Chapter 9 Ethan Lockwood wasn't alone.

She tilted her head slightly. "You took the bus?"

Ethan shrugged, brushing past her toward the entrance. "Felt like it."

Evelyn fell into step beside him, her eyes still lingering on him as if he were some sort of

puzzle she couldn't quite figure out.

For a moment, there was silence between them, thick with unspoken words.

Then—

"You left," she said simply.

Ethan exhaled through his nose. "Yeah."

Evelyn didn't push. Instead, she walked beside him, steady and sure, as if waiting for him to

say something else.

But Ethan didn't.

Because, for once, he didn't know what to say.

Blackwood Academy wasn't just any school—it was the school. A towering monument of

academic excellence, prestige, and an unspoken hierarchy that dictated who mattered and

who didn't. The gothic architecture loomed over the students like an ancient sentinel, its

stone walls embedded with the weight of generations who had walked these halls before.

The glass-paneled windows stretched from floor to ceiling, allowing golden light to spill onto

the polished wooden floors, where the sound of hurried footsteps and idle chatter echoed

through the grand corridors.

Everything in Blackwood was pristine—the hallways, the grand marble staircases, the

expansive courtyards, even the uniforms. Boys wore tailored navy blazers with silver

embroidery, crisp white shirts, and matching ties, while the girls had the option of skirts or

trousers, always immaculately pressed. It was a school for the elite, a place where legacies

were built and futures were secured.

For Ethan Lockwood, though, it was just another prison.

Ethan strolled into the classroom with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man walking to

the gallows. He made a beeline for his usual seat in the back row, slouching into the chair,

arms crossed as if to shield himself from the monotony about to unfold.

Evelyn, on the other hand, took her place at the front, posture straight, attention sharp.

The math teacher, Mr. Holloway, was already scribbling complex equations onto the board,

droning on about something Ethan couldn't be bothered to process. Numbers, formulas,

and theories blurred together into a meaningless jumble. Within minutes, his eyelids grew

heavy, and soon, his head rested against his arm, slipping into a half-conscious state.

Evelyn felt it.

A prickling sensation at the back of her neck, like someone was watching her.

She turned slightly, catching sight of Ethan from the corner of her eye—only to see that he

was fast asleep.

Again.

She sighed. The teacher didn't even bother trying to wake him. At this point, everyone knew that math class and Ethan Lockwood simply weren't meant to coexist.

A wicked idea formed in her mind.

Evelyn closed her eyes for a brief second, tapping into the telepathic link between them.

Gathering every ounce of her internal strength—

"WAKE UP, YOU LAZY ASS!"

The mental scream hit Ethan like a thunderclap.

His body jerked violently as if electrocuted, and he let out a strangled yelp before tumbling

backward in his chair, hitting the floor with an undignified thud.

The class barely reacted. A few half-hearted chuckles rippled through the room, but most

students remained indifferent, either too engrossed in their work or too used to Ethan's

antics to care.

The teacher sighed, rubbing his temples. "Ethan, if you're done with your dramatics,

perhaps you'd like to rejoin the class?"

Groaning, Ethan picked himself up, rubbing his head as he shot a glare toward the front of

the room.

Evelyn, still facing forward, giggled quietly to herself.

Ethan gritted his teeth and reached out telepathically. "What the hell was that for?"

"Now you're awake. You better focus, or I'll be your worst nightmare."

Ethan scoffed. "You already are."

Evelyn didn't respond—at least, not with words. Instead, he felt a playful yet firm tug on his

mind, a warning that she wasn't going to let up.

Ethan exhaled sharply. He could ignore the teacher, he could ignore the class, but he had a

nagging suspicion that ignoring Evelyn Fairchild would be a far greater challenge.

So, for the first time in months, Ethan Lockwood sat up straight and actually paid attention.

The moment the lesson ended, Ethan wasted no time gathering his things, intending to make

a swift exit.

Unfortunately, Evelyn had other plans.

With a bright, almost mischievous smile, she appeared at his side and, before he could react,

looped her arm through his.

"Come on," she said cheerfully, tugging him along.

Ethan frowned, trying to pull away. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Making sure you don't disappear."

"I wasn't gonna disappear."

"You totally were."

Ethan huffed. "Fairchild, I can walk on my own."

"Oh, I know." She tightened her grip. "I just don't trust you to walk to the right place."

Students passing by shot them curious glances, whispers buzzing in the air.

"Is that Ethan Lockwood… walking with someone?"

"And holding her arm?"

"What the hell's going on?"

Ethan felt his ears burn. He could practically hear the rumors forming.

Evelyn, meanwhile, seemed utterly unbothered, dragging him toward their next class as if they had been doing this for years.

Lunchtime at Blackwood was a spectacle. The cafeteria was more like a high-end food court,

with various cuisine stations, sleek wooden tables, and massive windows overlooking the

meticulously groomed gardens. Students formed their usual social clusters—the athletes,

the scholars, the elite heirs and heiresses who ran the school's social ladder.

Ethan had always been an outlier.

He sat alone. Not because he lacked options, but because he preferred it that way. No

pointless small talk, no fake smiles. Just him, his meal, and silence.

But today…

Evelyn plopped down across from him, setting her tray down with a satisfied sigh.

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "You lost or something?"

"Nope," she said, unwrapping her sandwich. "Just decided I'd sit here."

"Why?"

Evelyn met his gaze, her blue eyes unwavering.

Because from now on, you're not going to be alone.

She didn't say it aloud. She didn't need to.

Ethan clicked his tongue, looking away. "Suit yourself."

They ate in silence. But it wasn't awkward. It wasn't forced.

For the first time in a long while, Ethan Lockwood wasn't eating alone.