CHAPTER 194
**ZION**
The second she opened the door and I saw what she was holding in her hand, I almost laughed. Almost.
A pink hairbrush.
Raised like a weapon. Shaking like hell.
But her eyes were deadly serious, wide and wild with fear.
Her knuckles were white around the handle, like she was ready to swing it straight through someone's skull. And for a second, before she registered it was me, she looked like she'd actually do it.
Winter.
Scared.
Of something.
Like she'd seen a ghost and had every reason to believe it was real.
Her arm finally drops, the brush clattering onto the couch near the door like it's just as embarrassed as she is.
I can't help it- I raise an eyebrow, trying to keep my face straight.
But come on.
"What was the plan? Hit me with the detangling end until I surrendered? Or were you going for a dramatic styling session?"
"Shut up."
Then quickly, she blurted, “It was the only thing near me.”
I didn’t respond.
That answer just raised more questions than it solved.
Why would she need something near her in the first place?
A defence tool?
A weapon?
What exactly were you expecting to fight off, Snowflake?
I looked at the brush again—innocent, ordinary. But the way she’d been holding it, like it was her last line of defence, didn’t sit right.
None of this did.
Something had her on edge.
And I wasn’t buying for a second that it was nothing.
Who were you getting ready for?
The question burns on my tongue, but I don't let it out.
Not yet.
Instead, I laugh softly.
Not because it's funny, but because it seems like the only thing that won't set her off. She's standing there like a cornered animal, and I can see it in how her body hums with tension, vulnerable, bristling, defensive. Scared.
And even as that faint smirk plays on my lips, my eyes stay locked on her face.
Something isn't right.
Her eyes-they keep flicking past me, to the door, to the shadows beyond the hallway, to the phone lying screen-down on her nightstand like it holds something she doesn't want anyone to see.
She's doing that thing where she acts normal-cool, unbothered, but her hands betray her.
She's fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, her breathing just a fraction too fast. Her pupils are dilated. Her shoulders were stiff.
She looked pale in class earlier too—no, worse than pale.
Like something rattled her.
Like someone had reached inside her chest and squeezed until there was no air left.
I remember the exact moment it happened.
One second she was fine, scribbling in her notebook, pretending not to be annoyed that I kept nudging her with my pen. And then—her phone lit up. A message.
She read it.
And everything changed.
Her shoulders stiffened. Her face went blank. Her hand holding the pen trembled just enough for me to notice.
She'd stared at her phone like it had slapped her. Pale. Stiff. Like her brain had gone somewhere else entirely.
And when I leaned over to ask if she was okay, she barely heard me.
Now here she was again, same frozen expression. Only this time, she was trying to fake normal.
I knew something was wrong then—but now, standing here watching her plaster on that too-bright smile and act like everything’s okay?
Now I know it wasn’t nothing.
Something about that message—who it was from, what it said—got under her skin.
Deep.
I want to ask her. I almost do.
But I don’t push.
Not yet.
But I file it all away—every glance, every lie wrapped in a smile, every quiet breath that sounds more like a held-in scream.
Something's going on.
And I’m not letting it go.
I take a quiet step closer, not wanting to spook her. My voice drops naturally, more out of instinct than decision.
"I didn't see you after class today," I say carefully, watching her for a flinch.
"And when I got home, Arthur said you came straight up and never left. He thought maybe you were sick or something. But... I don't know. Something felt off. So I came to check on you."
And there it is.
That flicker in her expression. Like she's been caught in a lie, even if it's a small one.
A crease at the corner of her mouth, a momentary hesitation in her gaze.
But I always notice.
Especially when it comes to her.
My brows tighten as I glance down at the brush lying near the door.
Then back to her face.
To the mask she's wearing.
To the fear she's trying to bury.
“Why are you acting like someone’s out to get you?”
She freezes for half a second—barely noticeable to anyone else, but I catch it.
Then she lets out a breath and gives me this too-light laugh, brushing a hand through her hair like she’s swatting away the question.
“No... why would you think that?” she says casually.
Yep! Something's wrong.
She's trying to act like everything's fine, like this is nothing.
But it's not nothing.
She's hiding something.
And whatever it is-it's scaring her.
Which means now, it's scaring me too.
She turned her back to me and walked toward the bed—too fast, too deliberate. Like she was escaping, not just moving.
I watched her fingers reach for her phone on the mattress. There was hesitation in the way she picked it up, like.
Her thumb hovered over the screen a beat too long before she finally powered it off.
Just off. Done. Silenced.
Then she placed it down—face down—on the nightstand.
Whatever was on that screen—whatever it was from—had her rattled.
She was trying to hide it.
From me.
She sat cross-legged on her bed, pulled her blanket around her shoulders like armour. She glanced up at me, her face smoothing out into something casual. Too casual.
"I couldn't sleep," she said with a shrug, like it was no big deal.
"So, if you're not too busy, we can talk for a while or something."
Like she hadn't just nearly given me a concussion with a hairbrush.
I nodded and moved toward the chair near her desk but didn't sit yet. I glanced at the nightstand again.
Her phone sat there like a ticking bomb.
"You okay?" I asked anyway. Simple. Soft.
"Yeah," she said. Too fast. Her tone was too light.
"I'm just tired. You know how my brain gets when I don't sleep."
Hmmm.
She was tired, sure-but this wasn't about lack of sleep.
I dropped into the chair, leaning forward, elbows on my knees. I didn't push. I knew better.
Winter didn't open up because someone begged her to. She opened up when she couldn't hold it in anymore.
Still.
I kept my voice calm. Kept my eyes steady on hers.
“You sure nothing’s going on?”
“Zion, why do you keep saying the same thing? I’m fine.”
A few seconds later...
She started talking about something random- a movie we never finished watching.
She was animated in that way she gets when she's trying too hard to appear fine. Using her hands.
Talking fast.
Her eyes darted to the side table now and then when she thought I wouldn't notice.
I leaned back a little in the chair and let her ramble. She needed the noise, the distraction.
That was fine.
I could give her that. I'd sit there all damn night if it kept her from spiraling into whatever hell her mind had conjured up.
Still, the image of her earlier holding that brush like it was the only thing standing between her and something dangerous kept flashing in my head.
And I couldn't stop wondering: what the hell had she seen on that screen?
Whatever it was, it wasn't small.
And whoever sent it...
They were gonna regret ever messing with her.
Eventually, her voice quieted.
The blanket slipped slightly from her shoulders, and she pulled it back up, tucking it tight around herself.
She glanced at me, hesitant.
“Let’s watch a movie,” she said, her voice light, a little too light.
“If you want, that is.”
“Sounds great,” I said without missing a beat.
Some of the weight in her eyes lifted. Not gone, but pushed back.
“I’ll grab something from Dad’s collection,” she added, already standing.
“Meet you in the home theatre?”
I nodded.
She slipped out the door with the blanket still wrapped around her, like armour she didn’t trust herself to take off just yet.
But I stayed right where I was.
I listened to her footsteps fade down the hallway, then silence. My gaze shifted—slowly, inevitably—toward the phone she’d left behind.
Face down. Just like before.
Like she didn’t want to see what was on it.
Like she didn’t want me to see it either.
And that was the part that stuck with me. That made something cold settle beneath my ribs.
I reached for it.
Paused.
Then picked it up.
The screen was black, but it felt heavy in my hand—like it knew things she wasn’t ready to say out loud.
Let’s see what’s got you so rattled, Snowflake.
I pressed the power button and watched the screen come to life.
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