Alessia noticed it in the silence.
Kael had always been many things—controlled, distant, cruel when necessary—but he had never been absent. Even when he was bored with her, even when he drifted, there had been a thread she could pull. A look. A word. A reminder of shared history.
Now there was nothing.
She watched him from the edge of the upper terrace as students passed below, laughter echoing faintly. Kael stood apart from his friends, gaze unfocused, attention elsewhere.
Not on her.
Not on anyone there.
Lyra Vale.
The realization settled coldly, not with pain, but calculation.
"He's slipping," Alessia murmured.
Serene passed behind her, pausing only briefly. "You mean you're losing him."
Alessia didn't respond.
She didn't need comfort. She needed leverage.
Elias
Elias welcomed the interruption.
He sat in the dim study room of the west wing, books open more for appearance than use, when Alessia entered without knocking.
"You took your time," he said mildly.
"I had to be certain," she replied, heels clicking sharply against stone. "Kael is no longer neutral."
Elias's mouth curved faintly. "He hasn't been neutral since the human arrived."
Alessia folded her arms. "You want her."
"I want access," Elias corrected. "Which is different."
She studied him carefully. "And if access destabilizes Kael?"
Elias's eyes gleamed. "Then the council's problem solves itself."
Alessia smiled then—not warmly, but decisively.
"You push socially," she said. "Letters. Classes. Visibility. Nothing overt. Nothing violent."
"And you?" Elias asked.
"I apply pressure where it hurts," Alessia replied. "Remind him of expectations. History. Consequences."
Elias leaned back. "An alliance, then."
"Temporary," Alessia said coolly. "Until we both get what we want."
They shook hands.
Neither trusted the other.
That made it perfect.
Lyra
Lyra didn't notice the shift immediately.
Her days had fallen into a strange rhythm—classes, letters, fleeting moments with Kael that felt heavier now, charged with things neither of them said aloud. He still walked her partway to her dorm. Still watched the shadows.
But something was changing.
People watched her now.
Whispers followed her name—not cruel, not yet—but curious. Calculated.
And then Elias began appearing everywhere.
Not aggressively. Casually.
Next to her in class. Across the table at lunch. Offering notes when she missed a lecture. Always polite. Always public.
"I hope I'm not overstepping," he said one afternoon, handing back a book she hadn't realized she'd left behind. "You just seem… surrounded lately."
Lyra frowned. "Surrounded by what?"
"Expectations," Elias replied smoothly.
She didn't respond.
But that night, she wrote to Kael anyway.
Something feels off.
If you know something I don't, I'd rather hear it from you.
—Lyra.
Kael
Kael crushed the letter in his hand—then smoothed it carefully, ashamed.
He could feel it now. The shift. The tightening net.
Alessia's distance wasn't accidental.
Elias's proximity wasn't coincidence.
And Lyra—
Lyra was standing in the middle of it without armor.
He found Alessia near the old fountain just before dusk.
"You're playing a dangerous game," he said quietly.
She turned, unimpressed. "You started it."
"Leave her out of this."
Alessia laughed softly. "You already didn't."
Her gaze sharpened. "You're losing control again, Kael. And this time, you won't get to decide who pays for it."
She walked away.
Kael stood still, jaw tight, the truth settling like a verdict.
Avoidance had failed.
Silence had failed.
And if he didn't move soon—
Lyra would be forced to choose sides in a war she never wanted.