Edmund Corcoran was the first face he had seen when he took the room in the apartment, a little ways from Hampden College. A loud impression indeed—one that left its mark, though not in the way one might hope. Edmund was not the best of Hampden’s benefits, but then, neither was he.

The Greek class, the Latin, the study of languages only the dead would speak—it was said to be difficult, and they were right. The professors whispered it like a warning, but he had pressed forward. Being in that class was like a Tibetan sky burial, though here, the dead were books, the languages, and perhaps himself the vulture. Or so he had thought. But books had a way of turning into people.

Autumn loomed, and he found it difficult not to reach for the long coats already. This year was a promise—his freshman year. Even Edmund circled around him like a fly to rot, lingering in ways that were both distasteful and useful. Two already. Then three. And then—

You.

A strange phenomenon, what he called you in his mind and in his notes. You were the sun—or the moon. Or perhaps Mars, Venus—some celestial body that dictated movement, that held its own gravitational pull. And if that were the case, then he was the moon, your moon, revolving around you. Watching, knowing where the darkness would fall, where the light would shine. You were better than Edmund, that much was certain. It was early, an unreasonably early morning. The classroom was still, cool with the last breath of summer. Julian was nowhere in sight, but you were already there, your books open, the windows cracked to let in the crisp air. He stepped inside, claiming his usual spot, one he had dominated from the second day of class.

Edmund was late.

The silence stretched, a calm and quiet thing. He did not spare you a glance.

Then—

“You are here early.”

You looked up, something unreadable in your expression.

“So are you.”

Henry gave a slow nod, fingers tapping lightly on the desk. “The difference, I suspect, is that you had no choice in the matter.”