Chapter 9:
(Mia Anderson POV)
There was something wrong with Evan Carter.
I didn't know when the thought first rooted itself in my mind—only that once it did, it refused to leave.
I noticed it in the quiet moments.
In the pauses between words.
In the way his eyes lingered on nothing, like he was listening to something I couldn't hear.
In how he never flinched when people invaded his space—but somehow made them feel like they were the ones intruding.
Right now, he sat three rows ahead of me, posture relaxed, one arm resting lazily on the desk as he read a book that definitely wasn't part of the syllabus.
The classroom buzzed with low conversation. Chairs scraped. Someone laughed too loudly.
Evan didn't react.
Not even a glance.
Most people would have looked up by now. At least once. But Evan stayed perfectly still, turning pages with unhurried precision, as if time itself had slowed around him.
And I hated that my eyes kept drifting back to him.
"Okay, but seriously," whispered Clara, leaning closer to me. "Have you noticed how… unreal he is?"
I stiffened. "Unreal how?"
She shrugged. "Like he walked out of a movie or something. The quiet type, but not shy. More like… dangerous?"
I let out a small laugh. "You're exaggerating."
Wasn't she?
Clara leaned back in her seat, still watching him. "I don't know. He gives me chills."
I swallowed.
Because I knew exactly what she meant.
The professor started speaking again, something about behavioral analysis, but my focus slipped. My pen hovered uselessly above my notebook as my thoughts spiraled.
Dangerous.
The word echoed in my head.
Evan had never raised his voice. Never acted aggressive. Never even looked annoyed.
And yet…
I remembered the first day we met. The way he'd looked at me—not like most guys did. Not curious. Not impressed.
Measured.
Like I was a variable in an equation.
The memory unsettled me.
I shook my head slightly, forcing myself to refocus. I was overthinking. That was all. He was just… different. Quiet. Mysterious.
Girls liked that.
That didn't mean he was hiding something dark.
Right?
The class ended with a chorus of movement and noise. I packed my things slowly, watching Evan from the corner of my eye as he stood.
He moved with effortless grace—no wasted motion, no hesitation. As if his body already knew exactly where to go before his mind caught up.
Several girls straightened instinctively as he passed.
One even tried to say something.
"Hey—"
Evan didn't stop.
Didn't even slow down.
He simply walked past, not rude, not dismissive—just unreachable.
Something twisted painfully in my chest.
Why did that bother me?
I hurried after him, heart beating faster than it should have.
"Evan!"
He turned immediately.
Too immediately.
"Yes?" His voice was calm, neutral.
I stopped a step away from him, suddenly unsure of what I'd wanted to say.
I searched his face—those clear blue eyes behind thin black frames, sharp but distant. There was no irritation there. No impatience.
Just attention.
Fully on me.
"I—uh," I said, feeling ridiculous. "We're still on for coffee later, right?"
His lips curved faintly. Not a smile. Something quieter.
"Of course."
Relief washed over me, embarrassingly strong.
"Good," I said quickly. "I just wanted to make sure."
He nodded once. "I'll text you."
And just like that, he turned and walked away again.
I stood there longer than necessary, watching his back disappear into the flow of students.
Something about the interaction left me unsettled.
He was polite. Present. Gentle, even.
So why did it feel like I'd just brushed against something sharp?
The café near campus was crowded when I arrived later that evening. Warm lights glowed through wide windows, and the scent of coffee and sugar filled the air.
I spotted Evan instantly.
Of course I did.
He sat alone near the corner, long legs crossed, hands resting loosely around a mug. He wasn't looking at his phone. Wasn't reading.
Just waiting.
For me.
My heart skipped stupidly.
I approached, trying to calm myself.
"Hey," I said.
He looked up, eyes locking onto mine.
"Hey."
That was it.
Just one word.
And yet it made my stomach flip.
I sat across from him, brushing my hair back nervously. "Sorry I'm late. Clara wouldn't stop talking."
"No problem," he said easily. "I wasn't in a rush."
I studied his face as he spoke. There was something almost unreal about how composed he was. Like nothing ever truly rattled him.
"What are you drinking?" he asked.
"Uh—caramel latte."
He nodded and stood. "I'll get it."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to."
He was already walking away.
I watched him move through the crowded café, weaving past people without touching a single one. Not by chance—by awareness.
A shiver ran down my spine.
When he returned, he slid the cup toward me, fingers briefly brushing mine.
The contact was light.
But my breath caught.
His hand was warm.
Steady.
Too steady.
"Thanks," I murmured.
He leaned back in his chair again, gaze resting on me—not intrusive, not intense. Just… there.
"So," he said. "How's your day been?"
I laughed softly. "Eventful. Yours?"
"Quiet."
I raised an eyebrow. "Somehow, I doubt that."
Something flickered in his eyes.
Gone before I could name it.
"Why?" he asked.
I hesitated, then shrugged. "You don't strike me as someone who has quiet days."
He studied me for a moment longer than necessary.
"Appearances can be misleading," he said.
The way he said it—calm, certain—sent another chill through me.
We talked after that. About classes. Professors. Small things.
He listened more than he spoke.
And when he did speak, his words were precise. Measured.
Like he chose them carefully.
At some point, I realized something unsettling.
I was telling him things I didn't usually tell people.
Little frustrations. Thoughts I kept to myself.
He never pushed. Never pried.
He just… made space.
That scared me more than anything else.
As we stood to leave, a sudden crash echoed from outside—a car horn blaring, followed by shouting.
I jumped.
Evan didn't.
Not even a flinch.
His body shifted subtly, positioning himself half a step in front of me without conscious effort.
Protective.
Automatic.
The realization hit me hard.
You don't learn that instinctively.
"I'm sorry," I said, embarrassed. "Guess I'm jumpy."
"It's fine," he replied quietly.
But his eyes had gone distant, scanning the street through the café window with sharp focus.
Like a predator assessing threat.
The shouting outside faded.
Only then did his posture relax.
I stared at him, heart pounding.
"Evan," I said softly. "Can I ask you something?"
He looked back at me. "You just did."
I smiled weakly. "Okay… then can I ask you something serious?"
He waited.
"You ever feel like you're living someone else's life?"
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
For the first time since I'd met him—
He hesitated.
Just a fraction of a second.
But I saw it.
Something closed off behind his eyes.
"Yes," he said.
The answer was immediate. Certain.
And terrifying.
I swallowed. "Does it ever scare you?"
He held my gaze.
"No," he said calmly. "It keeps me alive."
The words settled between us like a weight.
I forced a laugh. "You say that like you're in danger."
His lips curved slightly.
"Aren't we all?"
We walked out together, the night air cool against my skin.
As we reached my dorm, I stopped.
"Evan."
"Yes?"
I searched his face, my chest tight with emotions I didn't understand—attraction, unease, curiosity, fear.
"You're… not what you seem," I said quietly.
He didn't deny it.
Instead, he leaned closer—just enough that only I could hear him.
"Neither are you," he replied.
Then he stepped back, gave me a polite nod, and walked away into the night.
I stood there long after he was gone, heart racing.
For the first time, I wasn't just confused.
I was afraid.
Because whatever Evan Carter really was—
I was already too close.
And some part of me knew—
Once I crossed that invisible line,
there would be no turning back.