Aina closed the door to her room with far more restraint than she felt.
The latch clicked softly—too softly, really—before the weight of the day finally caught up to her. She crossed the threshold, took exactly three steps, and then collapsed face-first onto her bed with a muffled, frustrated groan, burying her face deep into a mound of pillows.
"Ughhhh…"
The sound was undignified. Wholly unbecoming of Aina Mellou.
Which was precisely why it only ever existed here.
Her room was a sanctuary in the truest sense of the word. Thick curtains of pale blue silk muted the outside world, letting moonlight spill in gently instead of intruding. The walls were lined with shelves of books she claimed were purely academic—though several romances hid among them, volumes she would deny owning if ever confronted. Plush rugs softened every footstep, and her bed—her pride and secret indulgence—was an absolute fortress of pillows.
Too many pillows.
Soft ones. Firm ones. Decorative ones embroidered with subtle sigils. Pillows with meanings she could never quite bring herself to discard. She lay among them now, cocooned in cotton and down, her nightgown wrinkling beneath her as she pressed her face into the fabric like a sulking cat.
In this room, Aina wasn't the composed tutor.
She wasn't the sharp-eyed prodigy.
She wasn't Elias's unshakable, emotionally distant "big sister."
She was just… Aina. A girl her age—exhausted, frightened, and hurting in ways she never allowed herself to acknowledge anywhere else.
"I can't…" she muttered into the pillow, voice muffled. "I really can't."
The thought of being separated from him made her chest tighten painfully.
Her darling little brother.
Elias.
Just imagining the space he would leave behind—his questions, his quiet presence, the way he looked at the world with eyes far too old for his age—was unbearable. Worse still was the fear coiling in her stomach, the one that stopped her from even trying to reach out.
What if he blamed her?
The thought struck like a blade.
What if, behind that calm expression of his, there was resentment? What if he remembered her standing there—frozen, useless—when she should have moved? When she should have acted?
Her fingers curled into the sheets.
"I should have protected you," she whispered. "That was my job."
She rolled onto her side, hugging a pillow to her chest as if it might anchor her spiraling thoughts. She could still see it so clearly—the moment when everything happened too fast, when instinct failed her and reason faltered.
She had hesitated.
Aina squeezed her eyes shut.
And then, unbidden, another thought slipped in.
Jamie.
Her jaw tightened.
It would be easy—so easy—to blame her.
She was the one who had guided Elias toward danger. Twisted his judgment, however unintentionally. Pushed forward without weighing the consequences. If she hadn't—if luck hadn't been on their side—
Aina's teeth clenched.
"No," she snapped aloud, lifting her head from the pillow. "That's a cheap excuse."
She sat up abruptly, hair falling loose around her shoulders, the thin fabric of her nightgown rustling softly. Her reflection stared back at her from the polished surface of the wardrobe mirror—eyes sharp, brows drawn, expression almost severe.
She pointed a finger at herself.
"You're the oldest," she scolded. "Which means you were supposed to be the rational one."
Blaming Jamie was the thinking of a coward. A loser's thought.
And Aina Mellou was neither.
She exhaled slowly, forcing the tension from her shoulders.
"I am the proud daughter of House Mellou," she said firmly, as if reciting a creed. "I will not indulge in self-pity or deflection."
Still…
Even as she chastised herself, her thoughts drifted back to Jamie—back to the confrontation, to the moment emotion had gotten the better of her.
There was something about Jamie's application of The Emperor that unsettled Aina deeply. Not the Trait itself—Aina wielded it as well, one of her two—but the way Jamie used it. Aina bent hers toward control of electromagnetism, enforcing order through structure and law.
Jamie flipped the concept on its head—commanding chaos by redefining order itself.
Insidious was the only word that fit.
Aina hugged her pillow tighter.
It was frightening.
Not because it was evil—but because it felt so natural.
And that, more than anything, unsettled her.
Her gaze drifted to the ceiling, tracing patterns she had memorized long ago. Her thoughts softened as they turned toward her aunt and uncle.
They had been… affectionate.
Open in ways Aina rarely allowed herself to be. The way they spoke. The way they looked at each other. The quiet understanding that passed between them without words.
She swallowed.
Would she ever reach that level?
The thought lingered—warm, fragile, and strangely hopeful.
Then, without warning, her imagination betrayed her.
She pictured Elias—older now. Taller. His features sharper, his presence calm and assured. He stood before her, extending a hand with that same gentle seriousness he'd always carried, eyes warm and steady.
Her face burned.
"W–what am I thinking?!" she hissed, burying her face back into the pillows as an embarrassed, high-pitched giggle escaped her before she could stop it.
"This is inappropriate. Completely inappropriate!"
She kicked her feet lightly against the mattress, mortified.
And yet… the warmth didn't fade.
Eventually, her laughter quieted, replaced by a soft sigh.
"I really am hopeless," she murmured.
Her gaze drifted to the small calendar pinned beside her desk.
Her birthday was coming.
And her father still hadn't replied to her last letter.
The realization settled heavily in her chest.
Soon after that… she would leave.
Fazhan University.
The name alone carried prestige—and distance. A future she had worked relentlessly toward. A future she wanted.
And yet, the thought of leaving this house, this place, and Elias—
Her chest ached.
She sat up properly, drawing her knees to her chest, her nightgown pooling around her legs. The room felt far too quiet.
"I won't waste it," she decided softly.
If time was limited, then she would make every remaining moment count.
She would laugh more. Tease him more. Be there—really there—for him.
No more freezing.
No more hesitation.
"I'll break the ice," Aina murmured, nodding to herself. "Somehow."
A small, determined smile curved her lips.
Exhaustion finally claimed her.
She lay back down among her pillows, surrounded by softness, her rigid exterior at last shed. In the privacy of her room, Aina allowed herself one final, honest thought before sleep took her.
'Please… don't ever think I didn't care.'
Outside, winter continued its quiet vigil.