Breakfast ended the way it always did—quietly.
The last cup was emptied, the final plate pushed aside. Morning light had shifted slightly by the time the alpha set his cutlery down and leaned back in his chair, gaze resting on the boy across from him with something thoughtful behind it.
"You're turning twenty-two next week," he said.
The words were casual.
The reaction was not.
The boy's fingers paused mid-movement, porcelain cup hovering just above the table. For a fraction of a second, his expression slipped—something dim passing through those ocean-blue eyes before he carefully set the cup down.
"…I know," he replied.
The alpha noticed. Of course he did.
He studied the boy quietly. "What will you do?"
The boy looked away, gaze drifting toward the window where Elyndria gleamed in flawless order. Towers of glass and gold. Controlled. Perfect. Containing.
"It's still a week away," he said lightly, though the tone didn't quite match the words. "Why are you so eager for it?"
The alpha didn't answer immediately.
Instead, the boy turned back, lips curving into a small, deliberate smile—one meant to change the subject. "Let's go somewhere. Just roam around."
The alpha sighed, already knowing where this was going.
"You're in detention," he reminded him calmly. "You can only move within these walls."
The boy didn't argue.
He leaned forward instead, resting his chin in his palm, eyes bright with mischief now—carefully chosen, carefully worn. "Then you'll accompany me, right?"
The question wasn't really a question.
The alpha met his gaze, held it for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose in quiet resignation.
"…Fine."
The boy's smile widened, genuine this time.
Defeat, accepted.
The boy didn't wait for the alpha to change his mind.
"Let's go," he said simply.
He reached out and took the man's hand—warm, familiar, unquestioned—and pulled him up from his seat with a soft laugh. The motion was light, almost playful, but there was certainty in it. As if this was how things had always been.
They left the room together.
The corridor outside was bathed in pale gold light, high windows throwing soft reflections across polished floors. Servants straightened as they passed. Maids paused in their work. Guards inclined their heads.
"Good morning," the boy said brightly, every time.
"Morning, ." maid greeted warmly.
"Good day, ." "Did you sleep well?" people asked him.
He answered all of them, voice gentle, smile easy, like someone who belonged here completely.
The alpha watched him from half a step behind.
An elderly woman stood near the stairway, hands folded neatly over her apron, eyes sharp despite the lines of age at their corners. When she saw the boy, her lips curved into a knowing smile.
"Ah," she said warmly, "you're going out for mischief again, aren't you?"
The boy laughed, unrepentant. "Maybe."
The old lady's gaze shifted to the alpha then, her smile deepening. "Take care of him."
She paused, then added with a chuckle, "And of course—take care of yourself from his plans."
The alpha huffed softly. "I'll do my best."
The boy squeezed his hand, pleased.
Together, they continued down the corridor—steps unhurried, laughter light—leaving behind the quiet order of the room, carrying with them the promise of harmless trouble and a freedom that existed, if only briefly, within the limits of these walls.
The boy led him without explanation.
Through a narrower passage. Past a side garden no one used anymore. Toward the shortest stretch of the inner wall—old stone, worn smooth with time, almost hidden behind ivy and climbing flowers.
A ladder was already waiting there.
Of course it was.
The alpha stopped walking.
"…No," he said immediately.
The boy turned, blinking innocently. "Why?"
The man glanced at the ladder, then at the wall, then back at the boy. "If you're caught outside again, the punishment won't be light this time."
The boy tilted his head, calm, unbothered. Then, with quiet confidence, he asked,
"What worse can they give me now?"
The words weren't dramatic.
They were factual.
The alpha froze.
He understood instantly—understood too well. The limits. The rules. The ceiling they'd already hit.
He exhaled slowly, rubbing his face. "…You're impossible."
The boy smiled.
"…This is the last time," the man muttered, already reaching for the ladder.
Naturally, he carried it.
He set it against the wall, tested its balance once, then climbed up first with practiced ease. At the top, he swung himself over and dropped lightly to the other side.
When he looked back, the boy was already halfway up.
"Careful," the alpha warned.
The boy didn't answer. He climbed with unhurried grace, reached the top, and paused—sitting on the edge of the wall, legs dangling freely.
The alpha frowned. "Jump."
Instead of obeying, the boy just stared at him.
Long. Calm. Expectant.
The alpha stared back, then realized.
"…You're waiting for me to catch you."
The boy's lips curved mischievously.
With a resigned sigh, the alpha stepped forward and opened his arms. "Come on," he said. "Jump. Now."
The boy didn't hesitate.
He leapt.
Light as air—straight into the alpha's arms.
The alpha caught him effortlessly, momentum absorbed without a stumble, arms locking securely around him.
The boy laughed, soft and victorious.
"Told you," he said smugly.
The alpha shook his head, but there was no real anger in his eyes. Only familiarity. Only surrender.
"…You're going to be the end of me one day."
The boy smiled, already wriggling free.
And together, they disappeared beyond the wall.