Readers POV:
You are Eva Orlov, Hogwarts' newest history professor-and you're not alone. Tom Riddle, enigmatic and brilliant, begins his tenure as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. From the moment you meet, an undeniable pull draws you to...
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*Eva's POV*
My world is dark and cold, like I'm floating in some endless, weightless void. The pain is a distant memory now, as if it's happening to someone else, but there's a dull throb in my chest, pulling me closer to consciousness.
Then, there's a voice. Evan's voice.
"Hold on, Eva. Please..."
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The words filter through the haze, their urgency snapping me back to the present. My eyelids feel impossibly heavy, but I force them open. The room comes into focus slowly. My body feels foreign, weighed down, sore. I blink, trying to shake off the fog of unconsciousness.
"Eva?"
Evan's face hovers above mine, his expression tight with worry. His hands are covered in blood—my blood—and there's a cloth pressed firmly to my stomach. The warmth of my own blood seeps through it, soaking my skin. He's doing everything he can to keep me from slipping away, but it's clear he's barely holding on himself. Panic flickers in his eyes, a stark contrast to the usual bravado.
"Evan..." My voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. "Tom—where's Tom?"
He doesn't answer right away, his focus locked on my wound. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I can see the turmoil warring behind his eyes. He's hiding something.
"He's alive," Evan says, though there's a tremor in his voice. "But he's in bad shape."
I try to sit up, but the pain is immediate and sharp, tearing through my abdomen. I wince, gritting my teeth. "I have to see him. I need to—"
"Eva, no." Evan's hands are on my shoulders, pushing me back down. "You need to rest. You're still losing blood."
But I can't rest. I can't. Tom's face flashes in my mind, pale and still, his body broken. He's never been that vulnerable, never needed saving—until now. I can't shake the memory of his lifeless form crumpled beside me. My stomach churns with fear, with helplessness.
"I need to see him," I demand, my voice gaining strength. "Evan, please—"
Before I can finish, Avery rushes into the room. His normally stoic face is drawn tight with concern as he takes in the scene, his eyes flicking from me to Tom. He doesn't waste any time.
"We need to move her. She's no use to us if she bleeds out," Avery says, his voice gruff, but there's a thread of urgency underneath. He kneels beside me, pressing harder on the wound, and I hiss in pain.
"Take her to another room," Avery instructs Evan, "I'll deal with Tom."
"No!" I protest, trying to push myself up, but the dizziness overwhelms me, and I slump back down, panting. "I can't leave him. Not like this..."
