The storm had not relented by the next night. If anything, it had worsened. The sky was a restless, bruised expanse of rolling thunderclouds, and the rain lashed the ancient spires of Empire High with relentless fury.
Seraphina lingered at her window long past curfew, watching as the wards shimmered faintly against the darkness. The glowing barrier looked thin, almost translucent, the way old parchment begins to fray. Something pressed at it from the other side. Something hungry.
Her shadows writhed restlessly across her floorboards. They sensed it too.
She should have gone to bed. She should have closed her eyes and pretended that nothing out there could reach her. But her heart was already tugging her somewhere else, and her shadows obeyed.
By the time she reached the eastern wing, she wasn't even surprised to find Elijah waiting.
He leaned against the stone wall, his cloak dripping rainwater, his hair damp from the storm. The torchlight caught on the hard lines of his face, but his eyes—storm-grey, restless—softened when they found hers.
"You felt it too," he said quietly.
She nodded. "Something's pressing against the wards."
They fell into step together, silent but synchronized, their shadows and firelight brushing against each other as though testing boundaries neither of them dared to cross.
The Vault corridor was colder than usual. The great iron door loomed at the end, its runes faintly glowing, straining against the invisible pressure from beyond.
Elijah placed his palm against the runes, his lips pressing together. "They're weaker tonight."
Seraphina's shadows slid across the stone floor, probing. They recoiled almost instantly. "Something is leaking through."
Her words made Elijah's jaw tighten. "Then we need to stay here. Guard it until the storm passes."
Her pulse jumped. "All night?"
His eyes flicked to hers. For a moment, his mask slipped—just a flicker of the boy beneath the weapon he'd been trained to be. "Unless you'd rather leave it unguarded."
She didn't answer. She couldn't.
Because the truth was, the idea of being alone with him—trapped together in this cold, humming corridor with shadows and lightning for company—terrified her more than whatever clawed at the wards outside.
Hours passed.
They sat against the opposite walls, facing each other, the iron Vault door between them. Shadows curled lazily around Seraphina's ankles; Elijah's flame-light glowed faintly along his wrist.
Neither of them spoke much. Words felt dangerous, too sharp. But silence was worse, filled with the hum of restrained power and the crackle of tension neither could name aloud.
At one point, thunder cracked directly overhead, shaking dust loose from the ceiling. Seraphina startled, shadows flaring out across the floor. Elijah's fire surged instinctively in response, casting the corridor in sudden, golden light.
Their eyes locked.
Her shadows twisted toward his flame, curling like smoke reaching for heat. His fire leaned back, dangerously close, as though drawn.
And for a suspended heartbeat, it felt as though the entire storm bent around them.
Elijah broke first. He exhaled sharply and dragged his gaze away, raking a hand through his damp hair. "This is madness."
Her throat tightened. "What is?"
"This." His voice was low, rough. "You. Me. Whatever this is. It's a distraction, and distractions get people killed."
Her shadows recoiled as if slapped. But beneath the sting, a hotter spark ignited. "Then stop looking at me like that."
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Elijah's head snapped toward her, eyes darkened, storm-grey and burning all at once. He leaned forward slightly, elbows braced against his knees, his voice roughened to a whisper.
"Don't tempt me, Seraphina."
Her breath caught. Shadows pulsed wildly, as if they had a will of their own. She should have looked away. She should have shut it down. Instead, she leaned forward too, unable to resist the pull.
The air between them tightened, electric. His hand twitched against his thigh, as though he was fighting the urge to reach for her.
They were close—so close that if either of them moved an inch, the fragile wall between them would shatter.
The Vault groaned.
The sound was deep and guttural, vibrating through the stone floor. Seraphina jerked back instantly, shadows hissing in alarm. Elijah was on his feet in a flash, fire sparking at his fingertips.
Something slammed against the iron door.
The runes flared violently, holding—but barely. Another slam followed, louder, rattling the hinges.
"They're testing it," Elijah muttered, positioning himself between Seraphina and the door. "Whatever's out there knows it's weak."
Shadows surged up Seraphina's arms, ready. "Then we hold it."
Together, they pressed their magic into the wards etched into the Vault. Shadows laced through the cracks like tar, while Elijah's fire scorched along the runes, reinforcing them with heat and light.
The thing on the other side shrieked—an awful, grating sound that made Seraphina's blood run cold.
Her knees buckled slightly under the strain. Elijah was instantly beside her, his arm sliding around her waist to steady her. His body was solid, his warmth searing against her side, his breath brushing her temple.
"Steady," he whispered. "I've got you."
She should have pulled away. She didn't.
Instead, she leaned into him, shadows and fire weaving together, holding back the dark pressing against the door.
For a long, unbearable moment, they stood like that—locked together, magic intertwined, hearts hammering in sync as the Vault trembled under the assault.
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the pressure eased.
The shrieking faded. The runes steadied.
The corridor fell silent, save for the sound of their ragged breathing.
Elijah didn't move his arm.
Neither did she.
When she finally lifted her gaze to his, the world tilted. His eyes were molten, unreadable, burning into hers with an intensity that made her knees weak.
"Seraphina…" he breathed, her name a confession, a warning, a plea.
Her lips parted. She swore she could feel the ghost of his breath against her skin, the inevitability of his mouth finding hers—
The heavy click of boots shattered it.
They sprang apart just as Mistress Soren appeared at the end of the corridor, her staff tapping against the stones. Her eyes narrowed immediately.
"What are you doing here?"
Elijah straightened, his mask already back in place. "Guarding the Vault. The wards faltered."
Mistress Soren's gaze flicked between them, sharp and suspicious. Her lips curved faintly, though it was not a smile. "So I see. You've done well enough. I'll take it from here."
Neither dared argue.
When they finally left the corridor, the storm still raging above, the silence between them was deafening.
But the tension—the fire, the shadows, the almost-kiss—remained, thrumming between them like a live wire.
And Seraphina knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that this storm was only the beginning.