might be in my Intro to Psych class.”

A couple offered sensible suggestions, but most just teased him about his “crush” or admitted they had no clue.

“Shit,” Mark cursed, throwing his phone onto the bed. “Useless bunch of idiots.”

He forced himself out of bed, the weight of Lida’s words pressing down on him. Be open to the possibilities. Easy for her to say.

He pulled on his clothes, his mind still a chaotic mess.He crept downstairs, hoping to avoid another encounter with his aunt. The house was silent, save for the gentle ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room. Lida’s car was gone, her usual spot in the driveway empty. Off the hook, at least for now.

A folded note on the table caught his eye. He picked it up, his heart pounding.

“Remember to be gentle with her, Mark,” Lida had written in her neat, flowing script. “She’s probably scared too.”

Right ... Gentle. He crumpled the note in his fist. He couldn’t keep running from this. He had to face it, no matter how terrifying it seemed.

He stepped outside, the morning sun warm on his skin. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the unknown. He had a girl to find and a whole lot of explaining to do.

He looked around the crowded college campus, searching for any sign of her. Mark scanned the faces of the students bustling between classes, his gaze lingering on every brunette with even a hint of those long limbs and that graceful swagger, only to be met with disappointment. Ria was nowhere to be found.

Hours later, Mark was no closer to finding her. He’d scoured every corner of the campus - the library, the cafeteria, the student union, even the damn gym. He was starting to feel like a stalker, his frustration mounting with each passing minute.

Shame, a cold fist tightening in his gut, reminded him of the abrupt way he’d stormed out on her. What if she was angry? Hurt? Scared?

Idiot! You should have just stayed and talked to her.

A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, the morning sun beating down on him mercilessly.

Where could she be? What if she’s avoiding me?

His shirt clung to his skin, the sweat mixing with the coppery tang of dried blood from his shoulder. He collapsed onto a bench near the bustling quad, his stomach rumbling, a reminder that adrenaline wasn’t exactly breakfast.

What now? He wracked his brain, trying to come up with a plan. Going back to the house and waiting seemed like his only option, as creepy as that sounded. A sigh escaped his lips, a blend of frustration and resignation. He raked a hand through his hair, wincing as his fingers brushed the gash on his shoulder.

Just as he was about to resign himself to a day of lurking outside a stranger’s house, he spotted her. Ria. Walking towards the entrance to the science building, her brown hair cascading over her shoulders.

Adrenaline surged through him, and without a second thought, he took off in a sprint.

“Ria!” Mark called out, jogging after her.

She looked up. A flash of surprise on her face as she spotted him. He hurried toward her, each step an effort as his exhaustion finally caught up with him.

She stepped back, her expression wary. “What are you doing here?”

“I ... uh ... I needed to talk to you.”

She hesitated. “I ... I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Ria, please,” he implored. “Just give me a chance to explain.”

“I don’t—”

A voice cut through the growing tension between them. “Hey, Ria, who’s this?” A girl with fiery red hair emerged from the crowd, a curious glance settling on Mark.

“Ria? You gonna introduce us?” The redhead nudged her, that curious gaze sharpening.

“It’s...” She hesitated, her jaw clenched. “Not important, Sarah. We were just—”

“Five minutes, Ria,” he pressed, urgency making his voice even rougher. “Let me explain.”

She met his gaze, a silent battle raging behind those eyes, then sighed, the sound a concession. “Fine. But not here.”

The classroom door closed with a click. Silence descended, making the empty room feel even more deserted. Ria dropped her bag on a nearby table, her arms crossed defensively over her chest.

“Alright,” she said, her voice clipped. “Talk.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He had been so focused on finding her that he hadn’t actually figured out what he was going to say once he did. He looked at her, her face a mixture of apprehension and annoyance, and his mind went blank. Those gold-flecked eyes burning into him with an intensity that eclipsed any classroom lecture.

Ria waved a hand in front of his face. “Hello? Are you going to say something, or are you just going to stare at me all day?”

“Yeah, right,” Mark stammered, shaking his head as if to clear the fog from his brain. “Sorry. I just...”

He trailed off, searching for the right words, but they seemed to have deserted him. Shit.

Mark took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. “Look, Ria, I’m really sorry,” he started, his voice sincere. “I shouldn’t have just left like that. It was ... I don’t know, I just panicked.”

He stumbled over his words, struggling to articulate the whirlwind of emotions he’d been grappling with. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated, feeling like a broken record. “It’s just ... everything is so confusing...”

Ria remained silent, her expression unreadable.

Mark pressed on, his words tumbling out in a torrent of apologies and explanations. He talked about the shock of their encounter, the confusion about the bond, his fears.

This is going nowhere, he thought, feeling a wave of despair.

Ria seemed distant, guarded. He could sense a wall around her, a barrier he couldn’t penetrate. He kept talking, but even he wasn’t sure what he was saying anymore. The words felt hollow, meaningless.

How do I fix this?

Ria shifted, her fingers flexing on the edge of the desk beside her as she narrowed her eyes, that blank, impenetrable stare now focused with an intensity that took his breath away.

“Are you hurt?”

“Huh?” He blinked, the question taking him by surprise.

Only then did the throbbing ache in his shoulder register. He glanced at his shirt, noticing the spreading bloodstain staining his shirt.

“Ah, shit,” he muttered, wincing. Damn it. I must have messed up the bandage.

She moved closer, her brow furrowed as she examined the wound. “What the hell happened?”

The scent of her perfume— not that overpowering wave that had consumed him in the library, but a gentler, subtler version that was a thousand times more potent now that he was aware of her presence— made his head spin.

Her fingers gently probed the injury, sending a confounding shiver through his body at her nearness.

“It’s nothing, really. Just a minor scuffle, no big deal,” he said with a shrug, immediately regretting it as pain shot through the wound.

“You’re bleeding through your shirt, I’d hardly call that minor,” she said firmly.”You need to take care of that immediately. Take off your shirt.”

“What?” Mark blurted out, caught off guard.

“Take off your shirt,” she repeated, her tone brooking no argument.

“It’s fine,” he insisted, backing away. “Uh, I-I can just get it looked at back home.”

Ria scoffed, her eyes narrowing. “Seriously? Do you think I’m going to let you walk around with an open wound like that? Do you want to get an infection?”

“I’ll be fine...”

“Now,” she demanded, her voice sharp. “Take it off, or I’ll do it for you.”

Mark stared at her, stunned. She was clearly not taking no for an answer.

“Ria, I...”

“Shirt,” she said, her patience clearly at an end. “Now.”

Mark found himself speechless. He wasn’t sure what surprised him more - her sudden concern or the unexpected stubbornness she was displaying. She’s not going to back down, he thought, noting the determined look in her eyes.

He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “Fine,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head.

The classroom felt stifling now. Heat crept up his neck, a blush of shame as he became aware of her gaze on him. He tried not to meet her eyes, but caught her stealing few glances at his chest, those full lips parting— a subtle, unconscious reaction, a flicker of appreciation in her gaze.