His voice floated from the living room, lazy and mocking.
I froze. He was sprawled across the couch, one arm slung over the back, the other holding a glass of something amber. The light from the TV flickered across his face, making his smirk look sharper than usual.
“Didn’t think you’d be home this late,” he said.
“I was at the library.” My voice came out small and breathless.
He turned down the music. “Studying, huh?” He let the word stretch, like he didn’t believe me. “What’s the point? You don't exactly look like the academic type.”
My fingers twitched around my bag strap. “Can I just go to my room?”
He didn’t answer right away. His gaze traveled over me, calm and calculating. The silence stretched until it felt like a weight pressing against my chest.
“Sure,” he said finally, st
