Aveline’s heart sank.

For one stunned moment, she had almost forgotten the betrothal entirely. But now, with those words hanging between them, the memory struck her all over again, opening something raw and aching inside her chest.

The last time she had been with Theron, he had told her only that his betrothed came from a powerful family. She had not stopped to think beyond that. She had not needed to. And now the truth had revealed itself in the cruelest possible way.

The archduke’s granddaughter.

Of course, it was someone like that.

Someone with status, with lineage, with everything Aveline had never had and never could offer him. Her throat tightened painfully.

She had thought, perhaps foolishly, that Theron had intended to break the engagement. That was why he had given her his night robe, why he had told her to keep it as she pleased, why he had looked at her with that strange gentleness that had made her believe he was choosing her in some quiet, careful way.

So why had it not happened?

Had he been unable to break it? Had he chosen not to? Or had he never meant to at all?

The questions came one after another, each one sharper than the last.

Was this why he had stayed away? To protect her again? To keep her from the storm his life had become? Was that why she could not find him, why the distance had suddenly felt so absolute?

Or...

The thought hit with brutal force.

Or had he simply chosen duty over her?

The idea stabbed through her like a fistful of thorns, sinking deep enough to make her breath catch. For a moment, her chest felt too small to hold the pain swelling inside it.

No.

She forced the thought away at once.

Theron would not do that.

He wouldn’t.

He might be hiding. He might be waiting. He might be protecting her in whatever way he thought best, even if it hurt. That had to be it. That had to be the truth, because the alternative was too cruel to bear.

And besides...

Hadn’t she already decided to keep away from him? Hadn’t she told herself she would not become his weakness?

She should not be standing here unraveling over this.

She didn’t want to think about it, but she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

But the memories of the shadow figures she had seen earlier—the ones standing before Theron, the ones that had attacked him—suddenly rose in her mind with terrible clarity.

Could they have been something else entirely? Could they not be an image of the present, but a glimpse of the future? A warning? A premonition? 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

Her confusion deepened until it became almost unbearable.

Aveline felt her thoughts tangling tighter and tighter around themselves, each answer making the next question worse. She had come so far already, and yet everything still felt uncertain, every truth slipping just out of reach the moment she thought she had grasped it.

And standing there, pinned against the wall by the silver-haired man with his calm breath against her skin, she realized with a sinking feeling that she understood less than ever.

"You..."

Aelion’s fingers rose suddenly and wrapped around her chin, tilting her face upward before she could react.

Aveline let out a small gasp, startled more by the familiarity of the gesture than the force behind it. His touch was cool, steady, and far too confident.

"Step back," she said at once, straightening herself.

For a brief moment, she had almost lost herself in the strange closeness between them, in the silver of his hair brushing near her shoulder and those piercing blue eyes fixed entirely on her.

It made her uneasy now. Not because she was afraid of him, but because she disliked how easily people around her kept invading her space as though they had the right to.

And more than that...

She disliked how distracted she became whenever someone looked at her too intently.

"The Archduke..." she said after a moment, trying to gather her thoughts back together. "Why is he so... different?"

The question had been clawing at her mind ever since she left the laboratory.

She had not approached the old man.

He had approached her.

He had looked at her as though he recognized something impossible, something buried deep enough that even she did not know what it was. And that frightened her more than she wanted to admit.

Neither she nor her ancestors came from this kingdom.

So what exactly had he seen in her?

Aelion stared at her quietly for a few seconds.

Earlier, he had seen unmistakable pain on her face when he mentioned the Crown Prince’s betrothed. But now there was nothing. No visible wound. No lingering sadness. She had hidden it all again so quickly that it was almost unsettling.

That intrigued him.

Slowly, he stepped back.

Aveline immediately moved away from the wall and continued walking down the corridor, and after a moment, Aelion fell into step beside her.

"Some say the Archduke jumbles timelines," he said at last. "Others say the Aetherstones altered his mind. That he spent too many years studying them until his sanity unraveled. Now all he thinks about are stones, formulas, and things no one else understands."

Aveline listened quietly.

The shadows around Aelion’s face twisted softly as he spoke. Not violently. Not maliciously.

But deceptively.

He was hiding something.

Or perhaps testing her.

Either way, she knew now that shadows never lied to her completely. They only revealed truths in fragments, like reflections on broken glass.

And she realized something else too.

This did not have to be one-sided.

If Aelion wanted something from her, then perhaps she could use him as well.

"The stones only became important five years ago, didn’t they?" she asked. "What was he like before that?"

"A madman," Aelion answered flatly.

Aveline rolled her eyes instantly.

"So nothing changed?" she asked dryly. "He recognized your family well enough. He didn’t seem entirely detached from reality."

"My hair," Aelion replied. "He identified me by the color of my hair. And he was calling me by my granduncle’s name."

Aveline slowed her steps slightly.

"Oh?" Her brows lifted with interest. "That’s... strange."

Then she stopped altogether and turned toward him.

"So your granduncle had a sister who looked like me?" she asked casually.

Aelion stared at her for a moment before shaking his head slowly.

"Obviously not a blonde."

Aveline shrugged lightly. "Fair enough."

"But..." Aelion murmured.

Something in his expression shifted then, subtle but real.

Confusion. The genuine kind.

Aveline looked at him more carefully.

"I think," he said slowly, "that he cannot identify faces."

Aveline blinked.

"What does that even mean?" she asked.

Aelion exhaled softly before answering.

"It means he remembers people through fragments instead. Voices. Hair color. Mannerisms. Height. The way someone moves. The shape of their presence." His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "He looks at people like someone piecing together broken memories from scattered remains."

A small chill crept down Aveline’s spine.