Evelyn didn't speak as she closed the door behind Caelan, her fingers lingering on the handle.
Alexander watched her closely, the lines around his eyes sharp with something heavier than suspicion—something far more personal.
"He's getting too close," Alexander said.
"To the truth?" she asked quietly.
"To you."
Her breath caught, but she didn't look away.
They stood in the soft glow of the room's wardlight, shadows curling between them like smoke.
"You said you'd give me space," Evelyn finally said, voice low. "Was that a lie?"
"No," Alexander replied, stepping toward her. "I said I would give you the space to choose. Not the space to be taken."
She held her ground. "Caelan isn't trying to take me."
"You don't see it, but he's already marked his place." His voice was calm, but too calm—ice smoothed over fire. "Every time he speaks, it's with the certainty that you'll listen. Every answer he gives you is designed to sound like truth."
"Unlike you?" Evelyn shot back, eyes flashing.
Silence followed.
Alexander didn't flinch. "I never pretended to be anything but dangerous."
"I know that," she said. "And I trusted you anyway."
Something raw passed through his expression—there and gone again. He looked away first.
"This isn't just about you," he said at last. "Whatever your mother was hiding, whatever blood runs in your veins—it's bound to something bigger than just the Academy's politics."
"Then say it," she pressed. "Say what you think I am."
He met her gaze.
"Powerful," he said. "Unclaimed. Unprotected. And every force in this city can smell that."
He stepped close, lowering his voice. "But I'm not one of them."
"You think I don't know that?" Her voice trembled—not with fear, but fury. "You talk like I'm still choosing between you and him. I'm not."
A beat.
Then she added, quieter, "I already chose."
Alexander froze.
And she reached up, gently touching the line of his jaw—barely a brush.
"I chose you when you carried me from the fire. When you stayed, even when I told you to leave."
The silence between them turned into something electric.
But before either could speak, a knock shattered it.
A courier stood at the door with a sealed missive—thick, marked with a black wax crest.
Alexander took one look at it and cursed under his breath.
"It's started," he said grimly. "The Headmaster wants an emergency council."
Evelyn's hand dropped from his face.
But not from his heart.