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Damen took me to the university library coffee shop, where he ushered me to the counter and we placed our orders. There was a reflective silence as we stood, waiting, and it wasn’t until the male barista hovered near the edge of the counter that Damen’s wandering attention returned to the present.

“She’s fine,” Damen said before I could understand what the other man asked. The employee scowled and turned away.

“What’s wrong?” I asked Damen. What could be the matter now? This was a joyous moment, for we were about to begin our daily caffeine consumption.

“Nothing,” Damen replied, reaching between us. He’d brushed the back of his hand against mine as the barista returned and slid a paper cup across the counter.

However, I hardly noticed him. He was talking to me, but since I’d missed my chance to study his face—as I was enamored by Damen’s presence instead—I didn’t understand.

I hated it when this happened.

“Thanks,” I muttered, reaching for my beverage as my cheeks heated. I hoped it hadn’t been anything important—like they’d switched my coffee to decaf. However, as the man turned away, returning to work, Damen grabbed my drink.

“I’ll get it,” he told me as he frowned at the cup.

I pulled my hand back. “Okay.”

Was he craving a latte instead of his multi-espresso calamity? Or perhaps there was a fae poisoning epidemic of which I remained unaware.

He placed our cups in a cardboard carrying tray and I followed as we left the library and moved across campus until we arrived at Dr. Stephens’s office.

I paused as Damen pushed his way inside without knocking and hesitated until I saw that the room was otherwise empty.

“Come in and close the door,” Damen told me and set the carrier on the desk. He handed me my drink with a sour expression, and I looked at the cup to see what’d gotten his attention.

My tension faded as I noted the printed name and number that was written in red ink over the stamped recycled paper. Oh.

I turned the cup around and sipped my coffee. Sometimes it was best to move along.

“You’re not going to do something about that?” Damen asked, glaring at my hand.

“Why?” I blinked at him. “Did he say anything important when he gave it to me?”

“No,” he said, smirking. “Does this happen often?”

I paused, lowering my cup, and looked at it once more. “You mean, do people give me their phone numbers?” I asked, and when he inclined his head, I shrugged.

“Sure,” I answered. “But I’m not interested. Besides, it wouldn’t have been right to contact them on a phone I don’t own.”

“I see.” Damen’s joviality slipped, and he sank into Dr. Stephen’s chair while I took one of the seats on the other side of the desk. “But now you own a phone.”

Did I, though?

“This isn’t my phone,” I reminded him. “It belongs to Titus.”

Damen’s displeasure turned into a full-blown scowl. “He gave it to you,” he began, but I cut him off.

“That’s…” I held the cup close to my chin, breathing in the chocolaty spice, and studied the wall of bookshelves across the room. “That’s something else I might need help with,” I admitted with great shame.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and there was a tense attentiveness to his question.

“I’ve been in your debt,” I told him. “I need to know how much I owe. I promise to find a way to make money so I can repay you.”

“You don’t have to pay me back.” Damen wrinkled his nose, looking as though I’d said the stupidest thing in the world.

“It’s okay,” I told him, lowering my drink and squaring my shoulders. “I’ve begun to make a plan.”

Damen’s eyes narrowed as he asked, “What plan?”

“I’ve been thinking it over,” I said. “And once this case is solved, I will search for different ways that undocumented girls can earn money.”

I had no preconceived expectations for his response, but him touching his forehead to the desk was certainly unexpected.

“Why?” he asked, turning his head and looking at me, and his voice was rife with pain. “ Why would you phrase it like that?”

How could he be so uncreative?

“I am a girl,” I said, watching for further signs of erratic behavior. “I have no documentation. And I need money.”

He didn’t appear to be reassured. “Don’t search for that, it’s dangerous. ”

How could a search engine be dangerous? “How?”

“In any case,” Damen said, not answering my question, “you do not need to pay me back now. Being able to take care of you and the other members of our quintet is a major part of my responsibilities that I enjoy.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he interrupted me.

“That being said”—he gestured toward me—“if it concerns you that much, you should be happy to learn that you’re quite wealthy. Just put together an I.O.U., and when you’ve come out publicly as Mu, you can pay me back then.”

It felt like time had stopped. “What do you mean? I’m rich?”

How could this be?

Damen smirked. “Yes,” he said, sitting back up. “Quite. At least, you should be.”

“What?” I asked. This was too much. “How?”

Damen leaned forward, bracing his chin on his fist. “First of all, we’re reincarnations.”

I frowned at him. “Yes, I know. But—”

“You’ll eventually remember your past lives,” Damen said. “And recall that each of us has accumulated wealth and various revenue streams throughout the millennia. It was our goal to never become a burden on the families we were born into.”

“Where’s my money?” I asked, my arms shaking. I was so ready for this. I had to have millions, if not more. Surely, I had been quite the investor.

I wouldn’t have let myself down.

Damen frowned at me. “That’s rude.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. He was trying to redirect my attention from this crucial topic—or maybe he’d lost my wealth. He didn’t seem like the kind of person who would spend money wisely .

“You said it’s my money,” I told him. “Why shouldn’t I ask for it?”

“I guess it won’t hurt to know,” Damen mused, still touching his chin. There was a hint of joy in his tone as he said, “Bryce has been in charge of your funds in your absence.”

My pounding heart stopped, and I stared at him. “What?”

“You could ask him.” Damen shrugged.

My lips felt numb as I placed my empty coffee cup on the table. But… But how could I approach this conversation? I could barely stand to look at the man.

“Until then,” Damen continued, “you’ll have to get used to me taking care of you. And regardless of what you choose, I fully intend to prepare a room for you in my house. I will set you up with whatever you need. You could ask any one of us, and we would help you.”

“But…” I couldn’t tear my eyes away as the static rushed through my body.

Damen cocked his head. “But what,” he asked.

“I…” I noted the neat piles on Dr. Stephens’s desk, and my attention wandered to the green light shining through the lampshade. “I really don’t need anything. From anyone. I’m fine.”

“You most certainly are not ‘fine,’ ” Damen argued. “And everyone in our group has a room at my house, regardless of whether they live there.”

“B-besides,” I continued, biting my bottom lip. “I-I don’t know what will happen after all this is over. I can’t legally make my own decisions.”

“We’ll deal with that as it comes up,” Damen said. He leaned forward, touching the table to capture my attention. His eyes shone earnestly as he added, “Bianca, I will earn your complete trust. ”

My tight breath released, and the random objects on the desk no longer interested me. Nothing was more engaging at this moment than Damen’s robust and assured gaze.

“But another thing regarding my responsibilities—” He crossed his arms over the desk in front of him “We cannot have another incident like last night.”

Oh no. My stomach dropped, and I pressed my sweating palms against my legs. “L-last night?”

“Baby girl, you could have gotten seriously hurt or even killed,” Damen said. “That is completely unacceptable—the well-being of the quintet, of you, is my priority—even more than solving any case or job. Promise me that this won’t happen again.”

“Oh,” I said, pressing my knees together. Why was this room suddenly so hot? “Okay.”

He could rest easy in the knowledge that such a situation wouldn’t happen again—I learned from my mistakes. From henceforth, I would be more prepared. And with the library and a research lackey at my disposal, a whole new world awaited discovery.

I would do my best not to disappoint him.

The day moved forward, and it was time for Biology once more.

It was interesting to note that now that I was paying more attention to Bryce Dubois’s mannerisms, it was hard to deny that when not in a casual setting—such as one from the previous night—he carried himself with a certain poise.

It made me realize that, despite his appearance, yesterday’s Bryce really had been rather relaxed .

In fact, I probably could have called him ‘Bryce’ without getting into trouble. Alas, the opportunity had been squandered.

Still, as I watched him make a male student in the front row cry, I wondered if his offer still stood. I did not intend to become his protégé, but watching Brayden had made it painfully clear that I required a particular manner of instruction to succeed.

I tried to catch Bryce’s attention, but outside of his initial chastising of the front-row chatterbox, he ignored everything else throughout the rest of the class. Instead, he sat at Professor Hamway’s desk, head down, as he read a thick, burgundy-colored book.

He had dark circles under his eyes, and I wondered if he’d slept after I went to bed.

What did he and the others do the rest of the night if not?

To make matters worse, I wasn’t the only one to notice his duress. The girls around me were whining about him all period. Not only was it distracting, but every word made me feel worse for my part in his current state.

Why couldn’t he tell them to shut up, too?

Finn still hovered about. He waited for me outside my lecture hall, only leaving if someone—like Damen—was nearby. He avoided any conversation with his older brother.