The sun had already set when Aurelian left the Ministry of Defense.
The marble corridors were empty, save for the long shadows of the columns and the echo of his own military boots.
He was tired.
The ink stain still lingered in his mind—an irritating reminder that his day had been unproductive. He needed air. He needed silence.
He would get neither.
Turning the corner into the main hall, he saw the figure leaning against one of the columns, relaxed, as if the public building were his private drawing room.
Cassian.
The Curator of the Sun wore an impeccable burgundy velvet coat and held an ebony cane he did not need to walk—only to complete the image of elegance.
Aurelian did not slow his pace.
"Lord Valen. The Ministry of Social Assistance is in the east wing. Are you lost, or do you simply enjoy infesting my corridors?"
Cassian laughed. A light sound, pleasant as it echoed through the empty hall.
"Always so sharp, General. I doubt anyone can relax near you without bleeding."
He pushed himself off the column, smoothly blocking Aurelian's path.
"I'm not lost. I was waiting for a friend from the Council, but… conversation with you always amuses me more."
Aurelian stopped.
"I don't have time for amusement, Cassian. Move."
Cassian didn't. His smile shifted—just slightly more predatory.
"I saw that little treasure today," he said casually.
Aurelian felt his jaw muscle lock. He knew exactly whom Cassian meant.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, you do." Cassian stepped closer, twirling the cane. "The elf. The one in the green dress. Lyra."
He spoke her name with an intimacy that made Aurelian's stomach twist, as if he had the right to savor the syllables.
"I saw her in the Acacia Gardens," Cassian went on, watching Aurelian's reaction like a hawk. "With the children your coachman 'needed.'"
Aurelian kept his face impassive, but inside, alarms blared. He knows about the children. He knows I lied.
"It's a public park," Aurelian said coldly. "People walk through it."
"Yes, they do. But not all of them look so… relieved." Cassian tilted his head. "The children seemed much happier away from your house, General. Almost… alive."
It was a direct strike.
Cassian was saying: You are death. I am life. And she knows it.
Aurelian stepped forward, closing the distance until it became a physical threat. He was taller, broader—a soldier. Cassian was a politician.
Cassian did not retreat a single inch.
"If you followed her, Cassian…" Aurelian's voice dropped into a growl. "If you dared to corner her—"
"Me? Corner her?" Cassian raised his hands in mock surrender. "Never. I merely offered help. Tutors for the traumatized children. She accepted, of course. She seems… starved for genuine kindness. Something your cousin tries to offer, poor man, but lacks the depth to sustain. And you… well, you don't even try."
Aurelian felt his blood boil.
She had accepted Cassian's help. Cassian would have access to the house. To the children. To her.
"Stay away from her," Aurelian warned.
"Why?" Cassian smiled, and this time the smile was cold. "She's Elion's property, isn't she? That's what you said at the ball. 'How much did she cost?'"
Cassian tapped Aurelian's chest with the tip of the cane. Light. Insolent.
"Unless…" the Curator's eyes gleamed with malicious discovery, "unless the great General is confusing property with obsession."
Aurelian grabbed the cane. Hard.
For a heartbeat, he thought of snapping it. Of breaking Cassian.
But that would be losing. Again.
He released the cane with a sharp shove.
"She's Elion's problem," Aurelian said, forcing his voice back into ice. "And your tutors are yours. But if a single hair on those children's heads—or hers—is touched by your twisted 'charity'… I will burn your Institute to the ground with you inside it."
Cassian did not look shaken. He merely adjusted his lapel.
"Duly noted, General," he said lightly. "But I wouldn't worry about fire. I'd worry about the fact that, this afternoon, she smiled at me in a way she has never smiled at you."
Cassian walked past him.
His scent—sandalwood and something too sweet—lingered in the air.
"Good night, Aurelian. Try to sleep. You look… unstable."
Aurelian stood alone in the corridor.
The echo of Cassian's departing footsteps sounded like the countdown of a bomb.
He was right.
She had smiled at the enemy.
And Aurelian, with all his armies and strategies, had just lost territory without firing a single arrow.