After the assembly, Elara stopped pretending distance would protect them.
It didn't matter anymore.
The academy already watched her like a fracture waiting to spread. Her name carried unease now—spoken softly, carefully. She felt it in the way doors closed a little faster, in the way Lucien's gaze followed her longer than it used to.
Kael came to her that night.
Not openly. Not safely.
She sensed him before she saw him—the air cooling, the shadows folding inward. He stood just beyond the lantern light outside the abandoned observatory, where the academy's rules grew thin and brittle.
"You shouldn't have done that," he said.
Elara didn't answer right away. She stepped closer.
"You told me once not to say your name like that," she said quietly. "I stopped listening."
Kael's breath hitched. Just once.
"What you did today," he continued, voice low and tight, "you put a target on yourself. For me."
"I know."
"You don't understand the cost."
She lifted her chin. "Then stop acting like I didn't already pay it."
Silence pressed between them, heavy and electric. They were close now—too close. Not touching. Not daring to.
Kael's shadows trembled.
"I shut everything down," he said. "Every part of me that wanted—this." His gaze flicked to her, raw and restrained. "Because wanting you makes me weak."
Elara's voice softened. "No. It makes you human."
That was what broke him.
He stepped closer, stopping a breath away. The intensity between them was almost unbearable—years of restraint, fear, and longing pressed into the narrow space between their bodies.
"If I cross this line," Kael said hoarsely, "I won't be able to protect you from myself."
Elara's hands trembled at her sides. "I'm not asking you to protect me. I'm asking you to stay."
For a long moment, neither moved.
Then Kael reached out—slowly, deliberately—and rested his forehead against hers.
It was the barest touch.
It felt like fire.
He exhaled shakily. "This is dangerous."
She closed her eyes. "So is lying."
They stayed like that—no kiss, no embrace—just the unbearable closeness of two people choosing each other in a world that demanded they don't.
From the far end of the courtyard, Lucien watched.
His smile didn't reach his eyes anymore.
The next day, Lucien cornered Elara near the council stairs.
"You're becoming reckless," he said quietly. "Associating with him so openly."
"Openly?" she asked. "We're still whispering, Lucien. You just don't like who I'm whispering about."
His jaw tightened.
"You used to look at me like I was certainty," he said. "Now you look at him like—like defiance."
Elara met his gaze. "You mistake obedience for love."
Lucien's light flared—just slightly. "Be careful," he warned. "Kael will ruin you."
Her voice was steady. "You already tried."
That night, the academy walls hummed with tension.
Kael and Elara met again—briefly, dangerously—exchanging looks that said everything they weren't allowed to say aloud. The bond between them sharpened, deepened, forged not through touch but through choice.
Lucien noticed everything.
The way Kael positioned himself subtly between Elara and danger.
The way Elara's voice softened only for him.
The way the villain no longer looked alone.
Jealousy rotted Lucien from the inside out.
And jealousy, unlike love, did not hesitate.
As the moon rose high over Ravenshade, Lucien made a decision.
If Elara would not be won back by light—
Then she would be taken by fear.
And Kael would finally learn what it cost to love something the story never meant him to have.