08:37 — The Spire, Sovereignty Chamber
The Spire never slept.
It merely waited.
Bathed in blue-glass light and unnervingly quiet, the Sovereignty Chamber resembled a war room and a luxury salon all at once. Armchairs were leather and curved, tables were lined with silver map-projectors and international currency charts. High windows let in light too cold to be called morning.
Carmen Alviero sat at her usual spot—one leg crossed, chin in hand, dark blazer draped over her shoulders like a monarch in mid-execution.
She was scrolling through night reports from the surveillance wing when the scent of burnt coffee and perfume cut into the silence.
"Someone looks unusually awake," Betty Grimes purred, taking the seat beside her, stilettos sharp against the marble.
Carmen didn't look up.
"Routine."
"No. Routine is you showing up, skimming files, and ghosting before Calum finishes speaking. This is called 'lingering.'"
Calum Callahan entered a second later, still typing on his wrist console like reality annoyed him. He didn't glance at either of them.
"If this is another indirect way of interrogating Carmen's Stack activity, I'd like to unsubscribe."
Carmen's jaw twitched, but she said nothing.
"She's hovering," Betty said simply, sipping her espresso. "Over a Noctis girl."
"That girl's my subordinate," Carmen replied coolly. "And I don't hover."
"No?" Calum asked, not looking up. "Then explain the extended observation of Alia's training schedule?"
Carmen slid a folder across the table—nothing digital. Old-school. Confidential.
"She's Noctis. I'm keeping an eye out. That's called leadership."
Betty arched a perfect brow.
"Right. And when you patch her up again after your next fencing match? Will that be leadership too, or…"
Carmen stood abruptly, tossing her coat over one shoulder. Her boots echoed off the floor.
"If you're both done gossiping, I'll be in training."
---
09:00 — Southern Grounds, Fencing Dome
Ajax Savier stood with his arms crossed, watching the students spar below.
His presence was always calm. Collected. Like he'd already calculated every outcome and was just waiting for the rest of them to catch up.
Across the dome, he noticed Carmen Alviero, instructing one of the newer students in sword posture. Her movements were clean. Too clean. Like she was forcing precision to keep herself distracted.
Then: a flicker of movement.
Alia entered the dome, duffel bag slung low, cheek still faintly pink from the healing cut.
Ajax's gaze sharpened.
They didn't see each other at first—but when they did, Carmen's breath caught almost imperceptibly. And Alia?
Smirked.
Ajax exhaled slowly.
"This is a problem," he muttered to himself.
---
13:22 — Vantaire Wing, Restricted Archives
Alia flipped through a dossier filled with redacted names, her fingers tracing the faded ink.
Dualism wasn't new.
It just hadn't survived long.
Her new protocol required her to memorize the Five Levels of Espionage Integration, but she couldn't stop thinking about Carmen's face last night in the Stack—how it shifted, even for a second. She saw something she wasn't meant to see.
And she wanted to see it again.
---
13:46 — Outside Vantaire Wing
She was scrolling through her new Dualist protocol folder on her wrist console when Ajax approached.
She didn't look up. Just smirked.
"Stalking me now?"
"You're not that interesting," he replied flatly, but the way his gaze scanned her face said otherwise.
He stopped directly in front of her, taller and shadowed in his standard Cealus uniform—pressed collar, polished boots, tie slightly undone.
His eyes lingered.
"What happened to your face?"
Alia didn't flinch. "Fencing accident."
"With Carmen?"
She shrugged. "She won."
Ajax's eyes narrowed by the smallest fraction.
"Did she mean to hit you?"
"She didn't not mean to," Alia said, grinning. "But it wasn't personal."
He was silent for a beat. Then—
"She's careful. She doesn't miss."
Alia raised a brow. "Are you warning me about Carmen or just being petty 'cause she's better than you?"
Ajax didn't answer. His eyes swept over the healing cut again, calculating, assessing.
Then he simply said:
"Don't flinch next time." He lifted his hand to her face and smeared his finger over the clean cut
"Wow," she replied, deadpan, slapping his hand off. "Father of the Year."
He turned to leave, but paused after a step.
"And don't smile like that when you talk about her."
Alia blinked.
"Like what?"
"Like you forgot she could ruin you."
He didn't wait for a response.
She didn't give one.
But as he walked away, her hand gently brushed the side of her cheek.
And she smiled anyway.
---
20:11 — Northwest Girls' Housing, Rooftop.
Alia was halfway to the roof again, hoodie zipped, carrying a thermos of spiked hot chocolate she absolutely wasn't supposed to have.
Carmen was already there.
This time, she wasn't reading.
She was sitting on the ledge, facing out into the sky, hands resting on the rail, tattoo glowing faintly in the starlight.
"What are you doing here?" Alia asked.
"You don't own the roof."
"No," Alia agreed. "But I like that you keep showing up where I am."
Carmen sighed.
"You're a Dualist. It's my job to keep tabs."
"Liar, stop calling me that by the way." Alia said gently, sitting beside her, knees pulled up. "You don't even know what I am."
"You're dangerous."
"So are you."
Their eyes met in the dark, just for a moment too long.
"You're not supposed to care," Alia said quietly.
"I don't."
"You followed me to the infirmary. You came to the roof. You even memorized my protocol schedule—"
"I said I don't care."
A beat.
Then Carmen muttered something under her breath in Italian again. Alia caught only the last word.
"…pericolosa."
Alia leaned in slightly, eyes flickering.
"What does that mean?"
Carmen didn't answer right away. She was already standing, hands shoved deep in the pockets of her shorts, like if she stood still long enough, she'd start unraveling. That low, tightly-wrapped composure—the kind that cracked only when no one was looking.
Alia stayed seated, chin on her knee, watching.
"You don't answer a lot of questions," she murmured.
"You ask too many."
"I'm curious."
"Curiosity gets people killed."
"So does repression."
Carmen turned, slowly.
That look.
It wasn't angry.
It wasn't soft either.
It was clenched—like Carmen was holding something between her teeth and didn't know whether to spit it out or swallow it forever.
"Why are you here?" Carmen asked.
"Same reason as you."
"Which is?"
"Trying to forget things I'm not allowed to feel."
Carmen's breath caught. Just a flicker in her chest.
Alia stood up, hoodie slipping slightly off one shoulder.
She stepped closer.
One.
Two.
Now, they were face to face under the soft blue of the rooftop dome light, shadows slicing across their skin like secrets.
"You don't have to protect me," Alia whispered. "I didn't ask you to."
"It's not protection," Carmen replied.
"Then what is it?"
Carmen clenched her jaw.
Her fingers twitched slightly by her side.
"It's discipline. That's all," she said quietly.
"You sure?"
Silence.
Carmen's eyes flicked to her—just once—then to the cut on her cheek. The blood was gone, but the memory of it lingered, like a scar beneath skin.
"You shouldn't be in both Houses," Carmen murmured. "That shouldn't even be possible."
"But I am," Alia whispered. "And maybe you don't know what to do with me."
Carmen didn't reply.
So Alia stepped closer again—just one inch.
Now they were chest to chest. Not touching.
But they could hear each other breathe.
And that was worse.
So much worse.
"Do I scare you?" Alia asked, not teasing now. Just wondering. Genuinely.
Carmen blinked slowly, like the answer itself might detonate something inside her.
Then—
Her hand came up.
Slow. Deliberate.
She brushed Alia's hoodie back onto her shoulder—barely a touch, but enough to jolt something alive in the air between them.
"You don't scare me," Carmen said lowly.
A pause.
"You distract me."
Alia smiled.
Not flirty.
Not smug.
Just… soft. Gentle.
Like she'd finally cracked a piece of Carmen no one else ever got close to.
"That's worse, isn't it?"
Carmen didn't answer.
She just stepped back, gaze unreadable again—but breath uneven.
And then she turned.
Not fast.
Not fleeing.
Just… gone.
Alia watched her until she disappeared down the stairwell, the last echo of her footsteps like a heartbeat left behind.
---
Back in her room, Carmen lay on her bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, as if trying to erase the memory of Alia's voice.
"You distract me."
And gods, she did.
More than anyone had in years.
More than Carmen could afford.