Chapter 2 — Courtyard Clash

Rayleb

The Courtyard buzzed with life, the kind of energy only the first week of college classes could conjure. Clusters of students dotted the cobblestone paths and grassy stretches, their laughter and chatter weaving through the rustle of leaves. The autumn air was crisp, the oak trees overhead ablaze with shades of red and gold. Normally, this kind of backdrop would’ve made me pause, maybe even appreciate the moment. But not today.

Bailey Carmen was back.

I’d thought I was ready for it—for her. Four years should’ve been enough to bury memories, to pack away guilt and regret until they stayed hidden. But seeing her again in that doorway last night, arms crossed and green eyes sparking with challenge, had been like flipping open a book I didn’t remember leaving unfinished. My defenses, carefully built over years of avoidance, felt thin as paper.

The strap of my bag dug into my shoulder as I wandered through the Courtyard, earbuds humming a steady bass line. But even my music couldn’t drown out the restlessness in my chest. My gaze swept over the familiar chaos—students sprawled on benches, a guy strumming a guitar under one of the oak trees—until it snagged on something, or rather someone. My pulse kicked up before I could stop it.

Bailey stood near one of the larger oak trees, her auburn hair catching the sunlight in a way that made it look brighter than it really was. She was mid-argument with a guy holding a clipboard, her hands flying in sharp motions while he visibly wilted under her intensity. Even from a distance, she radiated determination—and irritation.

I should’ve walked away, let her win whatever battle she was fighting with Clipboard Guy. But my feet seemed to have other plans, pulling me closer like the roots of the oak had stretched out to drag me in.

“Carmen,” I said, tugging out one earbud as I stopped a few steps behind her. “Starting trouble already? And here I thought college might mellow you out.”

Her head snapped around, green eyes locking onto me like heat-seeking missiles. “Kirk,” she said, her voice clipped and sharp enough to slice through the autumn air. “Don’t you have anyone else to bother?”

“Nope,” I replied, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets and leaning casually against the oak. “You seemed like the perfect candidate.”

Clipboard Guy blinked between us, clearly debating whether to intervene or bolt. “Uh… I’ll just… come back later,” he mumbled, retreating toward a nearby group of students.

“Great. Thanks,” Bailey called after him, sarcasm lacing every syllable. Then she turned back to me, her glare sharpening. “What do you want, Rayleb?”

“Just enjoying the show,” I said, gesturing lazily toward the clipboard Guy’s retreating back. “What’s the occasion?”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” she said, crossing her arms, “but I was trying to organize seating for the student group meeting. Apparently, that’s too complicated for some people.”

I smirked, a reflex I couldn’t quite suppress. “Ah, the martyr routine. Classic Bailey.”

Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought she might actually punch me. “Look, I don’t have time for this,” she said finally, her tone clipped. “Some of us have actual responsibilities.”

“Of course you do,” I said, pushing off the tree to stand straighter. “Let me guess: saving the world, one clipboard wielder at a time?”

The bite in her glare deepened, and her fists curled slightly at her sides. “Why do you always do this?” she snapped. “You just… barge in with your stupid smirk and your ridiculous comments, and you act like—like—"

“Like what?” I prompted, raising an eyebrow. “Go on, Carmen. Don’t hold back.”

“Like you’re better than everyone else,” she finished, her voice rising enough to catch the attention of nearby students. “Like nothing matters to you except whatever warped version of reality exists in that oversized ego of yours.”

Her words hit harder than I expected, and my smirk wavered. It wasn’t the first time someone had said something like that to me, but coming from her, it was different. Too close to a truth I didn’t want to examine. I straightened, masking the crack in my expression with a dry laugh. “Wow,” I said lightly. “And here I thought we were having a nice conversation.”

“This isn’t a conversation, Rayleb. It’s you being insufferable and me trying not to strangle you in front of an audience.”

She jerked her head toward the growing crowd of students, scattered on the benches and grass, clearly entertained by our sparring match. A couple of them were whispering, and I caught one guy stifling a laugh. Bailey noticed them too, her face flushing with a mix of irritation and embarrassment.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, brushing past me. “I’m not doing this with you.”

I should’ve let her walk away. But something in me twisted—heavier than frustration, closer to regret. Before I could stop myself, I called after her.

“Bailey.”

She stopped, shoulders stiffening as she turned just enough to glance back at me. “What?” she snapped.

The words stuck in my throat, but they forced their way out anyway. “You’re the one who makes it a fight every time,” I said, my voice quieter but weighted with something I couldn’t quite name. “Maybe if you stopped assuming the worst, it wouldn’t be so exhausting.”

Her expression flickered—just for a second, like the words had landed somewhere close to the truth. Then her walls snapped back into place, and she scoffed. “And maybe if you weren’t so determined to be an ass every time we spoke, I wouldn’t have to.”

She turned and walked away, her ponytail bouncing with each step. I stood there, rooted to the spot, watching her disappear down the cobblestone path. Around me, the murmurs of the crowd began to fade as the students lost interest, moving on to whatever came next.

I slipped my hand into my jacket pocket, fingers brushing the cool curve of the silver compass tucked inside. Its weight was steady, solid—an anchor I didn’t deserve but couldn’t seem to let go of. I didn’t pull it out, just let my thumb trace the engraved back, the words etched there ringing in my head.

Know your way.

Easier said than done. Especially when it came to her.

This wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.