CHAPTER 6: DON'T TOUCH ME
HARPER'S POV
I stay in the bathroom longer than I should.
Way longer.
My skin's gone all wrinkly from the water, and I'm starting to feel cold, but I just… I can't step out yet. My heart's been going a mile a minute ever since I heard the door open twice. And now I know who's out there. I saw the back of his head. I'd recognize that stupid perfect hair anywhere.
Asher.
Of course, it had to be him.
Because why not, right? Why not make things worse?
I swear the universe has a sick sense of humor.
I dry off fast, keeping my towel tight like it's armor or something, and yank on my clothes—the ones that still smell mostly neutral. A fresh shirt. Pants that aren't soaked in panic. I pull on my hoodie with the hood up, even though it's warm, and I stare at myself in the mirror.
I look like me again.
No.
I look like Hunter.
My edges were sharper, my chin held higher, and my jaw clenched the way I practiced. The potion's finally working again. The scent is back to being muted. Faint. Blurred.
"Thank the goddess," I mutter as I take a breath.
And then another.
Then I open the door.
The air feels thick the second I step into the room. It's quiet. Uncomfortably quiet. Asher's sitting on his bed, back against the headboard, arms crossed. His eyes flick to me for a second, then away like I'm something he stepped in and regrets tracking inside.
Okay. That's new.
He was weird earlier during training, sure, but now? This is something else.
He looks… pissed. Not like yelling pissed. The cold kind. The kind that simmers just under the skin.
I pretend not to notice.
Just keep moving. That's the plan.
I walk across the room toward my side, avoiding the corner where my cloak is buried deep under all my junk. I won't risk pulling it out, not while he's here. Not when I already feel like I'm walking through a minefield.
He doesn't say anything. Just watches me.
Or more like… not watches. His eyes dart away every time I move like it physically hurts him to look at me too long.
I sit on my bed, keeping my back to him, pretending to fiddle with my laces.
Breathe in. Out. In again.
I can't slip up. Not now. Not again.
I reach under my bed for my boots, fingers brushing against the leather just as he moves just a little, shifting position, but I lose focus for a second and my arm bumps against his leg.
Barely. A brush.
But it's like I set him on fire.
He jerks away as I hit him. Stands up so fast his pillow falls off the bed.
"Don't touch me."
His voice is sharp. Too loud for this small room. Cold enough to slap.
I freeze. My hand is still halfway in my boot.
I don't look up.
"Sorry," I mutter. "Didn't mean to."
He doesn't answer.
Just storms out.
The door slams behind him.
I sit there for a second, staring at my hands. My fingers are shaking, and I don't know if it's fear or anger or just… all of it mixed together. My chest feels too tight.
Why is he acting like this?
Did he feel something?
Did he smell something?
No. No, the potion's holding. I triple-checked. There's nothing to notice. Nothing to feel. Not for him. The bond isn't supposed to pull unless my scent's exposed and I covered it up again. I'm sure of it.
So what is his problem?
I shove the boot on, tie it too tight, and lie back on my bed. I stare at the ceiling for a long time.
This was supposed to be easy. Blend in. Train. Find out what they know. Take them down from the inside.
Not… whatever this is.
Not him.
Combat drills the next day are brutal.
The instructor has us running basic forms. Paired blocking. Partnered sparring. Stuff I can do in my sleep.
But I'm off. I can feel it. I'm tired. I didn't sleep at all last night. My body's stiff from tensing up too long in that bathroom. I'm slower than usual, my footwork is messy.
Asher notices.
Of course, he does.
We're in the middle of a sparring rotation, me paired with some recruit from the east wing, when I hear his voice.
"Hunter."
I turn. Everyone turns.
He's standing near the training mat, arms folded, that same tight frown on his face.
"Switch partners," he says. "You're with me."
A few of the other recruits exchange looks. One even lets out a low whistle.
"Good luck," another whispers as he passes by me.
I swallow.
This isn't good but I can't say no.
So I step up.
We face each other. I drop into a stance. He doesn't even bother with the formal bow.
"Ready?" he asks.
I nod.
He lunges before I can even blink.
I barely block. My arms ring with the impact. He's fast. Way faster than yesterday. He's not holding back.
"Too slow," he snaps.
I grit my teeth and try again. He ducks. Sweeps. I hit the mat hard.
Pain explodes in my shoulder.
The other recruits laugh.
I scramble to my feet.
"Again."
He doesn't wait. Comes at me hard. I deflect one hit. Miss the second. He knocks the wind out of me with a sharp jab to my ribs.
"Sloppy," he barks.
"What's your problem?" I mutter under my breath, low enough no one hears.
He doesn't answer. Just grabs my arm, flips me over, and slams me again.
Gasps.
I lie there, staring up at the sky, spots dancing in my vision.
"That's enough dude," the instructor says. "Are you trying to break him or something?"
Asher backs off. Doesn't say a word. Just turns and walks away.
I sit up slowly, breathing hard, my chest burning.
Everyone's still staring.
Great.
Just what I needed. More attention.
That night, I waited until the lights were out before slipping out of the room. Asher's still not back. Good.
I pull on a hoodie, keeping the hood low, and take the back path through the forest. It's darker here, quieter. I move fast, keeping to the shadows, stepping over roots and ducking low branches like I've done a thousand times.
When I reach the spot, an old storage shed behind the mess hall, I tap the wooden beam three times.
A few seconds pass.
Then a whisper.
"Harper?"
"It's me," I say.
The door creaks open.
Mira is standing there, brows pulled tight, eyes sharp.
"Harper," she says, slipping back into real names the second we're alone. "You okay?"
"No," I whisper. "The potion, it wore off. Not completely. But enough. He felt something. I know he did. My smell."
She swears under her breath.
"What do you want to do?"
"Get the witch," I say. "Now."
"But… she doesn't leave their place—"
"She will if you tell her it's failing. She either comes here or I go see her. And she will not like it if I do."
She hesitates. "What if it fails again?"
"Then I'm dead," I say. "And we all go down with me."
That sobers her.
She nods. "I'll send the signal."
"Tonight," I say. "No delays. The sooner she gets here the better."
She nods again.
Then she's gone.
I wait until I'm sure the coast is clear, then slip back into the trees. My boots are quiet. My breaths were even quieter.
When I finally make it back to the barracks, it's after midnight. The door creaks when I open it.
Asher's already inside, lying on his bed, one arm flung over his eyes like before.
I pause.
He doesn't move.
Good.
I shut the door behind me and tiptoe to my bed.
The room smells faintly of pine and something else.
But not me.
That's all that matters.
I lie down, eyes open, heart still racing.
I survived today.
But if I'm not more careful?
Tomorrow might be the day I don't.