His skin is incredibly pale, and the first metaphor that comes to mind is that he’s moonlight woven into a human being. It sounds pretentious, but it’s true. His dark hair—on the edge between brown and black—is messy and rumpled as if he spends hours running his hands through it. His eyes are some strange kaleidoscopic mix of green and blue, and they twinkle in the faint sunlight that comes through the dusty library windows.

He shares the same strong jaw as his older brother, and his eyebrows are thicker than mine, which is saying something. Unlike his brother, he’s tall and lanky. He probably has nine inches on me, at the very least, since I’m five-two.

A lollipop stick hangs in the corner of his mouth, and I try not to fixate on it. The last thing I want is for him to think I’m staring at his lips.

As if he can read my thoughts, he reaches up to take the lollipop out, and I see his fingers are covered in rings of all shapes, sizes, and colors.

“Karina Ahmed?”

It’s a miracle I don’t jolt at the sound of my name.

“Alistair Clyde,” I say. “What are you doing here?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Don’t we have a study session?”

I blink at him. “You’re here to study? After you tossed my study guide in the recycling bin?” Immediately, I bite my lip, the weight of dead butterflies heavy in my stomach. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t have the energy to argue with Ace Clyde over a study guide. “Never mind. Forget it.”

One corner of his mouth turns up, but I wouldn’t call it a smile. “No one calls me Alistair.”

“Miss Cannon does,” I say mildly, still reeling from this turn of events.

He tilts his head in consideration. “So she does.”

A moment passes before Ace saunters around the table and sits across from me, sprawling on the chair. “So, Ahmed. You didn’t tell Miss Cannon I bailed yesterday. Why?”

I gape at him. Why does it matter? Why is he here?

“I have no interest in landing you in unnecessary trouble,” I say after a few seconds.

Ace hums and pops his lollipop back into his mouth. I avert my gaze, looking down at the Italian project.

“Karina, I found the—” Nandini says and falters, staring at me and then Ace with wide eyes. “Oh. Hi.”

Ace leans back in his seat and salutes her with two fingers.

Nandini gives me a wide-eyed look. “Are you two...studying?”

I shake my head, opening my mouth to express my own confusion, when Ace places his hand on top of my homework, his rings clacking against the table. “Yes, we are.”

“We are?” I repeat.