I Am the Wild (The Night Firm #1)- Karpov Kinrade Page 0,3

as our train lurches to a halt. My hands, sweaty from stress, can't maintain purchase on the plastic and it slips from my grasp. For a split second I'm aware that my entire sketchbook—and my lap—is about to take a bath it won't recover from.

I'm about to decide that this fiasco ends any chance of me attending my job interview when the stranger next to me reaches out and catches the water bottle before it spills even a single drop.

The movement is so fast I don't even see it. I only see the aftereffect of him holding the bottle that a fraction of a moment ago slipped from my hands.

My eyes widen. "You have quite the reflexes," I say, taking the water back from him and slipping it into my purse after making sure the lid is secured. "Thanks."

He nods but says nothing, just continues staring at me. "You're an unusual woman."

I shrug. "I get that a lot."

"Where are you headed?"

"A job interview," I say.

"Something in art, I hope?" he says.

I chuckle. "No. Haven't you heard? There's no money in art."

He frowns, but doesn't say anything, so I continue. "Business," I say. "I chose business, and that's what the interview is for. Though it's far from what I really want to be doing, to be honest."

I have no idea why I'm telling a total stranger this, but again, here we are.

"Don't settle," he says, "Trust me when I say you don't want to get stuck in a life you hate." His gaze settles on me, his eyes mining mine for secrets. "Hold fast to dreams, For if dreams die, Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly."

"Hold fast to dreams," I say, finishing the poem, "For when dreams go, Life is a barren field Frozen with snow."

He raises an eyebrow. "You know your poetry. Are you a fan of Lansgton Hughes?"

"I actually don't read much poetry anymore," I say. "But I took a class in college and I have a good memory."

"Better than good, I would say."

The train slows, and I realize we're at my stop. I stand, regretting the break of contact with his thigh, and he stands with me.

"Looks like we're both getting off here," he says.

I nod and grab my bag, then walk through the doors with him just a step behind me. I can feel him with every movement. My own body actually seems to be orienting itself to his movements, which annoys me, so I take an extra large step to the left and let him catch up to me as we walk up the stairs and into the chill night air.

It's an awkward moment. I don't want to leave him, but I can't be late to my interview.

He nods. "Good luck," he says, turning away from me.

I can't help myself. I call out before he walks too far. "Wait!"

I run up to him as I tear the portrait out of my sketchbook. "For you. I usually give my subjects their portraits when I'm done."

He takes it from my hand, studying it and then studying me. "You always give your art away? Without compensation or recognition?"

I cock my head. "I don't do it for money or recognition," I say. "I do it because it drives my soul in a way nothing else does. And I give it away because it brings joy to people. It brightens their day to know someone has truly seen them, even if just for fifteen or twenty minutes during a subway commute. Everyone has a light to give to the world, and that's mine. In lumen et lumen."

"What did you just say?" he asks.

"In lumen et lumen. It's Latin for In the light, of the light. Something my dad used to say to me and my brother, that we should always strive to live in the light and be of the light. It's always been a kind of guiding mantra for me."

I cock my head and smile. "You never told me your name," I say, holding out a hand. "I'm Eve."

"Sebastian," he says automatically, bringing his hand to mine.

When our palms touch, a shock of electricity shoots through my arm and into me, and my eyes widen. So do his, or I'm imagining it.

"Well, Sebastian, it was a pleasure meeting you tonight. I just have one more question for you before we part ways."

"And what's that, Eve?"

"What's your light? Do you know?"

He might still be back there, pondering my question, or watching me walk away. I don't know, because I