He wasn't supposed to be here.
Not today.
Not this early.
But Kaelen Rourke leaned against the main pillar outside the architecture block like the space had been designed for him.
Students passed around him, but none through him.
Like the world instinctively knew to keep a distance.
He didn't look up at first.
I almost walked past.
Almost.
Then his voice cut through the noise.
"Aria."
My name.
Low. Calm. Unhurried.
The same voice that once humiliated me in boardrooms and penthouse dinners.
I stopped.
Slowly.
Turned.
He held my portfolio in his hand.
Black cover.
Frayed at the edges.
My sketches.
My failures.
My unfinished dreams.
"You left it in the auditorium last night," he said.
"I know," I replied. "I went back for it."
"And it was already gone."
His eyes met mine.
Something unreadable shifted in them.
I stepped forward, the wind brushing through the loose ends of my hair.
"You took it without permission," I said.
His lips curved faintly.
"Borrowed," he corrected. "Stolen requires intent to keep."
"You went through it."
Again, not a question.
His fingers tightened slightly on the folder.
"It's not locked," he said simply.
I held out my hand.
"Give it."
He didn't.
Instead, he flipped it open.
Right there.
In front of everyone.
My chest tightened.
But this time…
I didn't let him see it.
"I noticed something," he continued casually.
"And I didn't ask for feedback."
A few students slowed their steps nearby
Watching.
Waiting.
He ignored them.
"You draw like someone trying to escape," he said.
My pulse spiked.
"And you talk like someone who's never had to," I replied.
A corner of his mouth twitched.
A bad sign.
"Your designs are tighter," he continued, flipping a page.
"More aggressive. Less hesitant."
He looked up.
"You used to be softer."
"I broke," I said plainly.
His eyes changed.
Just slightly.
"People don't break like that overnight."
I stepped closer.
Close enough that I could see the tiny scar near his eyebrow.
That same one I used to trace with shaking fingers.
"You're right," I said. "They break because of repetition."
For a second…
He didn't answer.
He studied me.
Really studied me.
Like I had become a problem he didn't remember creating.
"Did something happen to you?" he asked.
His voice was quieter now.
Private.
Dangerous.
I smiled — slow, deliberate.
"Yes."
His jaw tightened.
"And you won't tell me," he said.
"Why would I give the destroyer a manual?" I replied.
The air between us turned heavy.
Students had completely stopped pretending they weren't listening.
"You're different," he murmured again.
"I'm aware."
"You act like you've already lost something."
"And you act like you'll never lose anything."
Silence stretched.
Electric.
Then he finally handed me the portfolio.
Slowly.
Reluctantly.
Our fingers touched.
Longer this time.
His grip didn't release immediately.
"You shouldn't push people like me," he said quietly.
"There are consequences."
I didn't pull my hand away.
Not yet.
"I already lived through yours," I answered.
"And survived."
He searched my face like he might find ghosts there.
Maybe he did.
Then — finally — he let go.
I slid the portfolio against my chest.
His eyes followed it.
Like it wasn't just paper inside.
Like it was something else.
Something that mattered.
"You aren't scared of me anymore," he stated.
I tilted my head.
"I'm scared of smaller things now," I said, and stepped back.
"What things?" he asked.
"Repeating mistakes."
I turned to leave.
But before I could fully walk away, he called out again.
"Aria."
I looked over my shoulder.
His eyes held something darker now.
Curious.
"People who look at the world like that usually don't survive long in this city."
I met his gaze calmly.
"They usually survive longer than those who think they own it."
Then I walked.
Past the glass doors.
Past the curious eyes.
Past him.
But even when I reached the stairwell,
his presence followed me.
Not because he moved.
But because he didn't.
He stayed there.
Watching.
Like something unfinished.
And something about that…
Told me this chess game had already started long before I remembered it.