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“Yep. My friend Chelsea has all my stuff. She knows I’m out of contact.”

“All your stuff?”

Oh fuck. He doesn’t know I was kicked out of housing.

“There was no point being in student housing over the summer if I was going to be here,” I say smoothly.

“Of course.” He stares at me, and from the barely perceptible wince, I can tell what he’s about to say next. “You wrote down a lot on your application…I know you lost your father a couple of years ago. And your grandmother a year before that. Are there any other relatives that you have a relationship with, that you stay in touch with?”

I shake my head. “I have an aunt, but we don’t really talk.”

He writes something else down, then looks up, his forehead wrinkling.

“You lost your mother at a young age too,” he says softly.

“Postpartum depression,” I tell him. I don’t have to tell him the rest.

“You’ve experienced a lot of loss during your life. How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Oh. You seemed older,” he says. “No offense.”

“I’m not offended. It’s just rare to hear.” Everyone usually thinks I’m younger than I am, probably because I have a baby face. Oh, and I’m incredibly immature.

“And how has your relationship with death changed? Do you think about it often? Do you fear it?”

The questions are starting to make me uncomfortable now. I shift in my chair, the leather groaning loudly. “I don’t think about it. I used to fear losing my family, but after my grandmother and my father…there’s no one left for me to lose. I guess that’s the silver lining, isn’t it?”

I give him an awkward smile, and he scribbles something down.

“I fear my own death though,” I go on. “I fear dying before accomplishing all the things I want to accomplish, before I get to experience things and leave my mark on the world. But everyone fears that. Don’t you?”

His eyes soften. “I do. It’s a very human reaction. It comes down to purpose. We want to find our purpose before our death.” A beat. The rain starts to pick up outside, spattering on the window. “Have you found your purpose yet?”

I let out a caustic laugh. “Are you kidding? No.”

Kincaid leans in slightly, a conspiratorial look in his dusky eyes. “I think you’ll find your purpose while you’re here, Syd. I really do.”

I hate how sincere he looks and sounds when I know he’s just playing to my ego and saying things he knows I want to hear.

And yet, I believe him.

“You called me Syd,” I tell him. “Does that mean we’re friends now?”

“If you’re trusting me, then I suppose that’s fair to say.” He glances at the clock on the wall. “Well, I think that’s it for today.”

“It’s only been thirty minutes,” I tell him.

“I like to break you in slowly,” he says, his voice becoming rough for a moment, a smolder in his gaze, and, fuck, I can’t help but think of sex.

“Okay,” I practically squeak.

“Better to quit when things are going well, don’t you think?” he says, looking cool and professional again. “I’ll see you tomorrow in class.”

And just like that, I’m dismissed.

“Are you going to get anything tomorrow when they go to town?” Lauren asks me. “I was thinking of getting a box of wine if you want to split it. I know it’s not very classy, but it should last a long time. Might be nice to have some at dinner.”