The east garden had been closed all week for maintenance.
That's what the sign said.
But the gate was unlocked when I passed it after last bell.
Something told me to try.
---
The hedges were taller than I remembered, wild with silver frost. Roses that should've been dead for the season were blooming — pale white and violet, their petals dusted with dew like glass.
At the center of it all: an old marble fountain, cracked but still breathing, a quiet trickle of water folding over stone.
And sitting beside it — legs stretched out, tie loosened — was him.
Not the artist.
The one I had kissed beneath the stars.
The one who had left me with a coin and silence.
---
He didn't look surprised to see me.
"I wasn't sure you'd find this place," he said.
"I wasn't looking."
"That's usually when we find the dangerous things."
---
I sat down across from him, not touching.
He passed me something without looking.
A page. Torn from a book.
I frowned.
"'Midnight Sons and Other Lies'?"
He nodded. "Read the second paragraph."
I did.
> Some boys were raised to hold crowns. Others were raised to hide knives. The worst of them were taught to do both.
I looked up.
"What are you trying to tell me?"
"That I wasn't supposed to choose you."
---
He stood. Walked toward the fountain's edge. One hand in his coat pocket, the other flexing like he wanted to hit something that wasn't there.
"I waited," he said. "Longer than I should've. I told myself watching was enough."
"It wasn't," I whispered.
He turned sharply. "No. It wasn't."
---
And then — like something broke loose inside him — he crossed the space between us in four steps.
"I lied to the Order," he said.
"About what?"
"You."
His voice was low. Controlled. Shaking underneath.
"I told them I didn't care. That you were a risk. That I'd keep my distance."
"And now?"
He stopped in front of me. Looked down, eyes lit with something unsteady and hungry.
"Now I dream about you saying my name like it means something."
---
I stood.
Close now.
The garden held its breath.
So did we.
"You didn't say it," I whispered.
He blinked. "Say what?"
"My name."
"Elena."
And this time, when he kissed me—
It wasn't careful.
---
It was urgent. Tangled. Like he'd been starving and finally broke the rule that kept his hands still.
He kissed like someone who knew he was already damned.
And I kissed back like someone who didn't care.
---
His hand slid to my waist. My fingers curled into his collar. The cold didn't matter. The silence didn't matter. Only the heat of his mouth against mine, and the sound he made when I pulled him closer.
This wasn't curiosity anymore.
It was gravity.
---
We only pulled apart when the sky cracked with thunder.
No rain.
Just sound.
Like a warning.
We both froze.
Then — far behind the hedges — a voice echoed from the wall.
> "She's been marked twice."
---
We spun around.
No one was there.
But a single black feather floated down between us.
---
He cursed under his breath.
"They know."
"Who?" I whispered.
"The ones who never speak. The ones who enforce."
He took my hand.
Fast.
"Come on."
---
We ran through the hedge path, past the fountain, out through a gate I hadn't seen before.
He didn't let go until we were three corridors deep, near the north archives.
Only then did he stop, lean against the wall, and breathe.
"Too fast," he muttered. "I moved too fast."
"You didn't."
"I kissed you in the open."
I stepped closer.
"You kissed me because you couldn't not."
---
His eyes met mine again — this time softer, rawer.
"Elena," he said.
And it landed different now.
Like a vow.
"I don't care who sees anymore," he said. "I don't care what they do to me."
"You should," I whispered.
He nodded once.
"I will. Tomorrow."
---
We didn't speak after that.
We just stood close.
Breathing the same breath.
Knowing something had shifted.
Something neither of us could undo.
---
But that night, as I walked back to my dorm—
I found a note on my bed.
No name. No seal.
Just five words written in silver ink:
> He isn't the only liar.