I swivel around in my chair, releasing myself from her grip. Wanting to avoid seeing anything more than I already have, waiting for her energy stream to fade.

“Damen made me dinner,” I say, voice steady and low despite the fact that it’s not exactly true. Unless you count the elixir I drank.

She looks at me, gaze suddenly troubled as it narrows on mine. “Damen?” She steps back. “Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.”

I cringe, wishing I hadn’t just put it out there like that. I should’ve broken her in slowly, gotten her used to the idea of seeing him again.

“Does this mean you’re back together?”

I shrug, allowing my hair to fall in my face so it’s partially hidden. Grasping a chunk and twisting it around, pretending to inspect for split ends even though I no longer get them. “Yeah, um, we’re still—friendly.” I shrug. “I mean, actually, we’re more than friends, we’re more like—”

Dating and doomed—destined to spend an eternity in the abyss—madly in love but unable to touch—

“Well, yeah, I mean, I guess you could say we’re back together again.” Forcing a smile so wide my lips practically split down the middle, but holding it anyway, hoping it’ll encourage her to join in.

“And you’re okay with that?” She runs her hand through her golden blond hair, a shade we used to share until I started drinking the elixir which turned mine even lighter, then perches on the edge of my bed, crosses her legs, and drops her briefcase onto the floor—four very bad signs that she’s settling in for one of her long, awkward talks.

Her gaze moves over me, taking in my faded jeans, my white tank top and blue tee, searching for symptoms, hints, clues, some kind of telltale sign of adolescent distress. Having only recently ruled out anorexia and/or bulimia when my elixir-fueled growth spurt added four inches to my height and bulked up my frame with a thin layer of muscle even though I never work out.

But this time it’s not my appearance that’s got her unnerved, it’s my on again/off again relationship with Damen that’s rung her code red. Having recently finished yet another parenting book claiming that a tumultuous relationship is major cause for concern. And even though that may be true, nothing about Damen and my relationship could ever be condensed into a chapter in a book.

“Don’t get me wrong, Ever. I like Damen, I do. He’s nice and polite, and he’s certainly very composed—and yet, there’s something about that cool self-assurance, something that seems rather odd for a young man his age. Like he’s somehow too old for you—or—” She shrugs, unable to place it.

I push my hair off my face so I can see her better. She’s the second person today who’s noticed something off about him—about us. First it was Haven with the whole telepathy thing, and now Sabine’s taking issue with his maturity and poise. And even though it’s easy enough to explain, the fact that they’re even noticing in the first place is what worries me.

“And while I know there’s only a few months between you, he somehow comes off as—more experienced. Too experienced.” She shrugs. “And I’d hate for you to feel pressured into doing something you’re not quite ready for.”

I press my lips together and try not to laugh, thinking how she couldn’t have gotten it more wrong. Assuming that I’m the innocent maiden being chased by the big bad wolf, never imagining that I’m actually the predator in this particular tale, dangerously pursuing my prey to the point of risking his life.

“Because no matter what he may say, you’re in control of you, Ever. You’re the one who determines who, where, and when. And no matter how you may feel about him, or any boy for that matter, they have no right to push their agenda on—”

“It’s not like that,” I tell her, cutting in before this gets any more embarrassing than it already has. “Damen’s not like that. He’s a perfect gentleman, an ideal boyfriend. Seriously, Sabine, you’re way off course. Just trust me on this one, okay?”

She looks at me for a moment, crisp orange aura wavering, wanting to believe, unsure if she should. Then she picks up her briefcase and heads for the door, stopping just shy of it when she says, “I was thinking—”

I look at her, tempted to peek at her thoughts, despite my vow to never intentionally breach her privacy like that—unless it’s an emergency of course, which this clearly is not.

“Since school’s letting out soon, and since I haven’t heard you mention any summer plans, I thought it might be good for you to find a job, spend a few hours each day working at something. What do you think?”

What do I think? I gape, eyes bugging, mouth dry, at a complete loss for words. Well, I think I should’ve peered into your head after all, because clearly this does qualify as a major distress call!

“Nothing full time or anything like that. There’ll be plenty of time for the beach and your friends. I just thought it would be good for you to—”

“Is this about money?” My mind reeling, desperate to find a way out. If it’s a simple matter of pitching in for the mortgage and groceries, then I’ll gladly come up with whatever she needs. Heck, she can even take whatever’s left of my parent’s life insurance policy for all I care. But what she can’t have is my summer. Unh-uh. No way. Not even a day.

“Ever, of course it’s not about money.” She averts her gaze as her cheeks flush soft pink. Oddly averse to discussing all things financial for someone who makes a living as a corporate litigator. “I just thought it might be good for you to, you know, meet some new people, learn something new. Get out of your usual environment for a few hours each day, and—”