Page 28 of Shadowed Whispers

“That’s impressive,” I admit, my curiosity piqued as I glance at Matteo, who just nods, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary.

As we approach the large, imposing doors of the psychology building, Leo steers the conversation back to me. “So no phone at all? How do you manage your social life?”

I snort. “What social life? Between classes and avoiding people like I was in witness protection, it’s pretty quiet, but I like it that way. Safer, less drama.”

Less chance of anyone discovering my secrets.

Leo nods, understanding my need for privacy, while Matteo seems to ponder my words, perhaps recognizing the weight behind them.

“Anyway,” I continue, “today’s just about surviving until lunch. Speaking of, what’s on the menu for this environmental science major’s lunch plan?”

Leo’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Something that doesn’t involve frogs, I promise, but it’s a surprise. Trust me, it’s good.”

I raise a skeptical eyebrow but smile. “I’ll hold you to that then.”

As we reach the classroom, with students milling around and chatter rising all around us, a thrill of the start of the year zings through my veins.

“See you at twelve then,” Leo says as he backs away, the promise of lunch still hanging between us.

“Yeah, see you,” I reply, a hint of anticipation coloring my tone. As I watch him walk away, I can’t help but feel that maybe this day won’t be as tedious as I expected—until Matteo turns to me, his dark eyes boring into mine.

“You lied to him.”

“You see too much,” I retort, intent on heading into the classroom, but I feel Matteo following closely behind. His presence at my back isn’t unwelcome, but it’s something I feel down to my toes. His quiet understanding, like a shadow, is both comforting and unnerving, adding a layer of complexity that is all Matteo.

As we approach the classroom, the corridor is thick with students, bustling and pushing past one another in their rush. Amid this chaos, I feel a sudden jostle. A shoulder digs sharply into mine, nearly knocking me off balance—it’s the second time this has happened, but this shock sends a surge of adrenaline through me. Before I can regain my footing, Matteo reacts. His movements are a blur of controlled aggression, his face a mask of contained fury. The guy who bumped into me is suddenly pinned against the wall, Matteo’s arm pressed menacingly against his throat.

“Matteo!” I exclaim, my heart pounding as memories of past confrontations flash through my mind. The halls echo with the sudden silence that follows the confrontation, as if the entire building has taken a collective breath. Matteo’s eyes flick to mine, a storm of conflict in them. I’ve seen this protective ferocity before—the last time someone threatened me at the bar, Matteo had been there too, only then he watched from across the room.

He doesn’t let go, only stares at me. The busy hall freezes.

I never forget a face. I study faces out of survival, and the one turning bright red is the same guy who bumped into me when I stood outside the tower two weeks ago. Only this time, he’s snarling at Matteo, who has him pinned against the wall. His forearm presses against his throat, cutting off his air.

Matteo just stares back at him with murder in his eyes.

“Man, what the fuck?” Another guy, just as big as Matteo and Leo, places a hand on Matteo’s arm, but I don’t think he can even hear him. “Let him go before you take him out.”

Matteo only grunts.

A part of me is absolutely fascinated. Did he do that because this guy ran into me? Just how far will he take it?

Would he kill him? Snuff out his life just because he jostled me? Why does that send a tingle of warmth fluttering through me? Why do I love the violent look in his eyes?

“Alright, what’s going on out here?” a voice calls out.

Matteo doesn’t move. His eyes continue to bore into the guy, and I can see the moment he begins to lose consciousness.

I want to watch him fall.

“Matteo,” another voice calls out as a man presses on his arm. “Let Joey go,” he says with a hint of amusement. He’s dressed like a professor would be—tweed jacket, jeans, and glasses that perch on the tip of his nose.

Matteo tilts his head to the side, studying the guy named Joey, then with a cruel smile, he pulls back, letting him drop to the floor.

“Save it for the field.” He claps once. “Alright, everyone, get to class. Let’s go.”

I don’t move. I stand there, my eyes glued to Joey who’s unconscious on the floor. No one moves to help him. In fact, they let him lie there. I wonder if he will bother me again or if he will leave me alone.

“No one will hurt you.” Matteo’s voice is so soft I almost don’t hear it.

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