Zarek’s POV
The cafeteria was a hive, buzzing and restless. Forks scraped trays, voices overlapped, laughter cracked sharp across the tables like breaking glass. Normally, I liked the noise—it made it easy to ignore everything else. But today, Zara sat across from me, and she had that look again.
Her tray was barely touched. She dragged the tines of her fork over a slab of chicken as if carving it into lines might solve her problems. Her eyes, though—stormy, restless—were glued on me.
“I think I ruined it with her,” she said finally, low enough that only I could hear.
I leaned back in my chair, chewing lazily on a piece of bread. “With who this time? You’ve got a list longer than the lunch line.”
She flinched, and for a second I almost regretted it. Almost. But then her mouth pressed
