The first thing you notice when you arrive at Ashgrove University is the immensity of the campus.
Red-brick buildings stand behind trees with copper-colored leaves. Students cross the paths, conversations mingle with laughter, and somewhere in the distance, the ball of a group of basketball players hits the ground at regular intervals. A new town, a new university, and a new life.
At least you don't know absolutely anyone.
Marion asked you to meet her in front of the main building. Your best friend is the only reason this place already feels a little less foreign. She promised to show you around campus, introduce you to her friends, and keep you from getting lost on your very first day.
What she omitted to mention is that her brother might also be around.
Colwyn.
You vaguely remember him. A few encounters when you were younger, blurry memories, and a boy whose life you never really tried to know.
That boy is now twenty-three years old, stands one meter ninety-five tall, and has an athletic build that does not go unnoticed. His brown hair is slightly messy, his green eyes wear an expression that is hard to decipher, and his square jaw accentuates a face that seems to rarely smile without reason.
His charisma is almost annoyingly natural.
He does not try to attract attention. He doesn't need to.
"Finally!"
Marion exclaims when she spots you.
She comes to meet you, gives you a radiant smile, and already pulls you into a conversation about classes, buildings, and places where you can have lunch.
"I'm warning you,"
she adds as she walks,
"this university is huge. If you get lost, call me. Even if it's just to find the cafeteria."
A laugh escapes her.
"Oh, and tonight, we could stop by my brother's place. Teague and the others will probably be there. You remember Colwyn a little, right?"
She doesn't have time to say more.
"Marion."
The male voice comes from behind you.
Your friend briefly closes her eyes, as if she already recognizes the tone before even turning around.
Colwyn stands a few meters away, one hand in the pocket of his dark pants, his bag slung over one shoulder. Beside him, Teague watches the scene with an amused expression.
"You were supposed to send me the schedule,"
Colwyn reminds his sister.
"Hello to you too, Colwyn."
"Hey."
His gaze moves from Marion to you.
One second. Two, maybe.
He seems to search his memory, then tilts his head slightly.
"You're Marion's best friend?"
His voice is calm, low, without any particular warmth. He seems neither impressed nor especially interested. You are simply someone he hasn't seen in a long time.
"Colwyn, let me officially introduce you,"
Marion announces.
"She just arrived."
"Yeah. Nice to meet you."
He doesn't elaborate.
Teague, for his part, offers a smile.
"Don't mind him. He's always had the charm of a closed door."
"And you, the charm of a guy who talks too much,"
Colwyn retorts without even looking at him.
Teague lets out a laugh.
"See? A real poet."
Marion shakes her head, used to their exchanges, then checks her phone.
"Okay, I have a class in ten minutes. Colwyn, can you show her where the science building is? I really have to go."
Colwyn slowly turns his head toward his sister.
"Are you kidding me?"
"See you later!"
She walks away before he can protest any further.
A silence settles.
Colwyn turns his attention back to you, then vaguely points to a path on your left.
"The science building is that way. If that's where you need to go."
He adjusts the strap of his bag.
"Otherwise, you can also ask someone who has time to waste."
Teague stifles a laugh behind him.
Colwyn shoots him an annoyed look before turning back to you.
He waits for your answer, making no effort whatsoever to hide his impatience.
The day is only just beginning.
FOUR WEEKS LATER
The first weeks at Ashgrove University have passed.
You've found your bearings on campus, discovered your classrooms, met several of Marion's friends, and started to recognize the familiar faces that fill the quad. You now know the shortcuts between buildings, the times when the cafeteria is packed, and the spots where you can settle in to study quietly.
You've also discovered Marion's circle.
Teague, Colwyn's best friend, has turned out to be far more talkative than the latter. Rhodes, one of the roommates, seems to have a particular talent for flirting with almost everyone. Pike, the fourth member of the house, is capable of turning an ordinary conversation into complete absurdity.
As for Colwyn, he is now one of those faces you cross paths with regularly.
Sometimes at the library, sometimes with Teague, sometimes alongside Odile Ferrand, the provost's daughter, who tells anyone standing still that he is hers. Your exchanges remain unpredictable: a few sarcastic remarks, brief conversations, or occasional disagreements.
Colwyn stays hard to read. He volunteers nothing, keeps clear of the university's moneyed circles, and always looks like he is already late for something. He can sit through a whole conversation as if it were happening to somebody else, then say one flat sentence that ends an argument nobody asked him to touch.
You have no particular reason to think he's hiding something serious from you.
Tonight, you spent several hours at a student party. The music is still ringing in your ears as you leave the last lively streets to head toward your apartment, located off campus.
The night is already well advanced.
The shops have closed, the sidewalks have emptied, and the streetlamps cast yellowish halos on the asphalt. You could call someone, but your apartment isn't far now.
That's when you notice a car driving slowly behind you.
At first, you don't really pay attention.
Then it slows down when you slow down.
The passenger window rolls down.
"Hey, gorgeous! Heading home all alone?"
A greasy laugh escapes from inside the car.
"Come on, get in with us. We can give you a ride."
You keep walking without answering.
"Don't be such a stuck-up snob! We're talking to you."
The car stays alongside you. The three men inside seem to find the situation amusing. One of them leans toward the open window to look you over, while another makes an obscene remark that echoes through the deserted street.
You keep ignoring them.
The engine suddenly roars.
The car accelerates, passes you, and swerves sharply in front of you, blocking your path.
The doors open almost simultaneously.
The three men get out.
One of them smiles as he approaches, while the other two position themselves on either side of the street.
"So, sweetheart? Where are you off to like that?"
You try to keep your distance, but one of them grabs you brutally by the arm.
"Let go of me!"
"Oh, she's got some fight in her, this one."
A second man grabs your shoulder. They pull you toward an adjacent alley, despite your efforts to break free.
You struggle, strike out, try to escape, but there are three of them. One holds you while the others try to drag you deeper into the darkness.
"Stop moving, for fuck's sake!"
Fear, anger, and urgency mingle in this desperate struggle to break free.
Then a sharp sound tears through the night.
The first man is thrown to the ground after receiving a violent blow.
"What the hell is this?!"
The second barely turns around before he too takes a blow that makes him stagger. The third lets go and tries to fight back, but the stranger dodges his attack and strikes him with chilling precision.
He does not swing and hope.
Everything lands where it was aimed, and he reads an attack coming before it turns into one.
A few seconds later, the three men are on the ground.
The stranger slowly straightens up.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark clothes.
He breathes heavily, his knuckles reddened, before turning his head toward you.
His green eyes meet yours.
Colwyn.
For a few seconds, he says nothing. His gaze passes over the men on the ground, then returns to you. His jaw is clenched and his shoulders remain tense, as if the violence of the confrontation hasn't yet dissipated.
"Fuck..."
He approaches, then stops at a reasonable distance.
"Are you hurt?"
His voice is low, harsher than usual. He casts one last glance at the three men, checking that none of them gets up.
One of them groans on the ground.
Colwyn gives him an icy look.
"Move again and I swear I'll—"
He stops, clenches his jaw, then turns back to you.
"What the hell were you doing out alone at this hour?"
He seems furious. But it's hard to tell whether that anger is directed at you, at the men on the ground, or at something much deeper.
He runs a hand through his brown hair, visibly annoyed, then lowers his eyes to his damaged knuckles.
As if he had only just noticed their condition.
When he raises his head, his green gaze fixes on you again.
"Hey. Look at me."
His tone is firm, but he doesn't touch you.
"Can you walk? Are you hurting anywhere?"
Behind him, the three men are starting to come back to their senses. Colwyn turns around immediately, his expression hardening.
"Stay on the ground."
This time, his voice leaves no room for discussion.
He takes out his phone, without ceasing to watch the men, then turns his attention back to you.
"We're not staying here."
He pauses.
"Do you want me to call someone, or would you rather I walk you home?"
He waits for your answer.
The street is still deserted. The music from the party seems to belong to another life. And in front of you stands your best friend's brother, the one you thought you merely knew from a distance.
Except that you just saw him take down three men with an ease that is anything but reassuring.
And Colwyn shows no intention whatsoever of explaining how he is capable of it.