The classroom lights buzzed overhead as Callum sat at his desk, half-heartedly grading papers, the clock ticking louder than usual.
It had been three days since that.
Three days since he'd helped Lara through her bath, barely keeping his sanity intact.
Three days since he'd driven home afterward, hands clenched on the steering wheel, ashamed of how badly he wanted her, how close he'd come to losing control even with her bruises.
And now—even after two more school days had passed—the anxiety hadn't faded.
Lara hadn't come back to school.
She'd taken two more days of absence.
The official record said "family emergency," but he knew the truth.
Her classmates had started to notice. They whispered. They asked questions.
"Why's Lara gone again, Mr. Hayes?"
He'd offered the same quiet excuse every time. "Family matters. She'll be back soon."
He'd asked Nate, the only other witness, to keep what happened a secret for now.
"It's still under investigation," Callum had explained quietly. "Please. For her sake."
And Nate had nodded seriously. A good kid. Trustworthy.
Still, none of that settled the pounding worry in Callum's chest.
He sat in his small apartment now, trying to focus on creating activities for next week's lessons, tapping his pen against the table, restless.
Is she okay?
Is she healing?
Does she have anyone else checking on her?
Pity gnawed at him. Anger too. At her parents. At the system. At himself for not doing more.
He was halfway through drafting a writing prompt when his phone lit up, vibrating against the wood.
Lara.
His heart slammed into his ribs.
He fumbled the phone into his hand, answering so fast he nearly dropped it.
"Lara?"
Her voice was a shivering whisper on the other end. "Mr. Hayes… I think… I think someone's trying to get into my apartment."
Every muscle in Callum's body locked.
"I'm coming," he said immediately. "Stay on the phone with me. Don't hang up."
He was already grabbing his keys, slamming out of his apartment, heart pounding in his ears.
The drive was a blur of red lights and screeching tires.
When he skidded into her street, he saw nothing unusual—no suspicious cars, no lurking figures.
Still, he parked fast and ran up the narrow stairs to her unit.
"Lara!" he called, pounding on the door. "It's me. Open up."
For a terrifying second, nothing.
Then the lock clicked.
The door creaked open a crack.
Lara stood there, trembling, eyes wide and terrified. She wore a thin, silky sleepwear—soft pink shorts and a matching camisole—the neckline dipping low enough to make Callum's mouth go dry before he forced his gaze up.
She clutched the door like it was the only thing keeping her standing.
"I… I heard noises," she whispered. "I thought…"
Callum stepped inside without thinking, immediately crowding her into the small entryway, his hand cupping her elbow.
"It's okay," he said, voice low and steady. "I'm here. No one's getting to you."
She nodded shakily, but didn't let go of his shirt when he closed the door behind them.
Didn't step away from him either.
Callum fought for control again.
Because standing this close, with her warmth soaking into his chest, with her looking so small and soft and scared—
It was almost too much.
He cleared his throat, gently guiding her farther inside. They sat down on the worn couch, the air between them thick.
"Tell me what happened," Callum said quietly.
Lara clutched a pillow against her chest. "The handle was moving," she whispered. "Like someone was trying to get in."
He looked around the apartment again, hyper-alert, but everything was silent.
"It's okay now," he reassured her, his voice low, steady. "You're safe."
They sat for a moment longer, the tension slowly easing. Callum tried to shift the mood.
"You've missed a few lessons," he said gently. "Your classmates keep asking when you're coming back."
Lara gave a tiny smile. "They noticed?"
"They did."
Slowly, she set the pillow aside and tugged at her camisole strap, exposing the smooth skin of her shoulder. "Look," she said softly. "No more bruises."
Callum blinked, taken aback. He hadn't expected them to heal so quickly.
"That's... fast," he murmured, leaning closer despite himself.
"My dad brought me some medicine," she explained. "I applied it."
Suspicion gnawed at his gut. Medicine or not, bruises that severe shouldn't have disappeared so fast. He'd seen them.
Still, he forced a smile. "Must be some miracle medicine," he said, trying to joke.
He reached out, almost without thinking, running his fingers gently along the unmarked skin of her arm.
Soft. Warm. Perfect.
Realization slammed into him—what he was doing, how close he was.
He jerked his hand back and stood up abruptly. "I should go."
But before he could step away, Lara's voice stopped him.
"What if they come back? I'm scared," she whispered, her voice cracking just slightly.
He nearly asked if she wanted to come to his apartment—but the thought of her things already hidden there, the clothes, the tiny signs of her presence, slammed into his brain and stopped him cold.
Instead, he cleared his throat and said, "Do you want me to cook you some dinner?"
Lara blinked up at him, vulnerable and hopeful. "Yes, please."
Relieved to have something to focus on, Callum moved toward the small kitchen, rummaging through her sparse cabinets. She stayed on the couch, small and silent, just watching him.
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. There was something about the way she sat—so innocent, so still—but tonight, it felt different.
It almost felt dangerous.
Like she was studying him, sizing him up.
He shook his head, pushing the thought away.
"Looks like I've got enough to make some pasta," he said, forcing a casual tone. "You like that?"
She nodded, the tiniest smile breaking across her face.
Callum smiled back, a little tighter, and turned back to the stove, determined to keep both their minds off everything else.