He held her gaze for another long moment, searching. The warmth of his hand lingered against her skin even as the Collegium’s distant hum seemed to press closer, as though the walls themselves were weighing her answer.
His hand dropped.
He stepped back.
“Tomorrow,” she said. “The library.”
He nodded once, a small, resigned motion.
She moved past him toward the dormitory corridor, carrying the full weight of the evening with her—Caelum’s controlled wrist-hold and the deliberate lift of her chin, the quiet power of the wordwe, Adrian’s warm jaw and the open question in his touch, and the choice she had not yet made.
The corridor stretched ahead, fog licking at the windows like something alive and patient.
She was going to have to decide.
X. Disruption
The awareness of the session lingered longer than the session itself.
Lyra stood at the window with her hand resting against the stone, fingers halted just short of a motion she had not consciously begun. The courtyard below lay quiet under the late-afternoon light, every movement flattened into something slower than reality. Her wrist still carried the memory of Caelum’s grip—exact, possessive. When she rotated it, the sensation followed, warm and unwelcome. She could still smell him on her skin: cool stone, dark ink, and that sharper note that made heat flicker low in her belly. The memory of his fingers correcting her chin sent an unwanted flush beneath her clothes. Her nipples tightened against the fabric.
She dropped her hand and turned away.
The door opened before she reached it. She stepped into the corridor.
Adrian was waiting at the archway, shoulder against the wall, posture patient rather than expectant. He straightened when she approached.
His gaze lingered on her face. “You still smell like him.”
“I was in his space.”
“That’s not what I meant.” His attention was warmer than Caelum’s, but no less sharp. “It means you’re not as separate from this as you think. He gets inside your head. He rearranges the airaround you until you forget what normal feels like.”
They fell into step together. The conversation stayed light on the surface, but beneath it the fragments stirred—white walls, enforced stillness, eyes that demanded perfect compliance. Her body still echoed with Caelum’s corrections from that morning, leaving her feeling stretched thin.
Adrian slowed as the corridor quieted, light falling in steep pale strips across the stone.
“You’re doing it again,” he said softly. “You go somewhere, and only the surface stays here.”
“The fragments of my past are destabilizing me,” she admitted. The honesty cost her.
His expression changed. The warmth remained, but something sharper moved beneath it. He stepped closer.
“I know,” he murmured. “And I hate that he’s the one causing it. Caelum doesn’t see you as a person. He sees you as a problem to solve, a variable to control. Everything he does is calculated to keep you off-balance. He’s a Dominus through and through. You’re lucky his ability doesn’t affect you, but even without it, he is dangerous, Lyra. The only reason the school is safe from him right now is that we’re not allowed to practice our crafts on students outside of classrooms. Outside? Everybody is fair game.” He paused, then muttered, “Not that the rules ever apply to him…”
His hand rose to her jaw—the same place Caelum had touched hours earlier. The contact was warm, heavier today, more intentional. His thumb stroked along her jaw, then lower, brushing the sensitive skin beneath her ear.
“Stay here,” he said. The words were the same Caelum had used, yet nothing like them. “With me. You don’t have to keep letting him rewrite you.”
She looked at him, but the fragments surgedagain—memories of being held still, corrected, observed until every reaction was perfect. Her breath shortened. Past and present blurred.
Adrian saw the fracture. His voice dropped, urgent now. “He doesn’t deserve any part of you, Lyra. Not your time, not your attention, not the way you tense up every time his name comes up. Let me be the one who doesn’t make you feel like you’re walking on glass.”
He leaned in, using the exact moment her focus slipped.
His mouth met hers.
The kiss started gentle, almost careful, offering the illusion of choice. Then it deepened with sudden force. His hand slid to the back of her neck, gripping as he tilted her head exactly where he wanted. His tongue traced her lips before pushing inside, claiming her mouth with slow, deliberate strokes. His other hand settled at her waist, pulling her flush against him so her breasts pressed to his chest. For one brief second his fingers tightened on her neck—a flash of something darker, more possessive—before it vanished behind the warmth again.
