Dorian stood frozen on the landing, Sarah's eyes boring into him, his phone buzzing in his pocket like an angry insect.
He didn't look at it. He couldn't.
Sarah waited.
The silence stretched.
Then she shook her head—a small, sad motion—and turned away.
"Sarah, wait—"
She was already walking down the stairs. Fast. Not running, but close.
Dorian chased.
"Sarah, please, just let me explain—"
She burst through the building's front door into the cool night air. He caught up to her on the sidewalk, grabbed her arm gently.
She spun around. Her eyes were wet.
"Explain what, Dorian? That you lied about studying? That you were at my friend's apartment instead?" Her voice cracked. "That Jenna's been texting me about what a great boyfriend you are while you were secretly with her?"
"It's not like that."
"Then what is it like?"
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
Think. Say something. Anything.
"I'm planning something," he said. "For you. A surprise. Jenna's been helping me."
Sarah stared at him. "A surprise."
"Yes."
"What kind of surprise?"
Dorian's brain scrambled. "A—a picnic. With sunflowers. And Thai food. And I was going to get you a bracelet with a sunflower charm because—because you like sunflowers and I wanted to do something special and I didn't want you to know because it's supposed to be a surprise and I'm an idiot and I did it wrong and I'm sorry."
The words tumbled out in a rush, clumsy and desperate.
Sarah blinked.
For a long moment, she just looked at him. Then her expression shifted—not to forgiveness, but to confusion. To wanting to believe.
"You were planning a surprise picnic."
"Yes."
"With Jenna's help."
"Yes."
"At her apartment. At night. Alone."
Dorian winced. "I know how it looks. I know. But I swear, that's all it was. She was showing me gift ideas on her phone. Bracelets. Look—" He pulled out his own phone, fumbled for the photos Jenna had shown him. "Here. See? Sunflower charm."
Sarah looked at the screen. Her jaw tightened.
"That's... actually really sweet."
"It's for you. Everything is for you."
She was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Why didn't you just tell me?"
"Because it's a surprise. That's the whole point." He stepped closer. "I messed up. I lied about studying and that was stupid. But I wasn't cheating on you, Sarah. I swear."
She searched his face. Looking for the lie.
Finally, she sighed. "I don't know what to think right now."
"That's fair." He meant it. "Take all the time you need. But please believe me—Jenna is just a friend helping me do something nice for you. Nothing more."
Sarah nodded slowly. "I need to go."
"Can I walk you?"
"I need to be alone right now."
She turned and walked away.
Dorian stood there, watching her go, feeling the night air cold against his skin.
---
Back in his dorm, Dorian lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
Tyler was asleep, snoring. Marcus's bed was empty—late night somewhere. Kyle was in his corner, earbuds in, oblivious.
QUEST PACK: "MULTI-TARGET"
4A: LIP SERVICE - COMPLETE (MAYA)
4B: PRIVATE ACCESS - COMPLETE (JENNA)
4C: PUBLIC CLAIM - INCOMPLETE
4D: OVERNIGHT STAY - INCOMPLETE
TIME REMAINING: 3 DAYS, 3 HOURS
Three days. He needed Sarah to claim him publicly. And he needed a different girl to let him stay overnight.
A girl who wasn't Sarah, Maya, or Jenna.
A girl he'd have to find, charm, and convince in three days.
He didn't sleep.
---
Morning came too fast.
Dorian dragged himself to the dining hall, grabbed coffee, found a corner table. He needed a plan.
New girl. Where do I find a new girl?
The usual spots were out—library, student union, coffee cart. Maya was everywhere. Jenna was everywhere. Sarah was... somewhere, not speaking to him.
He needed new territory.
He pulled out his phone, opened the campus map. Scrolled.
Art building. Science complex. Gym. Music building. Gaming lounge.
Pick one.
"Yo, Dorian!"
Tyler slid into the seat across from him, tray piled with food. "You look like crap. What's up?"
"Nothing. Tired."
Tyler squinted at him. "Hey, Sarah stopped by the dorm last night. After you left."
Dorian's stomach dropped. "What?"
"Yeah, she was looking for you. Asked where you were." Tyler shoveled eggs into his mouth. "I said you went out. Didn't say where."
Dorian waited. There was more.
"She asked if we were really studying Sunday night." Tyler shrugged. "I said yeah, we study all the time. But then she asked what class and I kinda blanked and said... I think I said psychology? Is that right?"
Dorian closed his eyes. Sarah knows I'm not in psychology. I'm in philosophy.
"Was that wrong?" Tyler looked genuinely confused. "I told her you're a good guy, though. Said you're always helping people. She seemed... I don't know. Sad."
"Thanks, Tyler."
"No problem, dude." Tyler attacked his pancakes. "So what's really going on? You've been acting weird."
"Just... girl stuff."
Tyler nodded sagely, as if he understood. He didn't. "Girl stuff is rough. You need a distraction? We could hit the gym or something."
"Maybe later."
---
An hour later, Dorian stood outside the art building, nervous for no reason he could articulate.
It was a different world. Students with paint-stained clothes, charcoal dust on their fingers, canvases propped against walls. The air smelled like turpentine and ambition.
He wandered the halls, pretending to look at student work posted on bulletin boards. Abstracts. Portraits. A disturbing series of clowns.
A door burst open and a girl grabbed his arm.
"Oh my god! Finally! We've been waiting forever!" She was pulling him down the hallway before he could react. Tattoos snaked up both arms—a sleeve of flowers, a tiny dagger on her wrist, a line of poetry in script he couldn't read. A silver hoop in her nose, three in one ear, a tiny stud in her eyebrow. Dark hair piled messily, paint smeared on her cheek, mismatched socks.
"Wait—I'm not—"
"The model was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago. Everyone's set up, we're losing light—" She pushed open a studio door and dragged him inside. Easels everywhere. A dozen students looked up. A makeshift posing platform in the center with a chair.
"Here." She positioned him in front of the chair. "Just sit. Natural pose. Don't overthink it."
Dorian stood frozen. "I'm not the model."
She blinked. Looked at him properly for the first time. "You're not?"
"No."
A beat of silence. Then she burst out laughing.
"Oh my god." She covered her face. "I'm so sorry. I just grabbed a random person from the hall." She waved at the other students. "False alarm, guys. Keep waiting."
Groans from the room. People went back to their conversations.
The girl turned back to Dorian, still laughing. "I'm Lisa. And I'm an idiot. Also apparently a kidnapper. New life goal unlocked."
Dorian was laughing too, despite himself. "Dorian. That was... intense."
"You have no idea." She wiped her eyes. "My grandmother always said I act first and think later. She's probably spinning in her grave. She's not dead, just disappointed." She grinned. Her piercings caught the light.
"Your grandmother?"
"In Kyoto. She calls every Sunday to remind me I'm too impulsive. I send her photos of my tattoos. She sends back crying emojis. It's our thing."
Dorian laughed again. Real laughter.
"Look, I owe you one." Lisa grabbed a sketchpad. "Let me draw you really quick. Five minutes. You can sit there looking pretty and I'll pretend I didn't just commit a crime."
"Five minutes?"
"Five minutes. Plus you get to see my amazing art and maybe a peek at my other tattoos. I've got a dragon on my back that's very impressive."
He sat.
She started sketching—fast, confident strokes. Her eyes flicked between him and the paper.
"You model or something?" she asked.
"What?"
"Model. You model? You've got the bone structure for it."
"No. I'm just... a guy."
She snorted. "Best kind. Models are weird. They don't blink enough."
They talked while she sketched. Lisa was a stream of consciousness—her art, her family in Kyoto, the time she accidentally dyed her hair green, her theory that the dining hall pizza was actually recycled cardboard, her collection of mismatched socks ("life's too short for matching").
4D TIMER: Not started. Building rapport.
Five minutes became ten. Ten became twenty.
"Hey," he said, "you ever work late? Like, really late?"
"All the time. The studio's open 24/7 for art majors." She gestured at a worn couch in the corner, covered in paint stains and a crocheted blanket. "That thing's saved my life during all-nighters. I've named her Bertha. She's ugly but loyal."
Dorian's heart rate ticked up. A couch. In the studio. Overnight.
"Must be nice," he said casually, "having a place to crash."
"Sometimes I wish I had a real bed, but Bertha's got my back." She tilted her head. "Why? You need a place to crash?"
Too obvious. Dial it back.
"No, just curious. My dorm's loud. Roommate snores."
Lisa laughed. "Don't they all. My last roommate snored so loud I painted her as a walrus. She wasn't flattered."
They talked more. She mentioned a critique session Tuesday night—"goes forever, everyone's exhausted after, Bertha and I have a date."
4D TIMER: Opportunity identified. Tuesday night. Tomorrow night.
She finished the sketch and showed him. It was good—really good. He looked almost... interesting. Like someone worth drawing.
"Keep it." She tore it out and handed it to him. "Call it an apology for the kidnapping. And if you ever want to sit again, I pay in terrible conversation and occasional snacks."
He left the art building with a sketch in his hand and a possibility in his head.
---
He walked toward the gym next, because apparently he was visiting every building on campus today.
The gym was overwhelming. Noise, sweat, clanking weights, people who looked like they belonged on magazine covers. Dorian felt immediately out of place.
He wandered toward the cardio machines, pretending to know what he was doing.
A woman on a treadmill glanced at him. Then glanced again. She slowed to a walk, grabbed a towel, and approached.
"New here?"
She was fit—really fit—with the kind of casual confidence that came from spending hours in this environment. Ponytail. Tank top. Muscles that looked earned, not manufactured. A small tattoo on her shoulder—a simple arrow.
"Uh, yeah. First time."
"Thought so." She smiled. Warm. Open. "You have that 'where do I even start' look. I'm Danielle."
"Dorian."
She nodded toward the weights. "Want a quick tour? I'm between classes."
Yes. Yes I do.
She showed him around—cardio, free weights, machines, stretching area. She knew everyone, it seemed. People waved, called her name. She introduced him to a few: "This is Dorian, new guy."
4D TIMER: Not started. Networking.
"Thanks," he said when they finished. "This is helpful."
"No problem." She studied him. "You're not really a gym person, are you?"
"Is it that obvious?"
"A little." She laughed. "But everyone starts somewhere. I was totally lost my first time. A girl named Kelly showed me around. We're still friends. Gym people are like that—we adopt each other."
"Like a cult?"
"Exactly like a cult. But with better endorphins." She smiled. "If you want, I can show you a simple routine next time. Nothing crazy. I'm here 6 to 8 most mornings before classes."
Next time. Invitation. Specific time.
"I'd like that."
She smiled. "Cool. Swing by anytime."
He left the gym with two potential targets and a growing sense that maybe—just maybe—he could pull this off.
---
His phone buzzed.
Sarah: I'm not ready to talk. But I'm not done either.
He stared at the message. Hope, maybe.
Dorian: Take all the time you need. I'll be here.
He meant it.
---
Evening. Dorian walked back to his dorm, exhausted but wired.
Lisa (art studio, Tuesday night). Danielle (gym, 6–8 mornings). Two possibilities for 4D. Sarah was slowly coming around—probably enough for 4C.
Three days. He could do this.
He pushed open the door to his room.
Empty.
Tyler was out. Marcus was out. Kyle was out. Just him and the silence.
His phone buzzed.
Unknown: Nice work today. Lisa and Danielle, right?
He looked around the empty room. No one.
Unknown: The art building was a good choice. The gym too.
Unknown: But you forgot one thing.
Unknown: ...
Dorian waited. Nothing else.
Then, from the doorway behind him:
"Dorian."
He spun.
Maya was leaning against the frame, arms crossed. Her expression was flat. Unreadable.
"We need to talk."
She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.
[END OF CHAPTER 8]