Lyra was the one who closed the distance.
She realized it only afterward—how her body had moved before her thoughts caught up, how instinct had overridden caution. They were standing beneath the covered walkway near the east wing, the night cool and hushed, the campus unusually calm after the bonfire chaos.
Kael had walked her back again. Slower this time. Quieter.
"You don't have to keep doing this," he said, stopping just short of the dorm steps. "Walking me. Watching."
Lyra turned to face him fully. "I want to."
That was new.
Kael stilled, like an animal trained to freeze at sudden sounds. "Lyra—"
"You keep choosing distance," she continued, voice steady but soft. "And I understand why. I really do. But you don't get to make all the decisions alone."
His jaw tightened. "I don't want you hurt because of me."
"And I don't want to feel like I'm something fragile you have to tiptoe around," she replied. "I survived long before I met you."
Silence pressed in.
Then Lyra did something she hadn't planned.
She reached out—not touching him, just closing the last inch of space. Close enough to feel his warmth, his stillness, the restraint vibrating beneath his skin.
"You don't scare me," she said quietly. "What scares me is not knowing where I stand with you."
Kael swallowed.
"You stand too close," he murmured. "And that's the problem."
"Then let me decide if I want to stay there."
His control wavered—not violently, not dangerously—but enough that Lyra felt it. A shift. A pull. The world narrowing to breath and heartbeat.
Slowly, carefully, Kael lifted his hand—paused—then rested it against the railing beside her instead of touching her.
Restraint.
But Lyra leaned in anyway.
Their faces were inches apart now. She could see the conflict written plainly in his eyes—want versus fear, instinct versus choice.
"If this is a mistake," she whispered, "it will be our mistake."
Kael's breath hitched.
He tilted his head slightly, as if giving her time to pull away.
She didn't.
Their lips were so close she could feel the heat of his breath—
"Kael."
The voice cut through the moment like glass.
They broke apart instantly.
Alessia stood at the edge of the walkway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Behind her, Kael's friends lingered—Cassian awkwardly clearing his throat,Riven looking sharply uncomfortable,Serene openly watching Lyra with new interest.
"Well," Cassian muttered, "this is… tense."
Lyra's face burned—not with shame, but frustration.
Alessia's gaze flicked between them. "The council has questions," she said coolly. "And Kael, you're late."
"I'm not on your schedule," Kael replied, voice flat.
Alessia smiled thinly. "You are when humans are involved."
That word—human—hung heavy.
Lyra stepped forward before Kael could speak.
"I'm right here," she said. "You don't have to talk around me."
That surprised everyone.
Even Kael.
Alessia studied her for a long moment, something sharp and assessing glinting in her eyes. "Brave," she said. "Or foolish."
"Or informed enough to ask questions," Lyra replied.
A pause.
Then Alessia laughed softly. "Enjoy your night."
She turned and walked away, heels clicking sharply against stone.
Cassian shot Kael a look. "We'll—uh—see you later, man."
The group dispersed quickly, leaving the air charged and unresolved.
Kael exhaled slowly. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" Lyra asked.
"For not getting there before they did."
Her lips curved faintly. "You didn't pull away."
"No," he admitted. "I didn't."
From the shadows near the administration building, Madame Selvara watched quietly, her cane resting against the ground.
"So," she murmured to herself, "the girl chooses closeness."
Her gaze sharpened.
"Be careful, child," she added softly. "Because once you step into a vampire's space… the world notices."
Lyra lingered a moment longer before turning toward her dorm.
"Kael?" she said over her shoulder.
"Yes?"
"Next time," she said, voice calm but certain, "don't let them interrupt."
He didn't answer.
He just watched her go, control fraying—not because he wanted to take, but because for the first time in centuries, someone had chosen to come closer.
And that was far more dangerous.