Amara wasn't the kind of girl who snooped.
Usually.
But today, something was off.
It wasn't just Professor Tall-Dark-and-Poisonous. Or the way her chest tightened every time she replayed him saying her name.
It was Nico.
He never got rattled.
So why had he looked like he'd seen a ghost?
That evening, she found him in the study. Sterling Manor was quiet — the kind of quiet that only came with old money and secrets no one ever unpacked.
Nico sat behind their father's antique desk, fingers steepled, brows drawn in focus.
She didn't knock. She just walked in, arms folded. "Spill it."
He looked up slowly. "Amara."
"I'm serious. You looked like you were going to kill someone earlier. Why? Because of a professor?" She paused. "No. Because of him. What do you know?"
"I said it's probably a coincidence."
"You don't believe in coincidence. Neither do I."
Nico leaned back in the chair. "There are things I can't tell you."
"Try me."
He studied her face for a long second. A beat too long.
Then he said, "There are people in this world who aren't what they seem. People who've lived through things they shouldn't have."
She blinked. "What, like immortals?"
He didn't laugh.
Didn't even flinch.
Her stomach dropped.
"You're not joking."
"No."
"Are you saying Lucian Vale is one of them?"
He stood up. "You need to stay away from him."
"Oh, now you care about my dating life?"
His eyes sharpened. "I always have."
Silence stretched.
She opened her mouth to say something — to ask why that sounded more like a confession than a warning — but stopped herself.
Instead, she turned and walked out.
But the hairs on her neck? Still standing.
The next day.
It was raining, and Amara hated rain. Her umbrella flipped on the way to class, and the whole building smelled like wet notebooks and stress.
She turned a corner too fast—
And crashed straight into a wall.
Except it wasn't a wall.
It was a chest.
A very broad, warm, very human chest wrapped in black wool.
Lucian.
Of course.
He steadied her with both hands, and she instinctively gripped his coat.
She looked up.
And her breath caught.
His shirt was partially undone — not on purpose. It was damp, stuck to his collar, and beneath it…
Something glowed faintly under the skin above his heart.
A jagged symbol.
It looked burned in.
Ancient. Faintly gold.
Her fingers brushed it before she could stop herself. "What…?"
Lucian jerked back like she'd struck him.
"Don't touch me," he snapped.
She froze.
"I didn't—"
"You don't get to ask questions, Miss Sterling," he growled. "You get to follow instructions. Stay out of my way."
"Too late," she said coldly.
He held her gaze. For a moment, something behind his eyes cracked. Pain? Regret? Longing?
But it vanished.
He turned and walked away without another word.
That night, Amara called Isla.
"I saw something."
On the other end of the phone, Isla's voice was breezy. "Saw what?"
"I don't know. A mark. On him. Like something was branded on his chest. It glowed."
Silence.
Then Isla laughed, too lightly. "Babe. You sure you're not just falling for the mysterious professor fantasy?"
"I'm serious."
"Well, maybe he's got some weird tattoo. Or maybe you were seeing things. Rain can mess with your head."
Amara frowned. Isla always believed in the weird. She'd once dragged Amara to a crystal shop to "balance her aura" after a breakup.
So why was she brushing this off?
"Isla," she said slowly, "have you ever heard of people who… come back? Again and again?"
"Like reincarnation?"
"Yeah."
Isla was quiet for too long.
Then she said, "Honestly? That sounds like a curse, not a gift."