The door clicked shut behind Emma, leaving Kate standing in the soft light of their dorm room, her thoughts tangled like threads in a storm. She reached for the nearest chair and dropped into it, her shoulders falling in a way that belied her usual poise. Emma had gone to make tea, humming to herself in the kitchen corner, but Kate hardly noticed. Her mind was still outside, still standing in that hallway… beside him.
Andrew.
No. That wasn't just Andrew.
She bit her lower lip and stared at the floor, brows furrowed.
He was brighter tonight. Sharper. Quicker with the jokes. There was something magnetic about him like he had walked out of some old story, all confidence and dark eyes and dangerous charm. She'd never seen him like that. Not even close.
Not before he left.
Not before everything shifted.
Kate leaned back and let out a slow breath, watching the ceiling fan spin above. She remembered how his eyes had flicked toward Emma, only for the warmth in them to vanish. That moment that flicker of something cold it unsettled her. Not because it was unfamiliar, but because it was controlled. Too controlled.
Was he angry with Emma?
Jealous?
Or… was it something else entirely?
Her stomach turned. She wasn't used to second-guessing Andrew. He had always been consistent. Thoughtful. A little quiet, yes, but she liked that about him. That steadiness. It was comforting. Predictable. Safe.
But the Andrew who walked her home tonight?
He was none of those things.
And she couldn't lie to herself he made her smile. Really smile.
Kate pressed her fingers to her lips. She could still feel the heat of his voice when he called her princess. It was stupid, ridiculous even, and yet it danced through her veins like static.
Was this what flirting was supposed to feel like?
She groaned and covered her face with her hands.
"This is so not happening," she muttered.
But it was.
The way his eyes locked onto hers like they were the only two people breathing. The way he leaned in just close enough to make her heart stutter. It was as if he had peeled back something inside her something she hadn't even known was there.
She hadn't meant to flirt back. Honestly, she didn't. It just… happened.
It was the way he carried himself.
And the way her name sounded from his lips.
Kate stood suddenly and walked to the window, parting the curtains to glance out at the quiet campus. Somewhere out there, he was walking under those same stars, probably humming some tune or brooding like always or maybe…
Maybe he was still glowing.
She frowned.
That glow. That wasn't metaphorical. His energy tonight his presence it filled the space like light in water. She felt it the second she saw him.
And she wasn't the only one.
Even Emma had noticed, though she'd been more interested in Jason, as always.
Kate sighed.
That name. That mess. She hated seeing Emma hurt, but she also hated how blind she had been. Andrew had always been right there. Always. And now that he wasn't chasing her anymore, now that he walked with that crooked smile and new charm, Emma seemed to notice?
Too late.
Too damn late.
Kate's eyes narrowed slightly.
This was Andrew's time. He had changed. And maybe… maybe she wanted to be part of that change.
Or maybe…
Maybe she was scared of it.
Because this new Andrew?
He wasn't just charming.
He was dangerous.
And something told her, deep in the marrow of her bones, that if she let herself fall, she might never hit the ground.
The night air was cooler in the Whitmore household. Windows half-cracked let the breeze in, fluttering the old curtains with ghost-like softness. It was late, the kind of late where only street lamps dared stay awake.
Andrew though not quite Andrew stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The light flickered once before humming to life, illuminating the sleek mirror above the marble sink. He leaned forward, eyes catching on the golden shimmer that now lived in his irises.
Steam began to rise as he turned the faucet, warm water hissing into the bathtub.
He stood there, staring at his reflection, with his eyes shimmering gold.
But the face looking back had black eyes Andrew's eyes. Calm, centered, disapproving.
"What are you up to, Whitmore?" the reflection asked, voice quiet but firm. "Kate isn't some kind of game."
Whitmore scoffed, running a hand through his hair, brushing away steam like fog off a window. "Oh, but I should be telling you that, Andrew. You barely even see her. It's always Emma, always the past."
Andrew didn't flinch. "Kate and I have nothing going on."
"And you don't think that's the problem?" Whitmore leaned in, his golden eyes narrowing. "You don't think ignoring her pushing her into the friend zone like you always do is going to burn her eventually?"
There was a silence.
The faucet groaned softly, the tub half-full.
Andrew's reflection crossed his arms. "Let's switch."
Whitmore raised a brow. "Now?"
"She'll notice."
Andrew's face went cold. "And who is to blame for that, huh?"
The air between them thickened.
Steam rose higher, fogging the glass edges of the mirror, but not the center. The reflection's black eyes didn't blink. Whitmore stared back with a smirk that thinned with tension.
Then the smirk widened, something wicked in it.
"Well, well," Whitmore purred. "Look who finally grew a backbone."
Andrew didn't speak. He just stood there, letting Whitmore's words slide off him like mist.
Then it happened.
The reflection began to change.
Slowly, unnervingly, the black eyes in the mirror started to shift, gold bleeding into the pupils like fire taking over oil. The smirk on the reflection's face deepened, stretching just slightly too far. At the same time, Whitmore's body outside the mirror went still. His expression blanked, the golden glint in his eyes fading back to shadowy black.
Now Andrew stood in the body.
The grin was on the reflection.
"Don't go getting the wrong idea, Whitmore," Andrew said calmly, turning from the mirror. "Romance should be the least of your problems. You want something worth chasing? Then start thinking about getting your own body."
The smirk in the mirror faltered.
Just a bit.
Andrew turned his back on it completely, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he reached for a towel and tossed it over the edge of the tub. The faucet creaked again as he shut off the water.
The mirror rippled once just a flicker as Whitmore faded away into the glass.
Now there was no reflection at all.
Only fog.
And the soft, endless pour of water filling silence.