Cedric didn't move at first. He just looked at her a beat longer, something sharpening behind the quiet neutrality of his expression.
Then, a tilt of the head. That old, familiar furrow between his brows. "Are you really sure?"
Her spine straightened, just slightly. "Yes."
"This isn't the same city. Or the same castle. You're not behind Eveline's wards anymore."
She turned to face him fully now, the garden mist curling soft around her ankles, the wind teasing strands of damp hair across her cheek.
"And this is the Imperial Academy," she said, too level, too fast. "If something happens to me here, it's already far too late for your hovering to stop it."
His jaw twitched. Not in offense. Just that faint pulse of frustration that only surfaced when he thought she was wrong—and knew she wouldn't yield.
"Elara—"
"I'm not fragile."
"I never said you were."
"But you implied I'm vulnerable."
