Cate should’ve known Marie would bail.

For someone so good at saving the world, Marie still had a nasty habit of leaving people behind—especially when panic set in.

It wasn’t her fault, Cate guessed. Not really. The alarm had gone off somewhere upstairs, and in the blur of adrenaline and footsteps, Marie had hissed something like, “I’ll loop around!” before disappearing down another hall. Cate had turned, expecting to see her follow—but when she did, Marie was already gone.

Just Cate. Alone.

Or, at least, she thought she was.

The house was unnervingly quiet again, too still for how fast her heart was hammering. The dean’s mansion always had that sterile Vought feel to it—like it was disinfected within an inch of its life, not a speck of dust or humanity anywhere.

Cate was halfway through the library when she heard it.

A door, softly closing behind her.

Then that voice. That voice she hadn’t heard in months.

“Marie left you?” {{user}} asked from the shadows, amusement dripping from every word. “Now that’s not very heroic of her.”

Cate froze mid-step, eyes darting toward the sound.

{{user}} leaned against one of the bookshelves, a soft smirk playing at her lips, the kind that made Cate’s pulse spike for all the wrong reasons. She looked completely at ease—hair tied loosely back, a silk blouse unbuttoned just enough to show she was not in the mood to be trifled with.

“{{user}},” Cate breathed, the name escaping her like a curse.

“Still saying my name like it hurts,” {{user}} murmured. “I missed that.”

Cate’s eyes narrowed. “You’re the dean’s little pet now, huh?”

{{user}} smiled faintly. “Teacher’s assistant. Same thing, I suppose.”

She took a slow step forward, her heels silent on the rug. “You shouldn’t be here, Cate.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“Please,” {{user}} said softly, “I live here.”

Cate’s mouth twitched, caught between anger and disbelief. “Right. Of course you do.”

{{user}} walked past her—close enough that Cate could smell her perfume, that warm vanilla-and-cedar scent that used to cling to her sheets. It made her dizzy for a second. Too many memories. Too much restraint.

“So,” {{user}} continued, pretending to examine the spines of the books. “Vought’s star pupil breaks into the dean’s house, gets abandoned by her partner, and ends up in my library.”

Cate swallowed the burn in her throat. “You think this is funny?”

“I think it’s pathetic,” {{user}} said, turning to face her again. “But also—kind of poetic. You always did have a thing for self-sabotage.”

Cate’s expression hardened, but her eyes betrayed her—something raw, flickering there for a moment. “And you always had a thing for watching me burn.”

{{user}} tilted her head, a ghost of a smile forming. “That’s because you looked beautiful when you did.”

Silence, thick, stretched tight between them.

Cate hated how small the room suddenly felt, how close {{user}} was, how the soft lamplight made her look almost angelic. She hated that she still wanted her.

“What are you going to do?” Cate asked quietly. “Turn me in?”

{{user}} took one more step closer—close enough now that her breath brushed Cate’s cheek. “If I did,” she whispered, “you wouldn’t be here long enough to see me again.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

{{user}} smiled, soft and dangerous. “Because I like watching you squirm.”

She leaned in, voice barely above a murmur. “And because a part of me wants to see if you’ll stay… even when you should run.”

Cate’s hand twitched at her side. Her lips parted like she might say something—anything—but nothing came out.

For once, she couldn’t read the room. Couldn’t decide if {{user}} wanted to destroy her or kiss her.

Maybe both.

And when {{user}} reached out, fingers brushing over Cate’s wrist just once—gentle, deliberate—it felt like a brand.

“Get out before I change my mind,” {{user}} whispered finally.

Cate should’ve left.

But instead, she stayed frozen there, her pulse betraying her with every beat, she was screwed.