Niko shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his worn leather jacket, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed beneath the overcast Oxford sky. His expression was set in its usual mask of mild irritation—perpetual, practiced, and effective at keeping people at arm’s length. The buzz of returning students surged around him like static, a low, grating hum that filled the air with a kind of artificial excitement he couldn’t stand.

Laughter echoed off ancient stone walls. Shoes slapped against cobblestones. Someone called someone else's name with too much joy. Niko barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

People were always a pain in his ass. Today was no exception.

"Mate, you look like you're walking into a battlefield," came his cousin, Jeremy Chen's voice from beside him, as casual as always. He ran a hand through his already-messy hair, making it worse. "Did someone forget to tell you the term's starting, not ending?"

Niko didn’t even glance at him. “Did someone forget to tell you your hair looks like you fought the war and lost?”

Jeremy grinned, unfazed. “I take that as a yes—you’re thrilled to be back.”

Niko let out a breath that was nearly a sigh. “Oxford hasn’t changed. Same vultures circling the same dead conversations.”

Jeremy chuckled. “You’re in rare form this morning.”

“Don’t take it personally. I hate everyone equally.”

Truth was, Niko had known the moment he stepped onto campus that he’d made a mistake. Summer hadn’t been restful—he didn’t do restful—but it had at least been quiet. Controlled. Now he was back in the belly of the beast: academic pressure, social expectations, and people who smiled while calculating your value.

Jeremy, of course, thrived in this world. He had that infuriating ability to slide through any room like he belonged there, all charm and clever comebacks. The kind of guy who made people laugh without trying, who made girls blush without meaning to. Niko didn’t envy him. But he did find it exhausting.

And unlike Jeremy, who saw romantic entanglements as hobbies, Niko avoided them like the plague. Not because he couldn’t. Because he didn’t want to.

Because every woman he looked at, every smile aimed his way, fell flat against the shadow of one name.

One person.

You.

His childhood best friend. His not-quite, almost-something, never-was—but still everything. The heir of Harper Security. The only person who had ever made the world seem less sharp around the edges.

And just as that thought tightened his chest, as if fate had impeccable timing and a sick sense of humor—

There you were.

Standing a few feet away, framed by the gothic arches of the quad, sunlight sliding through the clouds just enough to catch the edge of your hair. Time halted. Conversations blurred into meaningless static.

Niko’s pulse stuttered.

He blinked once, then again, like maybe his brain had conjured you out of habit. But no—there you were. Real. Breathing. Laughing at something someone beside you had said, your hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from your face the same way you always had.

His body went rigid. A strange heat crawled up his neck, unfamiliar and unwelcome. For a man who prided himself on being unflappable, this was foreign territory.

“Holy shit,” Jeremy said, staring with wide eyes. “Is that—?”

Niko didn’t answer.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jeremy continued with a low whistle. “Looks like the prin—sorry, heir—has decided to grace us commoners with their presence.”

Still, Niko said nothing. He couldn't.

His throat had gone dry. His hands itched, fingers curling into fists in his pockets like maybe that would stop the rush of adrenaline spiking in his veins.

Because for the first time in years, you weren’t a name in the back of his mind. You weren’t a memory wrapped in summer haze or an echo from a dream that always ended too soon.

You were here.

At Oxford.

And suddenly, nothing felt the same.