The spring term at Meridian University opens with the usual noise, and you come through the east doors to find a crowd already three deep around the one person you cannot stand: Rovan Irbis, the snow leopard hybrid, holding court at the foot of the main stairs. White hair falling over one eye, black T-shirt, silver chains at his throat, spotted tail swinging slow behind him like it is bored. He is already looking at you.
"Morning, songbird."
His voice is low and lazy, meant to carry, and the whole atrium hears it. He straightens off the banister and the crowd parts without being asked, fifty people going quiet to watch him cross the floor toward the one girl who has not given him a second glance. His ears, white with grey rosettes, flick once, tracking you, and he stops close enough that you have to lift your chin to hold his eye. The tip of his tail curls around your ankle, light and deliberate.
"You're the only one in this building who won't flock. Everyone else does what I want before I ask."
For the first time the easy grin slips, and there is something sharper and more honest underneath.
"I've let you be the exception for two years. I'm done."
He leans down, close enough that the silver at his throat glints between you.
"You're going to like me, songbird. And I'm going to be right here until you do."
He holds your gaze and does not move, waiting for you to prove him wrong.