The rain had started without warning, soft at first, then relentless. It painted the city in silver streaks, turning pavement slick and sending students scattering under whatever cover they could find.
Claire didn't run. She walked through it, letting the cold seep into her skin, numbing the chaos in her head.
Too much had happened in the last few days.
The lingering paranoia from the club. The feeling of being watched at school. Christopher's unexpected presence at the hotel, demanding answers with that unreadable expression. And now, this pull she couldn't shake-this ridiculous, unexplainable need to keep seeing him.
It wasn't about trust.
It wasn't even about liking him.
It was something else.
She exhaled, pushing open the glass doors to the business department, her wet clothes clinging to her skin. The halls were mostly empty, a quiet hum of voices trailing from lecture halls.
Claire didn't slow down. Her feet carried her toward his office like they had a mind of their own.
She didn't knock.
Christopher looked up as she entered, his expression impassive, though something flickered in his eyes when he noticed her state-drenched, breath uneven.
"You should learn to use an umbrella." His tone was calm, but she caught the slight shift in his posture.
Claire shut the door behind her. "I wasn't planning on stopping by."
His lips pressed together. "And yet, here you are."
She swallowed. The warmth of his office was a stark contrast to the cold outside, and now that she was here, standing in front of him, she wasn't sure what she wanted to say.
His sleeves were rolled up, a watch peeking from his wrist. He wasn't looking at her anymore, his attention shifting to a stack of documents, but the way his fingers drummed against the desk told her he was waiting.
She took a step closer.
"Did you tell anyone to watch over me?" Her voice was quieter than she intended.
That made him stop.
His gaze lifted, sharp and assessing.
"No."
Her stomach tightened.
"Why?"
She hesitated. "I keep feeling like I'm being watched."
Christopher's expression didn't change, but she caught the brief pause-the way his jaw tensed just slightly.
"How long?"
Claire exhaled. "Since the club."
Silence.
It stretched between them, thick with something unsaid.
He leaned back in his chair, studying her as if piecing something together. "And you're just telling me now?"
She bristled. "I wasn't aware I owed you updates on my life."
Something flickered in his gaze. Amusement? Frustration?
"You don't." He picked up his pen, twirling it between his fingers. "So, why are you here?"
Claire's fingers curled at her sides. She hated that question. Hated that she didn't have a real answer.
"I don't know," she admitted.
That made him pause again.
A beat passed. Then another.
"You should dry off before you catch a cold," he said finally, standing.
Before she could react, he was already moving.
Claire stiffened as he approached, close enough that she could see the faint shadows under his eyes, the tired edge to his features.
Close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him.
He reached for something behind her-a neatly folded towel resting on a chair. Had he known she was coming? No, that was ridiculous.
Wordlessly, he handed it to her.
Claire hesitated before taking it. "You keep towels in your office?"
A ghost of a smirk. "For occasions like this."
She rolled her eyes but let out a breath of laughter, the tension cracking just slightly.
Christopher didn't step back immediately.
Neither did she.
It was subtle, the way the air shifted-the quiet weight of something lingering between them.
Then, as if catching himself, he turned away, walking back to his desk. "Don't read into it."
Claire swallowed, gripping the towel tighter.
"Too late," she murmured.
And for once, he didn't have a response.
Claire
The warmth of the towel seeped into her fingers, but it did nothing to stop the slow, unsettling awareness settling in her chest.
Christopher had turned his back to her, but his presence still filled the space, heavy and distracting. She should leave. She should say thank you, dry off, and walk out.
But she didn't move.
Instead, she clutched the towel like an anchor, forcing herself to focus on the soft fabric instead of the fact that, for the first time, Christopher Miller had looked at her—not as a professor, not as someone irritated by her existence—but as something else.
She exhaled. "You didn't answer me."
Christopher glanced at her from over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "About what?"
"About why you care."
A beat of silence. Then, he let out a slow breath and turned fully, leaning against his desk, arms crossed. "I never said I did."
Claire's lips parted, a sting of irritation pricking at her. "Then why did you come to the hotel? Why are you asking me questions now?"
His jaw tightened. "I don't like unanswered questions."
"That's not an answer."
He ran a hand over his face, exhaling through his nose. "You were involved in something you shouldn't have been. That concerns me."
Her fingers twitched.
It wasn't a lie. But it wasn't the full truth either.
And it was enough to frustrate her.
Claire stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "Then be honest."
His gaze flickered to her, dark and assessing. "I am."
She shook her head. "No, you're calculated."
Christopher's brow lifted, but he didn't move away. "Is that a problem?"
"Yes." Her heartbeat quickened, but she didn't stop. "Because I don't know if I should trust you or avoid you."
His lips pressed together. For a moment, she thought he'd say something cutting, something to push her away like he always did.
But he didn't.
Instead, something in his posture shifted, just slightly.
And then, in a voice quieter than before, he said, "Maybe you should do both."
Her breath hitched.
For the first time since meeting him, Christopher wasn't guarded. Not completely.
It was only for a second, a sliver of vulnerability peeking through before he masked it again.
But Claire had seen it.
And it did something to her.
She swallowed, aware of how close they were now, the space between them no longer as safe as it should be.
Her voice came out softer than before. "Do you always push people away like this?"
Christopher held her gaze, his eyes dark and unreadable. Then, finally, he murmured, "Only when I don't know what to do with them."
The words sank into her chest, heavier than they should have been.
She should look away. She should step back.
But she didn't.
Instead, her fingers twitched at her side, the pull between them stronger than before, electric and suffocating all at once.
And Christopher—he was watching her like he knew it too.
Like he was trying to decide if stepping closer would be a mistake.
Claire's pulse pounded in her ears.
Then, before either of them could cross that invisible line, a knock sounded at the door.
They both froze.
Christopher blinked, his expression shifting in an instant—walls slamming back into place as he straightened.
Claire forced herself to step back, inhaling sharply.
His voice was smooth and composed when he said, "Come in."
The door opened, and a student poked their head in, glancing between the two of them before clearing their throat. "Professor Miller, the dean wants to see you."
Christopher didn't look at her as he replied, "I'll be there in a minute."
The student nodded, retreating. The door shut again, and silence filled the space.
Claire let out a breath.
Whatever had just happened—it was gone.
Christopher was back to being unreadable.