Shadowland (The Immortals #3)

All week I avoided Sabine. I didn’t think it was possible, but between school, my new job, and Miles’s final Hairspray performance, I was pretty much scot-free until the moment I’m about to toss my breakfast down the sink.

“So.” She smiles, sidling up beside me, dressed in workout clothes and glistening with the glow of good health and sweat. “Don’t we have something to talk about? A conversation you’ve worked hard to delay?”

I reach for my glass and shrug, unsure what to say.

“How’s your new job? Everything okay?”

I nod, easy, noncommittal, as though I’m far too interested in chugging this juice to respond.

“Because I can probably still squeeze you in on that internship if you’d like—”

I shake my head and finish the remains, including the pulp. Rinsing my cup and placing it into the dishwasher as I say, “Not necessary.” Catching the expression on her face and adding, “Really. It’s all good.”

She studies me, gaze intense, really taking me in. “Ever, why didn’t you mention that Paul was your teacher?”

I freeze, but only for a moment before I turn my attention to a bowl of cereal I have no interest in eating. Grabbing a spoon and swirling the contents around and around as I say, “Because Paul with the cool shoes and designer jeans isn’t my teacher. Mr. Munoz with the dork glasses and pressed khakis is.” I lift the spoon to my mouth, carefully avoiding her gaze.

“I just can’t believe you didn’t say anything.” She shakes her head and frowns.

I shrug, pretending I don’t want to speak with my mouth full, when the truth is, I don’t want to speak.

“Does it bother you? That I’m dating your teacher?” She squints, sliding the towel off her neck and pressing it to her forehead.

I stir the cereal around and around, knowing there’s no way I can eat any more, not after she’s started all this. “As long as you don’t talk about me.” I study her closely, reading her aura, her body language, noting the way she just shifted uncomfortably, and stopping just short of peering into her head. “I mean, you don’t talk about me, right?” I add, gaze fixed on hers.

But she just laughs, averting her eyes as a flush blooms on her cheeks. “Turns out we’ve got much more in common than that.”

“Yeah? Like what?” I mash my spoon against my cereal, displacing my frustration onto my Froot Loops and turning them into a soggy, rainbow-colored mess. Wondering if I should break the news to her now or save it for later. The startling revelation that this love match won’t last—not according to the vision I saw of her paired up with some cute, nameless guy who works in her building—

“Well, for starters we’re both fascinated by the Italian Renaissance—”

I look at her, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. Having never heard her mention that and I’ve lived with her for nearly a year.

“We both love Italian food—”

Oh yeah, definitely soul mates. The only two people who actually like pizza and pasta and stuff drenched with red sauce and cheese…

“And as of Friday, he’ll be spending quite a bit of time in my building!”

I stop. Stop everything. Including breathing and blinking, so I can stand there and gape.

“He’s working as an expert witness on a case that—”

Her lips keep moving, hands gesturing, but I stopped listening a few sentences back. Her words drowned by the sound of my own crashing heart, accompanied by the silent scream that crowds everything out.

No!

It can’t be.

Can’t. Be.

Can it?

Remembering the vision that night in the restaurant—Sabine getting together with a cute guy who works in her building—a guy, who, without the glasses I didn’t even recognize as Munoz! Knowing immediately what this really means—this is it—her destiny—Munoz is The One!

“You okay?” Her hand reaches for mine as concern clouds her face.

But I pull away quickly, avoiding her touch. Swallowing hard as I paste a smile onto my face, knowing she deserves to be happy—heck, even he deserves to be happy. But still—why do they have to be happy together? Seriously, out of all the men she could date, why does it have to be my teacher, the one who knows my secret?

I look at her, forcing a nod as I drop my bowl in the sink, fleeing for the door as I say, “Yeah—it’s all good, seriously. I just—I don’t want to be late.”