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Officer Howahkan shakes his head, sitting back in his seat. “No, Ms. Bowers, we were merely entertaining another hypothetical.”

“Right,” I say warily.

“Well, Ms. Bowers, that’s all we need for now. Can we keep this planner of yours?” he asks, tapping his fingers on it.

I open my mouth to agree but then hesitate. “I need that for class.” To be honest, I need it foreverything. I have my life in there, and judging by how many memories I recently lost, I’m going to rely on it more than ever. “I can stay longer if you want to make photocopies of it or take pictures of my entries.”

Officer Howahkan nods. “We’ll do that. You said there were more of these?” he asks.

I nod.

“Would you be open to letting us see those if the need arises?”

If I become a major suspect, he means.

I chew my lower lip. “That’s fine.” I mean, sharing my notebooks is no small thing—the thought of officers handling them and reading them and possibly keeping them as evidence has my anxiety spiking, but I also don’t want to seem guilty.

Because I’m not. I’d know if I were.

I think.

CHAPTER32

I’m sittingat my desk, the two paragraphs I’ve managed to write so far on the magical differences between dried lavender versus fresh all but forgotten as I stare at my bank account.

Overdrawn.

My insides curdle at my bank account details.

Empress…

I sense Memnon a second later. I don’t know how, but I feel him moving up the stairs of my house like this place is his own, and I swear the witches in the house go quiet in his wake. Guests aren’t supposed to freely come and go in this residence hall—but he’s not exactly the sort of guy who gives a fuck about the rules.

Less than a minute later, the door opens and Memnon strides in. I try not to notice how damn enticing he looks in a simple T-shirt and jeans. But on his staggering frame, with all his olive-toned skin and elaborate tattoos peeking out, he makes the simple attire look sexy and edgy.

“Knocking would be nice,” I say, gathering my legs up on my chair.

Assuming he knows what a knock is. I bet Memnon predates the invention of manners.

“Perhaps it would be if we didn’t already have a bond,” he says. “It’s better than a knock.”

“We’re not bonded,” I say.

Memnon idly kicks my door closed with one of his boots. “We’re in denial again, I see.”

“It’s only denial if it’s true,” I say, my gaze flicking over him. “And it’s not.”

He lifts an eyebrow as he crosses the room.

“You know, stalking is a crime,” I say.

“You think that would deter me? I have already hunted you once before,” he says, a lock of his dark hair slipping over one eye. He looks to be the very definition of a villain.

I shiver.

“What happened?” I ask. “When you hunted me?”

He looks pleased that I asked.