Page 26 of Balance

No, I had to be in the field at all costs. It was my duty to be aninvaluableasset, so established in my brilliance and skill that Damen would have no choice but to run all his disastrous plans by me first.

So that I could fix them before all manner of chaos broke loose.

I couldn’t do any of that by hiding in a library.

“You only want me in psychology so you can keep an eye on me,” I told him, trying to steady my shaky hands. “I want to study with Ms. Protean.”

Honestly, I wasn’t sure of this, but it was better than the alternative. It made sense, the only way to be sure to be on thefront lineswas to be there from the beginning.

I needed to learn everything there was about crime scenes and criminals.

Dr. Stephens sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You sound just like her.”

I’d sucked in a breath, prepared to argue. But his statement threw me off. “Who?”

He didn’t answer, only studied me with his heavy gaze while he rested his chin on his linked hands. “You’re not going to listen to me, are you?” he asked after a long moment.

Well, the last time he’d told me to do something, I ended up covered in burdocks, was forced to pepper spray Titus, and was stalked by—at that time—complete strangers.

So,no.

“I don’t think I have to listen to you. Don’t I outrank you?” I asked. As my magical guardian, he had to answer me honestly. Hopefully questioning him wasn’t entirely disrespectful. No matter what, Dr. Stephens was still my elder.

Yet, I couldn’t back down from this.

Still, my heart was thundering in tense anticipation. Why did I feel sick? I just wanted to decide for myself. I wasn’t trying to be mean.

I glanced at him, almost apologetically, and bit my lip. “I thought that’s how it worked.”

His lips lifted slightly, amusement flickering in his expression. But the movement was masked so quickly I was certain I’d imagined it.

“Indeed,” he drawled. His tone didn’t give away his thoughts, yet the tension seemed to drop from the air.

A weight also lifted from my chest, and the dim lighting in the room seemed to grow brighter.

This was a familiar feeling, like when Bryce and Brayden had first met me.

“Were you doing something?” I asked.

“Nothing really,” Dr. Stephens said, pointing to the chair across from him. “If you’re not going to top off your drink, then will you please sit down? Your lurking is extremely annoying.”

I bit my lip, my breath catching at the reprimand, the fight fading out of me. I obediently slipped into the chair, crossing my ankles and tucking my feet behind the leg. His attention returned to the papers on his desk, and I was left to sip at my almost-cold coffee and sit in silence.

Yuck. Black coffee was the worst, but I would never give in and put cream and sugar in it now.

“I saw your father this morning,” he said, interrupting my pout.

My throat closed, and, somehow, the drink in my mouth became even more bitter. “W-w-what?”

His expression was carefully blank, but his gaze keen. Thick lips pressed into a thin line, posture tense.

I had no delusions he was referring to my adoptive father. There would be no need for the dramatics in that case.

“You really don’t want to meet him?” he asked, confirming my suspicions.

I breathed through my rising nausea, barely holding back my panic at the familiar way his eyes moved over my face.

This wasawesome. I was being psychoanalyzed. I was used to it with Dr. Kohler by now, but Dr. Stephens was still unfamiliar territory.