Page 27 of Bound to the Dorm Elf
Her grin is quick and bright. “High praise, coming from you.”
We fall into an easy silence for a few minutes, the only sound the faint hum of the mini-fridge and the distant thud of footsteps in the hall. I realize I’m… not uncomfortable. That’s dangerous in its own way. Comfort makes you slow.
But still, I let it happen.
“You know,” she says after a while, “you don’t always have to think like you’re playing twelve moves ahead. Sometimes it’s okay to just… be.”
I glance at her, the words strange in my ears. “Just bewhat?”
“Here. Now. Not in whatever court or battlefield you’re imagining.”
I lean back, letting my head rest against the wall. “Where I come from, those who ‘just be’ usually end up just dead.”
Her smile falters a little, but she doesn’t look away. “Well, you’re not there. You’re here. And here… sometimes it’s okay to laugh at yourself.”
“I don’t laugh at myself,” I say automatically.
She raises a brow. “You did earlier. Sort of.”
That catches me off guard, and I look away, focusing on the box of crackers like they hold the answer to that. Maybe I did. Maybe it didn’t feel like a weakness after all.
“Don’t get used to it,” I tell her.
Her grin comes back. “Too late.”
CHAPTER 10
SKYLAR
The balcony’s narrow — barely enough space for two people to stand without feeling like they’re about to tumble over the railing — but Rovax somehow makes it feel even smaller.
He’s leaning on the metal rail, shoulders squared, gaze fixed on the sprawl of lights beyond the campus. Syracuse doesn’t exactly glitter like a movie skyline, but under the hazy orange glow of the streetlamps and the pale wash of the moon, it has a sort of stubborn, scrappy beauty.
The glass door slides shut behind me, muting the hum of the mini-fridge and the faint laughter of someone down the hall. Out here, it’s just the wind and the low, steady sound of Rovax breathing.
“You’re quiet,” I say, leaning against the frame. “Which, for you, is saying something.”
He doesn’t look at me. “I am… thinking.”
“That sounds dangerous.” I step forward, my socked feet catching on the uneven cement, and stop just close enough to catch the faint heat radiating off him. “Thinking about what?”
His eyes stay on the city. “Whether I should go back.”
I blink. “Go back? You mean… Protheka?”
“Yes.” The word is clipped, but there’s something behind it, a rough edge that doesn’t match his usual ironclad confidence.
I fold my arms, trying to read his profile in the dim light. “I thought that was the whole point — finding a way home.”
“It was.” He shifts his weight, the railing creaking under his hands. “It still might be. But…” He exhales slowly, the sound almost lost to the wind. “My life there was constant rivalry. Bloodshed. Every alliance temporary, every smile sharpened to a blade. There is no… peace.”
My chest tightens.
“And here?” I ask.
He finally glances at me, red eyes catching a sliver of moonlight. “Here is… quieter.”
I huff a short laugh. “You call this quiet? Between Bill and Steve, my softball schedule, and the fact that you nearly gave Johnson an aneurysm, I’d say it’s been a circus.”
