Page 219 of Ruthless Court

No anger to hide behind this time.

No argument.

Just Hannah’s warm mouth, her grip tightening in my sweatshirt, and the quiet hum of the old radiator beside us.

I pull away before I forget the open door and where we are.

Her lips are pink. Her eyes remain closed for one extra second before lifting to mine.

I touch the edge of the gold star on her chin.

“Good night, Footnote.”

Her sleepy expression sharpens.

“Footnotes are minor details.”

“I know,” my voice is soft and husky.

“And easily skipped.”

“Not this one,” I whisper hoarsely.

That silences her.

I straighten and head for the doorway.

Hannah remains on the edge of the bed, watching me leave with her fingers still curled against the place where she held my hoodie.

Footnote.

The name used to fit because I thought she was a strange little addition at the edge of my real life.

Now she’s inside my game. My classes. My head.

Maybe I’ve been calling her the wrong thing.

Footnotes live at the bottom of a page.

Endnotes wait until everything else is finished.

And somewhere between the library, the gym, and finding her asleep against my shoulder, Hannah Goodwin has started to feel less like an interruption.

More like where the story is headed.

* * *

The walk back to the athlete quad should feel longer. The night is cold enough to sharpen every breath, but I barely notice. Leaves scrape along the stone paths. Lights glow behind dorm windows. Somewhere across campus, a party has spilled onto a balcony, music carrying through the dark.

I feel more awake than I have in months.

Not game-night charged.

Not the restless high that follows a win.

Something quieter.

Cleaner.