The corridors of Hell University were filled with their usual noise—voices echoing, footsteps rushing, power shifting in ways only a few could truly understand—but for Zein Shoin, everything felt distant, like she was walking through a world that no longer held the same clarity it once did, because ever since that night, something inside her had changed in a way she couldn't control or define; she tried to focus on her duties, on schedules, on responsibilities, on the version of herself that had always been unshaken.
But that version now felt like something she was trying to hold onto rather than something she naturally was, and the more she tried to ignore it, the stronger it became, following her into the office she had once walked into without hesitation, but now entered with a quiet awareness that things inside it were no longer simple—because he was there, exactly where he always was, and somehow that made everything harder.
Ace Craige didn't look surprised to see her.
He looked like he had been waiting.
"You're late," he said, his voice calm, controlled, but observant in a way that made it clear he had already noticed more than she wanted him to.
"I had work," Zein replied, placing the files on the desk without meeting his eyes, her tone steady, practiced, almost too perfect.
"You are my work," Ace said, leaning back slightly, his gaze fixed on her in a way that felt far too direct.
Zein paused for a brief second.
"I'm aware," she said.
"Then why weren't you here yesterday?" he asked.
There was no accusation in his tone.
That made it worse.
Zein's fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the file.
"I was occupied," she said.
"With what?" he asked.
"Responsibilities," she replied.
"That's not an answer," he said.
Zein finally looked up.
"It's enough of one," she said.
Ace tilted his head slightly, studying her.
"No," he said quietly, "it's not."
A silence followed—not empty, but filled with everything she was trying not to say.
"You're avoiding me," he added.
"I'm not," she replied immediately.
"You are," he said.
"I said I'm not," she repeated.
"Then look at me and say it again," he said.
Zein held his gaze this time.
"I'm not avoiding you," she said.
Ace didn't look convinced.
"Say it like you believe it," he said.
Zein's expression faltered—just for a second.
"…this is unnecessary," she said.
"No," Ace replied, his voice quieter now, steadier, "this is inevitable."
The word lingered.
Unavoidable.
Zein looked away first.
"…you're making this complicated," she said.
"No," he said, "I'm making it honest."
Her breath slowed.
"…I didn't come because of you," she admitted, the words coming out softer than she intended.
Ace didn't move.
"Say that again," he said.
Zein hesitated.
"…because of you," she repeated.
The room felt smaller after that.
Not physically.
But in a way that mattered more.
"Good," Ace said quietly.
Zein frowned.
"Don't say it like that," she said.
"Like what?" he asked.
"Like you expected it," she replied.
"I did," he said.
"…that's annoying," she said.
"And yet you're still here," he replied.
Zein didn't answer.
Because she didn't have one.
And that—
was the problem.