The door swung open without announcement.
Don Matteo stepped in, his coat still catching the wind as if it hadn't realized the rooftop was behind him now.
He didn't speak. Didn't sit. The room felt too full for silence, yet he carried it in with him like a storm.
He walked to the edge of the desk but didn't lower himself into the chair.
Instead, he leaned forward, palms flat on the polished surface.
The rooftop wind had left his long hair undone, a few strands sliding over the sharp planes of his cheekbones — like shadows that refused to settle.
His eyes didn't blink.
They locked on nothing and everything—the weight of decisions still pressing heavy across his shoulders.
Outside, the muffled hum of the city went on like nothing had happened.
But inside this room, it lingered: the echo of the gunshot, the betrayal, the truth that one of his own had chosen to bleed the family from within.
His jaw clenched.
Not in rage.
But in restraint.
The kind of silence that came before empires collapsed—or were rebuilt stronger.
His fingers curled slightly against the desk's edge.
He didn't speak.
He didn't look away.
He simply stood there, hair moving gently in the quiet air, a shadow of war behind his eyes.
A knock came—soft, careful.
He didn't respond. Not right away.
The room seemed to wait with him, letting the weight of unspoken things run their course.
A second knock broke the quiet.
Softer this time. Hesitant.
The door opened just a crack before Bianca stepped in, heels clicking softly on the tiled floor.
Her blonde hair was pulled into a sleek twist, clipboard in hand, eyes already scanning the top of the page.
"New schedule," she announced, tone businesslike but careful. She paused, then added with a glance at him, "Your father sent the update directly. I assume you're aware."
Don Matteo didn't answer. Still leaning against the desk, eyes unmoving, as if the skyline still played behind his gaze.
Bianca cleared her throat gently and read aloud.
"Felix will be done in half an hour. You'll pick him up yourself."
She looked up, gauging his reaction. None.
Her eyes dropped back to the page.
"Make sure you make up for yesterday. No excuses. It's an order."
She finished reading and lowered the clipboard slowly. "That's the message. Firm tone, in case you were wondering. He didn't leave room for negotiation."
Don Matteo finally blinked. A small shift of the jaw. Then, a slow breath.
A beat of silence.
The air in the office tightened, but it wasn't anger that filled it.
Just something unspoken. Heavy. Regretful.
Matteo pushed off the desk at last, rolling his sleeves down with steady hands. "Car's downstairs?"
Bianca nodded once. "It will be by the time you're ready."
He didn't thank her. Didn't need to.
But as he passed her, there was a flicker of something in his eyes—not softness exactly, but the first hint of it cracking through.
Bianca watched him go, the clipboard now forgotten by her side.
Across the city, in a quiet classroom, the air carried none of the rooftop wind — only the dry scent of paper and faint perfume.
Felix sat near the window, his posture neat but distant, a black pen loosely cradled between his fingers.
His notebook was half-filled with crisp, careful handwriting, though his eyes hadn't moved from the same spot on the page in minutes.
The lecturer's voice carried on at the front, a gentle drone over graphs and closing remarks.
Beside him, Jace nudged his elbow, whispering out of the corner of his mouth, "You good?"
Felix blinked, then nodded once without looking up. "Yeah. Just tired."
Jace didn't push further. He never did.
That's what made him the only one still around.
When the bell rang, it wasn't loud — more a subtle chime — but the shuffle of chairs scraping the floor was immediate.
Papers rustled, bags zipped.
Felix stood slowly, adjusting the strap on his shoulder.
Jace stood with him, balancing his sketchpad under one arm.
"Finally," Jace said, exhaling. "If she talked about economic sustainability one more minute, I might've collapsed right here."
Felix gave a small huff that was almost a laugh. "That'd be dramatic. Even for you."
"You've got no idea. I was rehearsing my fall," Jace replied, swinging the door open for them both.
They stepped into the hallway, sunlight streaking through the high windows, warming the tiled floor.
Students passed them in loose clusters, laughing, whispering, full of plans for the evening.
Felix walked a bit quieter than most.
Jace matched his pace easily.
"You sure you don't want to join us at the cafe later?" Jace asked, not pushing—just offering. "No pressure. Thought maybe a little sugar and caffeine could soften that constant existential dread you carry around."
Felix smiled faintly but shook his head. "Not today."
"Tomorrow, then," Jace said without missing a beat. "I'm buying. So you'll owe me emotional labor in return."
Felix raised an eyebrow. "That's not how emotional labor works."
"Exactly. That's why it's a trap."
They shared a small glance—comfortably quiet, like a rhythm long-practiced.
They walked together in unhurried steps, their shoes echoing softly through the narrow stairwell.
The air grew cooler as they descended, the scent of polished wood and paper giving way to the faint breeze drifting in from the open front doors.
Jace nudged Felix's arm gently. "You looked spaced out today. You sure you're okay?"
Felix gave a small shrug, his expression unreadable. "Yeah. Just... long week."
"Mm. You say that every week."
"And it keeps being true."
Jace gave a short laugh but didn't press.
By the time they reached the final landing, the soft murmur of students outside filtered in.
Felix slowed.
He stood still for a moment, one hand tightening slightly on the strap of his bag.
Jace followed his line of sight.
Parked at the curb, polished and dark against the afternoon light, was a sleek black car — nothing flashy, but the kind that didn't belong in a campus parking lot.
No bodyguards. Just one man leaned against the hood, suit collar open, long hair slightly tousled by the breeze.
Matteo.
His gaze was already locked on Felix.
Jace whistled under his breath. "Is that... him?"
Felix nodded slowly. "Yeah. He is."
Jace glanced between them, lips twitching. "Well damn. He looks like he walked out of a crime drama."
Felix gave a soft huff, brushing down his shirt nervously. "Who's know."
"Alright, bud," Jace said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Go on. I'll see you next week. Don't stand him up or I'll personally hex you."
"Thanks," Felix murmured, eyes still on Matteo.
With a mock salute, Jace turned and melted into the stream of students heading the other way.
Felix lingered only a second more, a strange pressure tightening in his chest — not quite fear, not quite anticipation, but something that made it impossible to look anywhere but at him.
Matteo's gaze didn't waver as Felix moved toward him — like he'd been standing there all day, waiting for this exact moment.