The alarm shrieked like it was mocking me.My eyes flew open, heart hammering, and I bolted upright. For a second, I thought maybe I was dreaming. Then my gaze fell on the clock.
We. Were. Late.
I froze, horror buzzing under my skin. "Oh no. No no no no no—" I scrambled out of bed, hair sticking in every direction, my pulse a drumbeat in my ears.
On the couch across the room, Alaric stirred lazily, one arm sprawled over his chest as if he had the luxury of sleeping through the end of the world. He rubbed at his eyes, yawning as though time itself bent to him.
"Thirty minutes late," I whispered again, in disbelief. "We're thirty minutes late!"
Alaric blinked at me, expression infuriatingly calm. "And?"
"And?!" I nearly shrieked, darting toward the wardrobe. "Do you not understand what class we have right now? Harrington will kill us!"
A slow smirk curved his lips as he stretched like a cat. "Relax. We still have time."
"We don't!" I grabbed the first decent outfit my hands touched and bolted to the washroom, muttering curses under my breath. I dressed in record speed, tugging on my uniform, dragging my hair into something passable. My hands shook as I scrubbed at my face and threw the door open.
He was still there. Still moving at his snail's pace, bending down to tie his laces, yawning like he had just woken from the best nap of his life.
"Can you move faster?" I snapped, yanking on my shoes.
Alaric tilted his head, amusement glittering in his stormy eyes. "I could. But watching you panic is far more entertaining."
I groaned. There was no time for this. I grabbed his sleeve and practically dragged him toward the door. We sprinted across the courtyard, our shoes slapping against the cobblestones, dodging students who were already seated, already smug in their punctuality. My lungs burned, every step screaming at me to move faster.
By the time we burst into the classroom, breathless, the clock announced the obvious truth—we were fifteen minutes late.
The silence that greeted us was deafening. Every head turned. A few muffled laughs slipped out.
Professor Harrington's jaw was clenched so tight I thought his teeth might shatter. He didn't need to raise his voice to cut us in half."Miss Lyra. Mister Ashford. How generous of you to join us."
Heat flared across my face, burning down my neck. "I—I'm sorry, sir, we—"
"We overslept," Alaric finished smoothly, leaning against the doorframe like he owned it. His voice carried a lazy boldness that made gasps ripple through the class.
Professor Harrington's eyes widened, his fury darkening into something dangerous. "Overslept? Overslept?" His tone sharpened with every repetition. "Do you think this is a tavern? That you can wander in when it pleases you?"
I wanted to disappear into the floor. My legs moved on instinct, dragging me to my seat, while Alaric followed behind with maddening calm, slipping into the chair beside me as if nothing were wrong.
"Breathe," he murmured, low enough for only me to hear, that smirk still tugging at his lips. "We always get stuck together, don't we?"
My heart tripped over itself. I dropped my gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing my face turn scarlet.
The professor cleared his throat sharply and launched into the day's lecture on shading and detailing. His voice was crisp, commanding, but my mind was a mess. My lines came out crooked, my clay cracked under my trembling fingers. No matter how hard I tried, my work refused to cooperate.
"Miss Lyra."
The sharpness of his tone made my stomach lurch.
I froze, staring at the disaster in front of me.
Professor Selvara stalked over, plucked my sketchbook from the desk, and held it up for all to see. "This," she announced, "is not only careless, it's pathetic. Your performance is deteriorating, and frankly, I'm starting to wonder if you're even trying."
A chorus of chuckles buzzed through the room. My cheeks burned hotter, and I sank lower into my seat, wishing I could vanish.
Before I could speak, Alaric's voice slid into the silence, smooth as silk. "Or maybe she's just distracted."
Every whisper, every breath caught. My head whipped toward him, eyes wide.
Professor Selvara's face turned crimson. "Mister Ashford—"
But Alaric only leaned back in his chair, lips twitching with that infuriating, teasing curve. "Happens to the best of us." His gaze flicked deliberately toward me, holding mine until my lungs forgot how to work.
The class erupted into laughter.
The professor slammed her hand on the desk, the sound like thunder. "Enough! If you find this amusing, Mister Ashford, then perhaps detention will help you reflect."
Alaric tilted his head, unbothered, his voice dripping with mockery. "Detention? Finally, a chance to spend some quality time together." His smirk deepened. "Looking forward to it."
Gasps shot across the room like sparks.
The air vibrated with tension—until suddenly, the chalk hovering near the board lifted, spinning lazily midair.
Gasps again. Whispers. The professor froze, her fury snapping to suspicion. "Who—"
The chalk darted in midair, tracing mocking symbols across the blackboard. A trick. Someone was testing her.
Professor Selvara spun, snatching it from the air with a flick of her wand, eyes blazing. "Who dares—"
But a sharp knock cut her words. A scroll, glowing faintly, slipped under the door and glided into her palm. Her face tightened as he broke the seal, scanning it quickly.
When she looked up, her voice rang through the silence. "Miss Lyra. Mister Ashford. The Headmistress requests your presence."
Every head swiveled toward us, whispers buzzing like hornets. My pulse spiked, dread clawing its way through my chest.
Alaric only stretched in his chair, as if the world had handed him a pleasant surprise.
The walk to the Headmistress's office felt endless.
My stomach churned with every step, a leaden weight dragging at my chest. The corridors were hushed, lined with tall stained-glass windows that threw fractured colors across the stone floors. I could feel the eyes of passing students on us, whispers trailing in our wake.
I wanted to shrink, to vanish, to deny this moment entirely. Alaric, however, walked at my side as though we were on some casual stroll through the gardens. Hands stuffed into his pockets, posture loose, his expression unreadable except for the faint curl of amusement tugging at his mouth.
"How can you be so calm?" I hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was near. "We're in trouble—serious trouble!"
He tilted his head toward me, eyes catching the light like storm clouds stirring. "Because panicking won't change anything." His tone was smooth, steady, too steady. "Besides, it's not the end of the world."
I bit back a retort, because to me, it felt like it was.
At the towering oak doors of the Headmistress's office, the carved ravens glared down at us as though they knew our guilt before we even entered. Alaric lifted a hand and knocked once. The sound echoed ominously.
"Enter," came the cool, commanding voice from within.
The door swung open, and I stepped into the room I'd only ever glimpsed from the outside. The office was vast, ceiling arched high like a cathedral, lined with shelves of ancient books and scrolls. At the center stood a desk carved from blackwood, its surface polished to a mirror sheen. Behind it sat Headmistress Seraphina Ravencourt.
Her presence was suffocating. Raven-dark robes flowed around her slender frame, and her silver hair was pulled into a severe twist that revealed a face both elegant and merciless. Her eyes, sharp as glass, fixed on us the moment we entered.
"Miss Lyra. Mister Ashford," she said, her voice low but edged with steel. "Sit."
We obeyed. The chair beneath me felt too large, the silence too heavy. My palms dampened as she set the letter she had received from the surveillance birds on her desk.
"You must be wondering why you are here," she began, folding her hands. "Let me enlighten you. My ravens report every movement in this academy. And imagine my dismay when they informed me that you both spent the night together—in one room."
The words dropped like stones in water, and I flinched as if struck.
"No!" I blurted instantly, panic flooding my veins. "It's not—it isn't what you think! I swear, Headmistress, it wasn't like that—"
Her sharp eyes scanned us both, and with a flick of her wrist, the silver birds re-formed their report, showing us in the same room, the same night. My stomach plummeted as the image lingered in the air.
Her hand cut through the air, silencing me. "Do not attempt to excuse yourself. My concern is not the details of your dalliance but the image it creates. Do you understand the kind of message this sends to the rest of the academy?"
My throat locked. I shook my head desperately. "There was nothing—"
"Enough." Her voice was final, cold. She rose slightly, her shadow spilling long across the floor. "Attractions occur, I am not blind. You are young, foolish, prone to impulse. But such… acts as this—whether innocent or otherwise—breed scandal. They erode discipline. They plant dangerous ideas in impressionable minds."
Each word pressed heavier against my chest. I sat frozen, hands twisting in my lap, unable to find the right words.
She continued, her eyes never leaving mine. "If other students believe they may shirk the rules, sneak into each other's rooms, and tarnish the academy's reputation—then what becomes of us? We are not here to breed chaos, Miss Lyra. We are here to shape discipline, order, excellence. And I will not have my academy tainted by the recklessness of two students who cannot control themselves."
Her gaze shifted to Alaric. "And you, Mister Ashford. I expected better. You, of all people, know the weight of reputation. Yet you chose to drag another student into disgrace with you."
Alaric leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but firm. "With all respect, Headmistress—it wasn't what it looked like. Nothing happened."
Her eyes narrowed. "Your words mean little against the reports of my birds. I trust them more than I trust the two of you."
The accusation burned. My chest tightened, shame and helplessness clawing up my throat. I wanted to shout, to cry, to plead—but every attempt I made, she cut down with a curt wave of her hand.
"Both of you will face punishment," she declared finally. "Two weeks of detention. The details will be explained to you tomorrow. Until then, reflect on the choices that have led you here."
Her voice cracked like a whip. "Dismissed."
I stumbled to my feet, vision blurred, heart breaking under the weight of an accusation I hadn't earned. My voice trembled as I whispered, "It wasn't fair…" but she had already bent her gaze back to her papers.
The door slammed shut behind us, sealing the judgment like a coffin.
I stopped in the hallway, breathing hard, fighting the sting in my eyes. My voice broke when I spoke. "I can't believe this. I can't believe she thinks we—" My throat caught. "I never thought I'd be accused of something like that. Something I didn't even do…"
Alaric's presence beside me was steady, unshaken. He studied me for a moment, then lowered his voice, softer than I'd ever heard it.
"Hey," he murmured, his tone stripped of its usual teasing. "Don't let her words get to you. You know the truth. I know the truth. That's what matters."
"But—everyone else—"
"Let them think what they want," he interrupted gently. His eyes caught mine, firm, grounding me. "It doesn't define you. None of it does. And trust me—this isn't the worst thing you'll face here. If this is the worst they can throw at us, we'll survive."
I blinked at him, my throat still tight, but the steadiness in his gaze anchored me. The storm inside me calmed, just a fraction.
He smirked faintly then, tilting his head as if trying to pull me back to myself. "Besides," he added, voice low, "two weeks of detention together? Sounds almost fun."
Despite everything, a small, broken laugh slipped past my lips.