Chapter 220: 220 | The Pink-Haired Predator and the Blonde Strategist
The walk back to campus took longer than the walk to the mall. Partly because the bags were heavy and partly because Felicity kept stopping to point out things she found interesting. A dog wearing a sweater. A cloud that looked like a duck. A storefront window displaying mannequins in poses that she insisted were anatomically impossible.
"Nobody’s spine bends that way," she said, gesturing at a mannequin in a cocktail dress. "That’s not fashion. That’s torture."
"You literally just spent three hours torturing me with clothes."
"That was improvement torture. This is aesthetic torture. Completely different."
I shifted the bags to my other arm. My shoulders were starting to ache, which was ridiculous given my stats. The Demigod trait should have made carrying shopping bags feel like carrying feathers. But something about the combination of weight distribution and Felicity’s constant commentary was wearing me down in ways that had nothing to do with physical strength.
"You know," she said, falling into step beside me, "you’re actually pretty easy to shop for. Most guys fight the whole process. You just sort of accepted your fate."
"I learned early that resistance is futile when dealing with determined women."
"That’s wisdom right there. You should write a book. ’Lukas Belmont’s Guide to Surviving Female Attention.’ It would sell millions."
"I’d have to survive first."
Felicity laughed, and the sound was warm and genuine in a way that made my chest tighten. She had this quality about her that made everything feel lighter. Like the world was a joke and she was letting you in on it.
The Devotion’s Echo pulsed at the edge of my awareness. Sloane was somewhere on campus, her emotional state a complicated mix of jealousy and trust and something that felt like resignation. She was trying. I had to give her credit for that. Trying to accept that I could have female friends without it meaning anything more than friendship.
The problem was that the System didn’t believe in friendship.
The System believed in Temptation Gauges and progression mechanics and the slow, inevitable conversion of every woman in my orbit into something more complicated than a shopping buddy.
Felicity’s gauge had jumped six percent during a single mall trip. Six percent from one honest conversation and a hand squeeze over cheap food court burgers. At this rate, she’d hit Curious within a week and Attached within a month.
I needed to figure out how to stop that progression.
Or I needed to accept that stopping it wasn’t possible.
"You’re doing that thing again," Felicity said.
"What thing?"
"The thinking thing. Your face gets all serious and distant. Like you’re doing math in your head but the math involves existential questions instead of numbers."
"I’m always doing math. It’s a personality flaw."
"It’s not a flaw. It’s just exhausting to watch. You should try turning your brain off sometimes. Just existing without analyzing everything."
"I don’t know how to do that."
"That’s obvious." She bumped her shoulder against mine, a casual gesture that sent warmth spreading through my arm. "But that’s okay. I’ll teach you. Consider it part of my ongoing project to make you a functional human being."
"I thought the project was improving my wardrobe."
"The wardrobe was phase one. Phase two is improving your capacity for joy. Phase three is classified."
"Classified?"
"You’ll find out when you’re ready."
The campus gates appeared ahead of us, the familiar architecture of Halloran rising in the afternoon light. Students moved across the grounds in small groups, enjoying the weekend before Monday’s training began. Some of them glanced at Felicity and me as we approached. A few did double-takes.
Right. The new clothes.
The dark blue button-down I was wearing had replaced my standard hoodie somewhere during the shopping trip. Felicity had insisted I change in one of the stores, claiming that wearing the improvement immediately would help me understand its value.
What I understood was that I looked different. More put-together. More like someone who belonged at a Hero Academy instead of someone who had wandered in by accident.
"People are staring," I said.
"People are noticing. There’s a difference." Felicity grinned. "You clean up nice, Belmont. Deal with it."
We passed through the gates and onto the main path toward the dormitories. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the manicured lawns, and the air smelled like cut grass and expensive landscaping.
That’s when I saw her.
Sloane was sitting on a bench near the fountain at the center of the quad, her pink hair unmistakable even from a distance. She was pretending to read something on her phone, but her posture was too rigid and her attention too obviously directed at the main path.
She’d been waiting.
"Is that your girlfriend?" Felicity asked, her voice carrying a note of amusement.
"That’s my girlfriend."
"She looks like she’s about to murder someone."
"She usually looks like that."
Sloane stood as we approached, her blue eyes tracking our movements with the focus of a predator watching prey. Her expression was carefully neutral, but I could feel the storm of emotions through our bond. Jealousy and relief and something that might have been gratitude fighting for dominance.
"You’re back," she said.
"I’m back."
Her gaze shifted to the bags in my arms, then to Felicity standing beside me, then back to me. She was cataloguing everything. The new shirt. The shopping bags with their expensive store logos. The comfortable distance between me and my shopping companion.
"You bought clothes," she said.
"Felicity helped me pick them out."
"I can see that."
The silence stretched between us like a physical thing. Felicity, to her credit, didn’t seem intimidated. She stepped forward and extended her hand with a smile that was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.
"Hi. I’m Felicity. We haven’t been properly introduced."
Sloane looked at the extended hand like it might be poisonous. For a long moment, I thought she might actually refuse to shake it. But then something shifted in her expression and she took Felicity’s hand in a grip that was probably harder than necessary.
"Sloane. Lukas’s girlfriend."
"I know. He talks about you constantly."
"Does he."
"Constantly. It’s actually kind of annoying. I asked him about his favorite color and he somehow made it about you."
