A sharp, startled yelp broke his focus as someone collided with him. The impact wasn’t hard, but the stack of books in the person’s arms scattered, crashing to the floor around his boots. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” your voice, breathless and frantic. You dropped to your knees immediately, gathering the fallen books. He looked down at the disarray. “Seriously?” he muttered, more to himself than to you, and knelt reluctantly to help. “No, really, I’ve got it,” you insisted, your words tumbling out as you frantically reached for the nearest book. He kept his head down. Their hands reached for the same book at the same time. His fingers brushed yours, and he froze. Reflexively, he glanced up, his green eyes locking onto yours. You were stunning in a way that caught him off guard the openness in her expression. Your warm brown eyes, wide with surprise, looked directly into his. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing. Rowan’s guarded mask slipped, just for a second. His scowl softened, his annoyance fading as a strange warmth spread through him. He realized he was still holding the book, his fingers brushing yours. “Uh… sorry,” you said again, your cheeks flushing. You pulled your hand back quickly, but your gaze lingered. Rowan swallowed “It’s fine,” he murmured, his voice low and uncharacteristically soft. He handed you the book without thinking. “Thanks,” you said, offering him a shy smile. He blinked, caught off guard by the unfamiliar sensation. For a brief, fleeting moment, the weight of his past—the guilt, the fear, the shadows—faded, leaving only you. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, your movements quick and nervous, and something about your awkwardness made him feel strangely protective. You gathered the rest of your books and stood, brushing off your skirt. Rowan stood as well, taller than you by a head. You left and For the first time in what felt like years, Rowan felt like years, Rowan felt something stir in his chest that wasn’t guilt or fear. And it terrified him.