The moon was a thin silver blade above Empire High, slicing through a sky bruised with dark clouds. The air was thick with the scent of rain yet to fall, and every sound seemed sharper, more dangerous. Seraphina stood at the edge of the courtyard, her gaze fixed on the looming silhouette of the East Wing — the part of the school the Headmaster had explicitly warned her never to enter after dark.
She had every reason to listen. But Elijah was already there, and when it came to him… the rules blurred.
He'd gone ahead without her, murmuring something about needing to "check the wards," but Seraphina knew better. He was chasing something — or someone — in those shadows, and the thought of him alone in there tightened a knot of unease in her chest.
She adjusted her cloak, pulling the hood low, and slipped into the shadows after him.
Inside, the East Wing smelled of dust and secrets. Moonlight pooled in fractured streaks through high, narrow windows, illuminating motes of dust that hung like frozen sparks. Seraphina's footsteps were soundless, but her heartbeat was thunder in her ears. She could sense the magic here — old, restless, coiled like a snake beneath the floorboards.
A whisper of movement ahead caught her attention. She turned the corner and froze.
Elijah stood with his back to her, his dark coat swirling slightly in the draft from the shattered window beside him. His head tilted, as if listening to something she couldn't hear. For a moment, she simply watched him — the tense line of his shoulders, the way his hand hovered near the dagger strapped to his thigh, the sharp cut of his profile in the pale light.
"Elijah," she whispered.
He spun, dagger flashing before he lowered it the instant he saw her. "Seraphina—" His voice was sharp at first, then softened, laced with something almost like relief. "You shouldn't be here."
"Neither should you." She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. "What are you looking for?"
He hesitated — and that hesitation told her more than words. "Something… dangerous. Something that doesn't belong here."
The floor creaked behind them.
Both turned instantly, Elijah stepping in front of her in a movement so fluid it was instinctive. A shadow detached itself from the darkness — too tall, too still to be human. Seraphina's magic surged, shadows curling around her fingertips like eager serpents.
The figure moved, fast — a blur of black and silver — and Elijah was already in motion, intercepting it with a sharp, ringing clash of steel. Sparks lit the dim hallway as his dagger met a curved, inhuman blade.
"Stay back!" he barked, pushing against the shadowed attacker.
Seraphina ignored him. Shadows exploded from her hands, coiling around the creature's legs. It hissed, an awful sound, twisting against the bindings. Elijah used the opening, slamming the hilt of his dagger into its side.
The thing dissolved — not into blood, but into a drifting cloud of black ash.
The hallway fell silent.
Elijah's breathing was ragged as he straightened, his dagger still in hand. His eyes — those deep, storm-grey eyes — locked on hers, scanning her for injuries. "You're hurt?"
"No." Her voice came out steadier than she felt. "You?"
He shook his head, slipping the dagger away. But he didn't step back. In fact, he stepped closer, until she could feel the faint heat of him against the cool night air.
"You can't just follow me into situations like this," he said, his tone low but intense. "If that thing had turned on you—"
"Then you'd have been too far away to stop it," she cut in, her chin lifting. "Don't expect me to stay safe in some corner while you play the hero."
His jaw tightened, and for a heartbeat, they simply stared at each other, their breaths mingling in the space between them. The world outside that moment didn't exist — only the pulse of danger still echoing through them both, and something else beneath it, simmering and dangerous in its own way.
"You drive me insane," he muttered.
"And yet…" she said softly, "you'd still rather have me here."
The silence that followed was electric. Elijah's eyes darkened, his hand lifting slightly — almost touching her cheek — but he stopped himself, curling his fingers into a fist.
"Come on," he said abruptly, turning away. "This wing isn't safe."
She followed, but the phantom heat of that almost-touch lingered on her skin like a brand.
They reached the courtyard just as the first drops of rain began to fall. The air was charged, the way it always was after magic, and Seraphina found herself shivering. Elijah noticed. Without a word, he shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.
It smelled faintly of leather, steel, and something undeniably him.
"You didn't have to—" she began.
"Yes, I did," he interrupted.
Something in his voice — quiet, certain — caught her off guard. For a moment, she almost forgot to breathe.
She should have given the coat back. She didn't.
Later that night, lying in bed, Seraphina stared at the ceiling, replaying the moment in the hallway — the clash of steel, the way his eyes had locked on hers, the unspoken words in the space between them.
Danger, she thought, wasn't always a monster lurking in the dark. Sometimes it was a heartbeat away, wearing a crooked half-smile and a coat that smelled like rain.
And that… was far more dangerous.