Aveline lifted her head.

A few classrooms down, she saw him.

The silver-haired man.

He stood exactly as she remembered; leaning lazily against the wall, as though time moved differently around him. His pale hair caught the light, giving him that same strange, otherworldly presence. Ethereal, almost celestial... and yet...

Weird. Very weird. Especially for someone who had been so insistent about her keeping his night robe.

"What was his name again...?" Aveline muttered under her breath, frowning faintly.

But the thought didn’t linger.

Because something brighter, warmer, far more important bloomed in her chest instead.

Her eyes widened.

She wasn’t alone here. She had a friend. A friend!

The realization struck her with such sudden force that it chased away the lingering tightness in her chest. The cold fear that had clung to her moments ago loosened, replaced by something almost childlike in its sincerity.

He was still there. Just outside another classroom. Waiting... Well, not waiting, exactly, but there.

For one fleeting, foolish moment, relief washed over her like sunlight.

Ah.

My kindred spirit.

Without another thought, Aveline pushed herself off the pillar and hurried toward him, her steps quick and light, as though she were chasing something fragile before it disappeared.

Hope.

Simple. Earnest. Unquestioning.

She didn’t notice the way he hadn’t once looked in her direction.

Didn’t see the absence of recognition in his gaze.

She didn’t know...

That she had already slipped from his memory.

Or that, to him, she was no more than a piece—quietly placed on a board he had already begun to move.

"Are you a student here?" Aveline asked, the words spilling out of her before she could stop them. There was a brightness to her voice, a fragile excitement she hadn’t quite learned to hide. "Did your professor throw you out too? What did you do?"

Aelion Sylvarien turned his head.

For a moment, his gaze lingered on her—sharp, assessing, distant.

Recognition came, but not in the way she expected.

Ah.

The girl from the tavern.

The one Kael had been sneaking out like she was something worth hiding.

His brows knit faintly.

What was she doing in the Arcanum?

He had assumed she was something else entirely... someone kept away for a reason. Not someone who would be placed here, among scholars and spellcraft.

And yet, here she was...talking to him, like they knew each other.

I don’t know her.

"My professor threw a duster at my head and then kicked me out!" Aveline continued, half-indignant, half-laughing at her own misfortune. "Can you believe that?"

Aelion stared at her. Unblinking. There was something disarming about the way she spoke: too fast, too open, too... unguarded.

Why was she telling him all this?

Why was she speaking to him at all?

Without a word, he turned to leave. He had no interest in entangling himself in something unpredictable.

"Wait—where are you going?" Aveline hurried after him without hesitation. "I’ll come with you."

Of course, she would. Classes were unbearable anyway.

Aelion stopped and looked at her again, this time with clear impatience. "I don’t know you," he said, his voice flat, cutting. "Don’t follow me."

The words struck harder than they should have.

Aveline blinked, stunned. "How come? We met in the tavern. You—"

Her voice faltered.

Aelion’s gaze had shifted past her. Something in his expression changed—subtle, but enough.

Aveline felt it then. That quiet, instinctive alarm. The fine hairs at the back of her neck rose.

Danger.

She turned slowly.

The corridor... had changed.

Shadows stretched along the walls, not cast shadows and they did not look natural in the way shadows looked. They moved unnaturally, creeping and expanding as though something unseen was passing through the space, claiming it inch by inch.

It was not just shadows. There was a presence; invisible, but heavy. Watching.

Aveline’s heart slammed against her ribs.

It felt... Familiar.

And that made it worse. Because her body recognized it before her mind could.

She turned back quickly, but Aelion was already gone without hesitation and warning... He had fled.

Aveline’s breath caught as she glanced toward the classrooms. Inside, students sat as they had before, their heads bent, voices low, unaware.

No one else could see it.

No one else could feel it.

Which meant...

Her fingers curled slowly at her sides.

...It wasn’t here for them.

It was here for her.

But what was it?

Aveline did not want to know what it was.

She ran.

Her footsteps echoed through the corridor as though she were fleeing something older than the Arcanum itself, something that had worn her fear before and had learned its shape too well. Behind her, the shadows crept faster, stretching thin and long across the stone, closing the distance with a vile, smothering patience. Whatever followed her felt like smoke given malice—cold, suffocating, and wrong.

The sheer wrongness of it turned her stomach.

Her breath came in sharp, uneven pulls. Her throat tightened. She could feel the thing gaining, a presence so foul and intent that it made her skin crawl.

What should I do?

For once, she did not allow herself to think further.

Her hand flew into her pocket.

Now.

Now would be the time to call Theron.

-----

Meanwhile, after leaving the Caelvaris estate, Theron had been making for the Arcanum with a single thought in mind. He needed to see Aveline. He needed to tell her the danger had passed, that Rosalyn had been dealt with, that she could breathe again.

He had barely taken a step when something invisible seized him.

The world lurched.

In the next heartbeat, he was no longer on the road.

He stood before his father.

Theron clutched his chest and drew in a harsh gasp, as though something had yanked at the very root of his soul. He could transport himself from one place to another in an instant, but never had he experienced it being forced upon him, never had he felt his own body wrenched so violently out of his control.

His father had summoned him that way.

Unconventional. Unforgivable.

Especially after what had passed between them that morning.

What did this mean?

Before he could make sense of it, a faint glow stirred in his pocket.

Theron’s head snapped down.

Aveline.

Something was wrong.

His body moved before his thoughts could catch up. He reached for the spell that would take him straight to her...

And stopped.

A magic circle had ignited beneath his feet.

He looked down, stunned, as the sigils flared to life around him. The air tightened. The spell sealed shut.

His father had trapped him.

"Let me go!" Theron snapped, fury flashing through him all at once. "She needs me!"

The King rose up, and walked toward Theron, with a smirk on his face.

"She?" he asked, tilting his head. "Who?"