Aurelia had always prided herself on being rational, on holding her head high even when others sought to push her down. But after the incident with Lucian the way he had looked at her, spoken her name without permission, carved himself into her world without an invitation she found her balance shaken.
She told herself he was nothing. A spoiled heir with arrogance stitched into his every breath. A shadow she had brushed against once, and only once. That was what she wanted to believe. That was what she repeated to herself the morning after, when sunlight spilled over her chamber walls and she dragged herself out of bed with more reluctance than usual.
"He is mean," she muttered under her breath, tying the ribbon at her collar with more force than necessary. "Arrogant, insufferable, cruel."
The mirror reflected her scowl, but behind her own eyes she caught something she didn't want to see — the memory of how he had looked at her, as though he had been expecting her all along.
She shook her head quickly, refusing to let that thought nest.
Elena, ever the sharp-eyed friend, caught her in the corridor before classes.
"You look as if you spent the night wrestling demons," Elena remarked, linking her arm through Aurelia's. "And not the sweet kind that kiss your forehead when you wake."
Aurelia rolled her eyes. "I don't wrestle demons. I ignore them."
"Mm," Elena hummed, studying her. "So it's true then? He spoke to you?"
Aurelia stiffened. She hadn't told Elena much, just fragments, but somehow rumors always ran faster than she did.
"It was nothing," Aurelia said firmly. "And it will stay nothing. He's.." she cut herself off, biting the word back.
"He's what?" Elena pressed, her grin sly.
Aurelia exhaled sharply. "Mean. Arrogant. Everything a girl like me has no business entertaining."
Elena gave a dramatic sigh. "And yet here you are, thinking about him enough to look tired."
"I am not thinking about him," Aurelia snapped, perhaps too quickly.
Elena only laughed, patting her friend's hand. "Of course not. You never think about the people you hate."
The day dragged. Aurelia kept her head down in lectures, notes spilling across her parchment in neat, determined lines. She told herself this was her shield: diligence, silence, invisibility. If she ignored him, he would fade. If she kept herself wrapped in walls, his eyes would never find her again.
But fate, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor.
At lunch, when she sought refuge beneath the old oak in the courtyard, Lucian passed through with two companions. He was not laughing, not loud — but his gaze slid across the space as though pulled by gravity, and landed squarely on her.
Aurelia felt the prickle before she looked up, and when she did, her stomach lurched.
He did not smile. Not fully. His mouth curved at one corner, the suggestion of amusement, as if her attempt at disappearing amused him more than any conversation could. Then, just as swiftly, he looked away, leaving her clutching her book with clammy hands.
"He saw me," she whispered.
Of course he had. Shadows always notice the one who tries hardest to flee the light.
The library was supposed to be safe.
Aurelia sank into the farthest table, books piled like fortresses around her. She pressed her quill to the parchment, forcing her thoughts toward history dates and imperial decrees. Nothing else existed. Not Lucian. Not his impossible presence.
But safety, again, betrayed her.
The sound of footsteps, slow and unhurried, crossed the marble floor. A shift in air. Aurelia's hand stilled mid-sentence.
"Studious," a voice murmured, low and unmistakable.
Her quill nearly snapped in half. She lifted her head to find him leaning against the shelf, black uniform pressed sharp, eyes glinting with something she refused to name.
"You," she hissed, barely containing her voice. "Why are you.."
"This is a library," he interrupted, voice silk edged with iron. "One ought to whisper."
Aurelia's jaw clenched. "Then stop talking to me."
Lucian tilted his head slightly, as though amused by the fire that sparked from her so easily. "You don't like me."
"No," Aurelia snapped, gathering her books. "I despise you."
He did not move aside. Instead, he took one slow step closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear.
"And yet," he said, "you answer when I speak. Curious."
Her pulse raced. She shoved past him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reply. His laughter followed her, soft, short, the sound of someone entertained by his own patience.
By evening, Aurelia had declared war on fate.
"He is everywhere," she groaned to Elena, throwing herself onto her bed. "The courtyard, the library, even the corridor near the dining hall. He appears like...like a shadow, and he won't leave me alone."
Elena raised a brow, sitting at the edge of the bed with her chin propped on her hand. "Perhaps he likes you."
Aurelia sat upright, horrified. "No. Don't say such things. He doesn't like anyone. He thrives on torment."
"Mm," Elena said lightly. "And yet, he saves his torment especially for you. Should I be jealous?"
Aurelia groaned into her pillow. "I hate him."
But deep inside, tangled somewhere she couldn't reach, was the faintest thread of something else something dangerous. The kind of thread that tugged without asking, that wound around ankles no matter how far one tried to run.
The week went on like that. Aurelia dodging, Lucian appearing. She would rise early to avoid him, only to find him already waiting in the hall. She would turn corners quickly, only for his gaze to catch hers across the crowd.
Once, in the training yard, she stumbled over a step, and before Elena could reach her, Lucian's hand had caught her wrist. His touch was cool, steady, infuriating.
"You should be careful," he said.
"I don't need your concern," Aurelia snapped, wrenching free.
He smiled then, fully this time, sharp and knowing. "No. But you have it anyway."
It was then Aurelia realized the truth: shadows don't always chase. Sometimes, they wait. Sometimes, they linger until the one running has no choice but to notice them.
And Lucian — he was not letting her go.