The dormitory wing smelled like fresh wood, soapstone polish, and something faintly metallic—mana residue, if my nose wasn't lying to me.
I paused at the threshold while the attendant rattled off rules that sounded suspiciously like warnings. Curfew bells. Shared facilities. Do not cross floors after midnight. Do not draw circles on the walls. Do not exchange mana in public areas.
That last one earned a polite cough from the attendant and a few stiff nods from the students around me. No one laughed.
Mana exchange, I thought. The academy loved its euphemisms.
Our suite was at the end of the hall, a corner unit with two bedrooms and a shared bathing space. Practical. Close. Too close.
The attendant bowed, handed me a key etched with runes that shimmered faintly, and left without another word. The door clicked shut behind us.
Silence.
Then—
"So," Laira said, dropping her bag with a thud. "This is… cozy."
That was one word for it.
The suite wasn't small, exactly, but it had been designed by someone who believed intimacy bred discipline. Two doors on either side, a narrow common space with a table and chairs, and the bath beyond a folding screen. No locks on the interior doors. Only wards.
I set my bag down and glanced at the rune patterns along the walls. Containment, privacy dampening, resonance suppression. Someone had thought this through.
Too well.
"You're staring," Mira said quietly.
I looked over. She stood near the window, posture straight, hands folded behind her back like she was bracing for inspection. Her eyes flicked from the runes to me, then away.
"Just appreciating the craftsmanship," I said lightly. "These wards are expensive."
She relaxed by a fraction. "They had to be."
Laira flopped into a chair, kicked her boots off, and grinned at me. "Because of us?"
"Because of you," Mira replied, deadpan.
I smiled despite myself. Forced proximity, the academy had said. To encourage cooperation.
What they hadn't said was that the boys' wing had been temporarily merged with ours due to renovations.
I learned that part when the door next door opened.
Voices drifted through the thin wall. Male voices. Close.
"…swear, if he starts chanting in his sleep—"
"That wasn't chanting. That was breathing."
Laira froze mid-stretch. Mira's head snapped toward the wall.
I sighed. "Neighbors."
A knock followed, polite but firm.
I opened the door to find two boys standing there. Both wore the academy uniform, though one had the sleeves rolled up like he was ready to fight the fabric itself.
"Uh," the taller one said, scratching his head. "Sorry. Just wanted to check—this is Suite C-7, right?"
"Yes," I said. "And you're…?"
"Rowan. This is Kel." He jerked a thumb at his companion. "We're in C-8."
Kel nodded once, eyes flicking past me into the room. His gaze lingered a moment too long.
Mira stepped closer to my shoulder. Laira leaned forward with open curiosity.
Rowan cleared his throat. "Right. So. Shared bath schedule?"
"Morning," Mira said immediately.
"Evening," Laira said at the same time.
I raised a hand. "We can work it out. There's a bell system, right?"
Rowan nodded eagerly. "Yeah. That's what the attendant said."
Kel's jaw tightened. "No crossing wards."
"Obviously," Mira said.
An awkward pause stretched.
Then Rowan smiled, bright and nervous. "Cool. Welcome to the dorms."
They left, door closing softly.
The silence that followed was heavier.
This is going to be a problem, I thought.
---
The first night passed without incident. Mostly.
I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the muffled sounds of movement through the walls. Footsteps. Water running. A laugh cut short.
Mana hummed faintly beneath it all, like a second heartbeat. The wards dampened it, but didn't erase it.
Mana equals intimacy, the instructors had said. Resonance through closeness. Exchange through trust.
They hadn't mentioned the side effects.
A soft sound came from the bath area. Water splashing. Someone humming.
Laira.
I rolled onto my side and closed my eyes. Sleep.
A sudden spike of mana flared, sharp and sweet, like ozone and heat.
I sat up.
The wards flickered.
"Mira?" I called softly.
No answer.
I swung my legs off the bed and stepped into the common area just as the bath door slid open.
Mira stood there, towel clutched tightly around her, hair damp and curling at the ends. Her eyes were wide, breath shallow.
"I—I didn't mean to—" she started.
Behind her, the bath door across the hall slid open.
Kel froze mid-step.
Time slowed.
His eyes widened. Mira gasped, clutching the towel tighter. Mana surged, uncontrolled, reacting to proximity, to shock, to—
I stepped forward, placing myself between them.
"Wrong room," I said calmly.
Kel snapped his gaze to me, face flushing. "I—sorry. The wards—"
"Malfunction," I finished. "It happens."
He nodded too fast and retreated, door slamming shut.
The wards stabilized with a low hum.
Mira sagged against the wall, knees threatening to give out.
I caught her before she fell.
"Hey," I murmured. "You're okay."
Her fingers dug into my sleeve. "I felt it," she whispered. "The pull. It was—"
"I know."
Laira poked her head out of the bath behind us, towel draped loosely over one shoulder. "Did someone walk in? I sensed—oh."
She took in the scene, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Well," she said lightly. "That could've been worse."
Mira shot her a look. "That was worse."
I helped Mira to the chair and knelt in front of her, keeping my voice steady. "Breathe. Slow. Match me."
She did. The mana settled.
Laira watched, expression unreadable.
This is the danger, I realized. Not the boys. Not the wards.
Us.
---
The next morning, rumors spread faster than breakfast.
By midday, everyone knew that a mana spike had tripped half the floor's wards. By evening, people were whispering about resonance accidents.
Rowan avoided eye contact. Kel avoided the hallway entirely.
Mira avoided everyone.
She sat on her bed, knees drawn up, staring at her hands.
"I didn't mean to lose control," she said quietly.
"You didn't," I replied. "The system is… reactive."
Laira leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Reactive is one word. Addictive is another."
Mira flinched.
Laira sighed. "I'm not blaming you. I'm saying this place is dangerous."
"For them?" Mira asked.
"For us," Laira corrected. "You felt it, didn't you? The rush. The warmth."
Mira hesitated. Then nodded.
"I wanted to step closer," she admitted. "Even though I knew it was wrong."
I met Laira's gaze. She held it for a moment, then looked away.
"That's how it starts," she said softly.
Addiction, the instructors had warned. Mana exchange releases pleasure. Repetition strengthens resonance.
No one had mentioned obsession.
That night, as I lay awake again, I felt it.
A thread of mana, thin and curious, brushing against mine through the wards.
Not aggressive.
Inviting.
I followed it, just a little.
Across the hall, Kel sat on his bed, eyes closed, brow furrowed.
He feels it too.
I withdrew immediately. The thread snapped back.
My heart raced.
This isn't just proximity, I realized. It's exposure.
And someone—something—was watching.
From somewhere deeper in the academy, a distant ward chimed.
Soft.
Hungry.
---
Elsewhere.
She stood in the shadowed gallery, fingers tracing the crystal lattice that mapped the dormitory wards. Each flare of mana lit the web like a constellation.
"So vivid," she murmured. "Already."
Her smile was sharp.
"Let them grow closer," she said to the silent room. "Let them taste it."
The lattice pulsed.
Addiction always bloomed fastest in confined spaces.
And the dorms were perfect.
---
I didn't sleep after that.
And when morning came, I knew one thing for certain:
This wasn't an accident.
It was a test.
And we were already failing.