His brow furrowed—just slightly—but the look that followed was almost a wordless Why?

The tilt of his chin, the faint lift at the corner of his mouth—arrogance dressed as curiosity. It was that same infuriating, cocky gesture he’d always had, even years ago.

"Because," I continued, stepping forward, matching his stare with one of my own,

"that’s supposed to be my question here."

The silence that followed felt different—no longer the stillness of dawn, but the tense quiet that exists between two people who’ve said too little for far too long.

He exhaled slowly. "Still as deflective as ever, huh."

"And you," I said, lips curling faintly, "still think everything revolves around your so-called ’charismatic’ presence, Professor."

And before we could bicker even further, it was interrupted by a sudden shout from inside the room—

"Who’s peeping there?! Professor L’Etrange, is that you?"

Valeria. Her voice could break anyone’s reverie—sharp, commanding, the kind that entered a room before she did.

Hearing that question aimed at him, he immediately caught my wrist and pulled me close, hiding me behind the door’s shadow.

"We’ll continue this silly quarrel later," he whispered, his breath steady against my ear. "Now, please stay away from here."

His tone—low, protective—calmed my head for a fleeting moment, as if he genuinely wanted to protect me.

Which was expected of him. How usual, how amiable... how infuriatingly gentle.

How typical of him.

Always the gentleman when it suited him.

Always disarming in the most inconvenient ways.

And I hate him for that.

Yet still... hate. As always, it was simply fear—a mask, neatly disguised as anger.

The door creaked open.

Dellaetrix straightened, that familiar composed mask falling neatly into place."Yes, Mistress Christie," he replied, his voice now formal—distant, as though nothing had happened between us mere seconds ago.

I froze.

Valeria Augustine Christie.

Even in my mind, her name carried weight.

Authority.

The kind of name that didn’t just belong to someone—it commanded the space it occupied.

And yet, beneath that poise, behind that veil of grace and authority, was the one woman who could read every fracture in my silence.

Even her name felt like an anachronism whispered through history.

A woman who solved people the way others solved riddles, who rewrote destinies with the same precision others used to write sentences.

It was said that in her youth, Valeria could foresee outcomes with eerie precision — not through prophecy, but through understanding every variable within a scenario.

She’d observe a man’s shoes and deduce the secrets of his household; a woman’s tone, and divine her sins. She even claimed her world was never one of magic first, but of motive. Not many believed her words, dismissing them as the eccentricity of a scholar too lost in her own mind.

And perhaps that was precisely why she rose so quickly through the academic labyrinth of Aethelgarten — not by force, but by reason refined into weaponry.

I had always thought that if life were literature, Valeria would be its editor — unafraid to cross out what she found imperfect. thus changing everything to her own will.

I could barely see through the narrow slit between the door and the wall, but it was enough. Enough to peep. Enough to witness.

"So," Valeria began, her tone smooth and economical,

"without any kind of unnecessaries—did you bring what I asked for before you came here?"

Dellaetrix nodded once, then presented something from within his coat.

"Yes. Exactly as you requested."

She regarded the object with quiet scrutiny — a bracelet, tempered metal glinting faintly beneath the lamplight.

To be fair, it wasn’t surprising that he had forged it for her.

He’d have done it for a stranger if asked politely enough.

What intrigued me wasn’t the act — it was the motive.

Valeria Augustine Christie — or rather, that eccentric mind of hers — always did things for a reason too meticulous to be guessed at.

A moment later, a pictorial projection shimmered into existence above the bracelet, reconstructing a scene.

Blurry. Fragmented.

She murmured something under her breath, then spoke aloud.

Her gaze lifted toward Richard.

"No wonder, dear Warden Dunne. Someone has manipulated Destiny."

Both men drew sharp breaths, disbelief briefly cracking their composure.

"The reason you couldn’t sense it," she continued, "is because Fate itself was distorted—its thread severed from Destiny’s weave. It’s lost all communication."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Only a handful of magicians could attempt something this reckless."

"No... perhaps only one at this academy alone."

The words landed like the drop of a blade.

Everyone’s breath caught.

The room froze, and so did my pulse.

She nailed it...

I knew this was coming—just not this soon.

"You-know-her," she said dryly, as if quoting an old story.

And yes... she paraphrased it, as if knowing I would somehow hear about this.

I had rehearsed for every possible scenario. Prepared every countermeasure.

Every single magician, but not for her.

No. Why did it have to be her out of all magicians?!

At this point, I had no choice but to tell Kairi.

Although, I wonder if she must have felt something terrible about me.

No, maybe she already felt something terrible about me — hate, perhaps.

Or fear.

And gods, I regretted it.

Valeria’s fingers hovered over the bracelet, tracing its faintly glowing runes with deliberate care.

Richard’s hand hovered over his notes, jaw tight, calm veneer barely hiding tension.

Dellaetrix shifted subtly, stance rigid, eyes flicking toward the gap where I hid.

Protective. Guarding.

"And here," Valeria murmured, voice low,

"the final piece aligns... yet something feels... amiss."

Richard’s frown deepened.

"Amiss? I see nothing irregular."

Her gaze swept the room, calculating, sharp as a blade, before settling on Dellaetrix.

"Not visible to ordinary eyes," she said, lips curling faintly.

Dellaetrix’s hand clenched the air where I crouched.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," he said firmly, voice low and unwavering.

"There’s no one here. Absolutely no one."

"Do you think so? Oh my, let’s see..."

Valeria’s eyes flickered toward the projection, sensing a presence... subtle, almost imperceptible, yet unmistakably real.

Her eyes then narrowed as she studied the projection, her fingers hovering above it.

"You see," she said slowly, her voice calm but deliberate,

"every living body emits a faint, specific magnetic signature. Invisible to the eye, inaudible to the ear — but tangible to those who know what to look for."

Richard leaned closer, frowning. "Magnetic... signature?"

She nodded, tracing an invisible line above the bracelet.

"A presence cannot hide. Even unseen, it leaves traces — the tremor of a hand, a breath caught too soon, the pulse within a voice. Only a trained observer notices it."

Dellaetrix’s eyes sharpened, suspicion flickering across his face. "Are you implying...?"

Valeria’s lips curved slightly, almost imperceptibly.

"Presence is never truly absent."

"The body’s emanations may betray, if one knows how to read them but..."

"Its movements, its weight in space, its very intentions — they leave marks, however faint."

Her tone dropped, almost to a whisper.

"One only needs to know where to look."

I pressed myself closer to the doorframe, heart pounding.

Only I could tell — reading the faint magnetic waves the body emitted, like a physical signature in the air, implying the existence of my subtle presence somewhere.

And she could already feel it.

Or rather—feel me.