Caelum’s hand stroked slowly up and down her back as he carried her, voice low and soothing against her hair.
“You’re mine,” he murmured. “No one will take you from me. No one will take me from you. I’ve got you, my perfect girl. Always.”
Lyra closed her eyes, letting his words and his warmth wash over her.
The dependency settled deeper than ever.
Caelum carried her out of the cafeteria without setting her down once.
Lyra’s fingers twisted tightly into the front of his coat, knuckles pale, her face pressed hard against his chest as though the solid warmth of him could block out the memory of splintering glass and the wet sound of blood hitting silver cutlery. Her pulse still raced unevenly beneath her skin. The roar of rage had drained away, leaving behind a hollow, trembling void. She felt small. Exposed. The echo of Seraphine’s groan and the terrified shrieks of the other students flickered at the edges of her mind like broken fragments of light.
He didn’t tell her to let go. He didn’t need to.
The moment they stepped into the courtyard, the air changed—cooler, heavier, the fog rolling low across the ancient stone like something alive and watchful. A carriage waited at the foot of the wide steps, already prepared as if the Collegium itself had anticipated the need. Black lacquered wood gleamed under the muted light, polished to a mirror sheen that reflected the swirling mist. A sharp, elegant silver crest—his family emblem—was worked subtly into the door, clean lines that spoke of old power and unquestioned authority. The horses stood unnaturally still, their breath barely visible in the cold, as though even they waited only for his command.
An attendant opened the door the instant Caelum approached.He didn’t break stride. He didn’t set her down. He simply stepped inside with her still cradled against him.
The door closed behind them with a soft, final click that sealed the outside world away.
* * *
The interior was dim and luxurious, light filtered through heavy tinted glass and thick dark velvet curtains. The seats were upholstered in deep charcoal leather that smelled faintly of polish and aged wood. The carriage hadn’t yet begun to move, but the space already felt removed—insulated, private, a world unto itself.
Caelum settled back into the wide seat and adjusted her without hesitation, pulling her fully into his lap. Her body folded into his instinctively, knees drawn up, head resting against his shoulder, hands still clutching at the front of his coat. She trembled—not violently, but in small, continuous waves that ran through her limbs like aftershocks.
His hand moved to the back of her head, fingers sliding slowly into her dark red hair, anchoring her. The other hand stroked steady, soothing circles along her spine.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the faint creak of leather and the distant, muffled hush of fog outside.
Then, without shifting his hold on her, Caelum reached into the inner pocket of his coat. The faint clink of glass was soft but unmistakable in the quiet space.
Lyra’s breath caught—not in panic, but in a small, instinctive pause.
He brought the vial into view. Dark liquid swirled inside the delicate glass. Her eyes focused on the elegant script etched into the side.
Whisperdraught.
She had never seen the name before. The word sat there, unfamiliar and slightly ominous, yet the potion itself felt achingly familiar—the same clear-sweet liquid he gave her every evening.
Her fingers tightened slightly against his chest. A flicker of hesitation passed through her, brief but real.
Caelum noticed immediately.
His hand came up, fingers brushing lightly along her jaw, guiding her face up until she had no choice but to meet his steady gray eyes.
“Look at me,” he said quietly.
She did. Her green eyes were still a little unfocused, edges of lingering panic and confusion lingering behind them.
“You need a second dose today,” he murmured, calm and matter-of-fact. “To settle you properly. You’re still shaking, my perfect girl.”
Her lips parted slightly, as if to ask something, but the words wouldn’t form. The hesitation lingered for another heartbeat—the unfamiliar name on the vial, the blood she could still almost taste in the air, the way the room had fractured under her rage.
Caelum tilted the vial toward her lips. His thumb pressed lightly at the hinge of her jaw, gentle but insistent.
She didn’t pull away.
The glass touched her mouth. She swallowed.
