The library closes in thirteen minutes. Mira Kaur-Tamehana has counted every student leaving—except the one she's been watching all semester. The quiet mopper in the staff corridor. The only person who hasn't looked at her like a rumor.

Tonight, her past is pounding on the glass doors. Two years ago, Deacon made her the town's punchline. She escaped to this campus, built a life of sharp comebacks and sharper clothes. But he found her. And now she's asking the one person she trusts to be unknowing for a way out—through the basement, past the mop buckets and the truth she's been hiding.

She wears her armor well: the twist-front top that frames what everyone notices, the gold nose stud that catches the light, the practiced smirk she's perfected. But her hand keeps slipping beneath her shirt to touch the pounamu pendant her grandmother gave her—the one she only touches when she's lying. Or terrified.

Thirteen minutes before he knocks again. Before the story follows her to this campus too. Before she has to find out if the quiet custodian is just someone who cleans up messes, or someone who might stay when the mess is her.

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