(Leslie — East Wing)
The East Wing looked different at night. Colder. Cleaner. Like the stone had decided it belonged to someone more important and was trying to impress them. Lanterns cast narrow streams of light along the walls, leaving the edges of the hall steeped in careful shadow.
Students filtered into the main ballroom—masks gleaming, gowns whispering across polished floors, voices softened by etiquette until everything sounded politely hostile.
Rhea exhaled dramatically beside me. "Darling, I regret inviting anyone. Look at them. The posturing."
"They'd posture without you."
"Yes, but now they're doing it near me."
Her mask—dark metal shaped in sharp curves—reflected lantern-light like a warning. Mine was simpler: black lacquer, no frills. Enough to hide half my face. Not enough to make me blend with the Crestborn.
We stepped into the hall.
Eyes turned fast. Whispering followed even faster.
"That's the Ashford invitation—"
"Why did Rhea invite her—?"
"Is the Aether girl even allowed here?"
Rhea offered me a thin smile. "Tragic. Celebrity status."
The Prelude sprawled across a marble floor patterned with old sigils no one discussed. Music warmed up on the far platform— strings tuning, low notes pulsing like a heartbeat behind the walls. Nobles stood in curated groups. Informal circles of power.
I kept to the edges. Crowds pressed too close; Aether twitched at every raised voice.
We barely made it five steps before Mirelle Ashborne drifted into our path with her usual polished sweetness.
"Rhea," she purred. "A bold crowd tonight."
"Boldness is contagious," Rhea replied dryly.
Mirelle's gaze slid to me, lingering just long enough to be insulting.
"And Farrell," she added. "Unexpected."
I gave her the courtesy of silence.
Rhea's smile sharpened. "We have to bring diversity to these events somehow."
Mirelle stiffened. "Enjoy the evening." It sounded like a warning.
She disappeared back into her cluster of noble masks.
Rhea muttered, "If she steps on my dress later, I will interpret it as a confession of guilt."
Before I could respond, the air around us shifted—subtly, like a change in pressure.
Someone was approaching.
I recognized the way people parted for him before I saw him. Controlled steps. Quiet enough not to demand attention, precise enough to earn it anyway.
He stopped a few feet away.
Silver mask. Sharp lines. Crisp Crestborn black uniform. Posture balanced, deliberate.
I knew him.
Not from the Academy— long before that.The alley. The hunger. The moment he caught my dagger as if it weighed nothing and looked at me like he already knew what I was capable of. The boy with the false beard and the sharper instincts.
He'd said almost nothing then. He said nothing now for a beat too long.
"Miss Farrell," he said finally.
The sound of his voice—calm, measured—fell into place. Yes. The same one. No question.
Rhea blinked. "Oh, he speaks."
He didn't acknowledge her. His attention stayed on me, steady without being invasive.
"We didn't finish our introduction last time," he said quietly. "I thought tonight might allow for it."
My pulse didn't change. Aether did.
A thin pulse pressed at my ribs, like heat wrapped in warning. Not dangerous. Just alert.
He extended a gloved hand—not pushy, not assuming. Just precise.
"Lian Sorrel."
First name. Last name. Not a title.
But the room reacted like he'd just changed something fundamental. Nobles glanced over. Whispers tightened. Someone at the far table straightened noticeably.
Lian waited.
I didn't take his hand. Touch was a reflexive threat, and he seemed perceptive enough to register the hesitation. He lowered it without offense.
"You remember me," he said.
It wasn't a question.
"You tried to steal from me," I replied.
"A test," he said mildly. "One you passed."
Rhea whispered, "Horrifying courtship ritual."
He ignored her again.
"There's a tradition at the Prelude," he said. "Guests are expected to dance at least once."
"I'm not here to dance."
A small curve tugged at the corner of his mouth—not a smile, exactly. Recognition.
"That makes two of us," he murmured. "Perhaps that's why you're the only person worth asking."
Aether spiked against my spine—sharp pressure, heat in my palms. I steadied my breath on instinct, pushing the reaction down before it could slip out of control.
He noticed. Of course he noticed. His gaze sharpened for a fraction of a second, reading something I couldn't hide quickly enough.
Not hostile. Just curious.
His next words came softer.
"You look like someone who expects danger."
"I usually am."
"I assume you're not wrong."
Before I could decipher his meaning, another voice cut in.
"What a coincidence."
Kael stepped into the circle of space between us, posture loose—too loose. Mask slightly crooked, uniform immaculate, smile careless. All deliberate.
The air between him and Lian tightened like an invisible thread.
"Kael," Lian greeted, polite. "A crowded event for you."
"Thought I'd bring variety." Kael's gaze flicked to me before returning to Lian. "Didn't expect you to take an interest in my friends."
A whisper surged through nearby students at the word friends.
Rhea muttered, "He's going to make nobles cry again."
Lian didn't react. "I approached Miss Farrell out of courtesy."
"Courtesy," Kael repeated. "Right."
Celia Vael picked that moment to insert herself into the cluster like an unwanted punctuation mark.
"Kael," she said sharply, "you can't be serious."
He didn't look at her. "About what?"
"Her." Celia pointed toward me like I was a stain. "She shouldn't even be here."
Rhea stepped forward half a pace. "Try it again," she said calmly, "and I'll tell the entire ballroom about the time you tripped into the fountain during etiquette week."
Celia flushed scarlet under her mask.
Mirelle's voice drifted from behind, brittle and bright. "Kael, you don't need to pretend this is…your company."
He turned to her then, expression smooth but colder.
"Mirelle," he said. "Walk away."
The way he said it—quiet, even—was enough.
She paled under the mask and obeyed.
Lian watched everything without moving, arms loose at his sides, attention sharpening every time I did. Calculating. Silent. Dangerous in the way precision always is.
When the nobles retreated, he addressed me again, voice returning to its earlier calm.
"If you change your mind," he said, "the offer stands. Only a conversation. Nothing more."
He stepped back with that same balanced grace.
Kael exhaled as if releasing tension he refused to admit existed. "He does that," he muttered.
"I noticed."
"Don't take it personally. He studies everyone."
"That sounds personal."
His mouth twitched. "Trust me, it's worse when he approves of someone."
Rhea sighed. "Lovely. Both of you attract trouble. Symmetry."
But my attention had drifted to the far edge of the hall.
Past the music. Past the masked nobles.
An archway opened into a narrow corridor—unlit, untouched by the noise. The number painted beside the doorframe was clean. Too clean.
3C.
Aether clenched hard in my chest—tightening, coiling, warning. Not a threat from someone else. A threat from memory. Shadows. Mission.
Rhea followed my gaze. "Darling. No. Absolutely not. Don't you dare wander into a corridor during a party."
"I'm not wandering."
"You're brooding. It's worse."
Kael looked where I was looking. His posture changed—subtle. A small shift from relaxed to alert.
"That hallway's closed for the night," he said lightly.
Lying. Badly.
The crowd blurred behind us. Music rose and fell. The warmth of the ballroom didn't reach the archway.
3C waited.
Aether pressed against my ribs again. Heat in my hands. A thin pulse of pressure behind my eyes.
Then—
A sound.
Faint. Cut off. Muffled.
Not music.
Not footsteps.
Something like a stifled scream carrying through stone.
Kael's head snapped toward the corridor. Rhea froze. Aether surged in my chest.
Before any of us could speak, a magical shock rippled from the dark—too fast, too thin for anyone in the ballroom to notice. Like a tremor through the air. Lanterns near the corridor flickered once.
Not in a decorative way.
In a warning way.
The corridor swallowed the sound that followed.
A sharp, distant thud.
Then silence.
Thick. Wrong.
Aether pressed outward as if trying to reach something I couldn't see.
I steadied my breath.
Kael stepped toward the archway. "Stay here," he said.
He didn't wait to see if I'd listen.
Rhea grabbed my wrist. "Leslie. Do not follow him."
But I wasn't looking at Kael anymore.
I was looking at 3C.
The door at the end of the corridor had been closed before.
Now it stood open a fraction.
Only a sliver.
Just enough to see darkness breathing beyond it.
Something had happened in 3C. And whatever it was—it wasn't finished.