He shifted in the wooden chair, the creak loud in the quiet room. A faint, pink flush was visible along the back of his neck, creeping up toward his hairline.

But it wasn’t just the book. It was the memory of a laugh from last week’s hunt, the way Y/n had grinned, covered in dust and triumph, after they’d salted the bones. It was the ghost of a touch on his arm earlier that day in the school hallway.