He didn't leave.
Not that morning. Not after her words. Not after that look in her eyes—soft but certain, like a lighthouse seen after a long, sleepless storm.
Alexander stayed.
But the unease didn't.
It lingered like a second skin—pressing, watching. Whatever had moved in the woods that morning had vanished by the time Alexander checked. But he knew better than to believe it was gone.
And Evelyn felt it too.
She stood in the balcony garden just outside her study quarters, arms wrapped around herself. From here, she could see the edge of the forest, the northern watchtower, and beyond that—the barrier. Thin. Invisible. Weakened.
She hadn't told Caelan yet. Or the others. Part of her didn't want to worry them.
Part of her wasn't sure how much time they had left.
"Still here," she murmured when she heard Alexander's footsteps.
"Still yours," he replied quietly.
She looked at him, brows rising just slightly, but her lips curved.
That was new.
He stepped beside her, eyes scanning the horizon with practiced vigilance. "They're shifting. Whoever's behind this—they're not just after you anymore."
"They never were," Evelyn said softly. "They want everything I touch."
His gaze moved to her, sharp and unwavering. "Then we stop them. Together."
She nodded.
But just as their fingers brushed, a voice called from below.
"Evelyn?"
It was Caelan.
He stood in the courtyard below, looking more disheveled than usual—his coat askew, hair tousled. A half-smile played on his lips, but his eyes were unusually serious.
"I need to speak with you," he called up.
Alexander's body tensed almost imperceptibly.
Evelyn glanced at him, then down at her friend. "Give me a minute."
When she descended the stairs and crossed the cobbled path to meet Caelan, she could feel the shift in energy already—between the two men. One forged of cold flame, the other of easy light.
Caelan's voice lowered. "Something's not right in the archives. I found a page missing from one of the original barrier tomes. Only someone with clearance could've taken it."
She stiffened. "Isabella?"
"I'm not sure. But this wasn't clumsy. This was surgical."
Behind her, Alexander had moved down the path—silent, watchful.
Caelan glanced over her shoulder toward him. "He's staying, then?"
Evelyn met his gaze. "He is."
Caelan looked at her for a long moment. Then he smiled. "Good."
But something in the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
And something in Alexander's stare—where it met Caelan's—spoke of recognition, if not rivalry.