“So,” he said casually, leaning back slightly. “I take it this is the part where I’m informed of the rules.”
Keegan’s jaw tightened. “You follow them.”
Gideon’s eyes flicked to him. “That’s refreshingly vague.”
“The Academy isn’t neutral ground,” Stella added. “It doesn’t tolerate theatrics, power plays, or wandering into places you weren’t invited.”
“And if I accidentally wander?” Gideon asked.
“You won’t,” Stella said sweetly. “Because if you do, the floor will remove you.”
Twobble nodded solemnly. “It’s very efficient.”
Gideon glanced down at the stone beneath his boots, then back up, something unreadable passing through his eyes. “I’ll behave.”
That earned him exactly zero trust.
I felt the tension stretching, taut and humming, and pushed my bowl aside, folding my hands together.
“This is temporary,” I said, my voice cutting through the low murmur. “One night. You rest. You recover. Tomorrow, we will decide the next steps.”
Gideon met my gaze. “And if I decide my next steps don’t align with yours?”
“Then you won’t be making them from inside the Academy,” I replied evenly.
For a heartbeat, something like respect flickered across his face.
“Fair,” he said.
Keegan didn’t relax.
Neither did Stella.
The sprites, blissfully unaware of political tension, began serving dessert.
As plates were cleared and the warmth of food spread through my limbs, the Academy hummed softly around us, satisfied for now. But beneath that comfort, beneath the clatter and murmured conversation, unease lingered.
Gideon was too calm.
Too quick to settle back into himself.
And as I watched him laugh quietly at something Twobble said, genuine, easy, and almost charming, I knew what everyone else in the room felt too.
Letting him stay was the right choice.
That didn’t make it a safe one.
The Academy lights dimmed slightly, signaling the late hour, and somewhere above us, doors shifted, rooms rearranging themselves in preparation for the night.
We would sleep under the same roof.
And none of us pretended that meant rest would come easily.
But the chime rang once.
It echoed down the halls, low and resonant, and the Academy responded instantly—lamps brightening, the hum beneath our feet sharpening, the air tightening as if the building itself had gone alert.
Every conversation died mid-word.
