"Stop," Hans said. Bodies unclasped. A book slipped off a shelf and hit the floor between them like an accusation. "What the hell, Landon?" Annika's voice trembled. "You didn't even—" "We weren't—" Landon flailed. "Annika, it's not—" "You two should stop." Hans stepped out from the shadow of the stacks as if he'd been there the whole time. His voice was low and controlled. Heads turned. "Who are you?" Landon snapped, blood showing at his ears. "Hans Serra. Third-year, TechCore." Hans didn't shout. He didn't need to. People turned their phones, taking in his name like a label. "This is public space. Keep it decent." Victoria, perched with her bag like a crown, laughed softly. "Oh my God. Landon, you idiot. Didn't you know etiquette 101?" "Fuck you, Vic," Landon spat. He tried to pull his jacket on, to cover the mess of whatever it was he had been doing. He was still smiling for other reasons—another girl's hand in his was telling him to keep smiling—but the smile cut off when the crowd picked up the moment. "Annika?" someone whispered. A dozen heads swiveled toward her. Annika wanted to disappear between the stacks. Her palms were sweaty. Her mouth stuttered before she could pull words together. "I—" She closed her hand on a book. The herbal scent she always carried seemed too loud to herself. "Explain," Hans said. "Explain what?" Landon barked. "We were—" "Leave her alone," Hans