The academy had eyes everywhere.
Nova learned this lesson three days after the night in the training hall.
He was walking to breakfast when Rina Moon fell into step beside him, her spatial sense humming at the edge of his perception. She said nothing at first—just walked, her expression carefully neutral.
"You're being watched," she finally said.
Nova's pace didn't falter. "By whom?"
"Class S. Specifically Valerius Chen's people." She glanced at him. "They've been asking questions about your movements. Your schedule. Anyone you spend time with."
Ice formed in Nova's chest. "And?"
"And I'm not the only one who notices things." Rina's voice dropped. "The greenhouse. Late nights. A certain Class B student with dirt under her nails." RIna replied slowly.
They stopped walking.
Nova turned to face her, his expression carefully blank. "What do you want?"
"Nothing." Rina met his gaze steadily. "I'm warning you because you're one of the few people in Class A who doesn't treat me like a tool. Consider it repayment."
"Repayment for what?"
"For noticing that I'm a person, not just a spatial sense with legs." She almost smiled. "Watch your back, Nova. Valerius doesn't play games. If he thinks he can use someone against you, he will."
She walked away, leaving Nova standing alone in the corridor.
That afternoon, he found Priscilla in the greenhouse.
She was laughing at something—one of her plants had wrapped a vine around her wrist and was gently tugging, like a child demanding attention. When she saw Nova's face, her smile faded.
"What happened?"
"Nothing yet." He crossed to her, pulling her into the hidden clearing where the Moonlace Cascade pulsed its gentle rhythm. "But we need to be careful."
He told her about Rina's warning.
Priscilla listened without interruption, her expression shifting from concern to fear to something harder. When he finished, she was quiet for a long moment.
"Valerius Chen," she said finally. "Class S. His family controls the spatial transport network. He could make me disappear."
"He could try."
"Nova—" She touched his face. "You can't protect me from everything. If he decides to target me—"
"Then I'll target him first."
The words came out flat, cold, certain. Priscilla stared at him.
"You're serious."
"Deadly."
She should have been frightened. Any sane person would have been frightened. Instead, something flickered in her eyes—heat, desire, the same intensity that had burned between them in the training hall.
"God, you're terrifying," she whispered.
Then she kissed him.
Week 11, Day 4 — Combat Class
Thorne introduced a new exercise: blind spars.
Students were paired randomly, then blindfolded. They had to fight using only their other senses—hearing, touch, mana perception. No sight allowed.
Nova's opponent: Seraphina Cross.
The lightning girl had grown since their last match. Her cultivation was 1st Order, 8th Rank now, her control sharper, her instincts honed by months of academy training.
They circled each other in darkness.
Lightning crackled—Seraphina's tell, a nervous habit she couldn't break. Nova tracked it, used it to gauge her position. When she attacked, he was ready.
Teleport. Strike. Evade.
But without sight, his precision suffered. His blade caught her shoulder instead of her throat. She retaliated with a burst of electricity that grazed his side.
The match continued.
Five minutes. Ten. Both of them bleeding, both of them adapting, both of them refusing to yield.
Finally, Thorne's voice: "Enough. Draw."
They pulled apart, blindfolds removed. Seraphina stared at him with something like respect.
"You're getting harder to hit."
"You're getting harder to predict."
She almost smiled. Almost.
After class, Thorne pulled him aside.
"Your progress is notable. Your combat instincts are sharpening faster than anyone in your cohort." He paused. "But something's different about you lately."
Nova said nothing.
"If there's something—or someone—affecting your focus, deal with it. Or don't. But be aware that distractions get people killed." Thorne's eyes were knowing. "I've seen it before."
He walked away.
Nova stood in the empty combat hall, thinking about Priscilla. About the way she laughed. About the way she fit against him. About the way his chest warmed whenever she was near.
Distraction, he thought. Weakness.
But when he closed his eyes, he saw her face. And he couldn't bring himself to care.
Week 11, Day 6 — The Greenhouse at Midnight
They had stopped pretending to meet during daylight hours.
Now, when the academy slept and the corridors were empty, Nova slipped through the shadows to the greenhouse complex. Priscilla was always waiting, her plants keeping watch, alerting her to his approach before he arrived.
Tonight, she was different.
She sat in their hidden clearing, the Moonlace Cascade pulsing beside her, but her eyes were red-rimmed. She'd been crying.
Nova was at her side in an instant. "What happened?"
"Nothing. Everything." She leaned into him, her voice muffled against his chest. "I got my monthly evaluation. Instructor Marlow says I'm progressing faster than anyone in Class B. He wants to recommend me for accelerated training."
"That's good news."
"It is." She looked up at him. "Accelerated training means isolation. Six weeks in a specialized facility, no contact with the outside world. I wouldn't see you. I wouldn't—" Her voice broke. "I wouldn't have this."
Nova's arms tightened around her.
Six weeks. Six weeks without her laugh, her warmth, her ridiculous enthusiasm for extinct plants. The thought felt like a physical blow.
"When would you leave?"
"Three days."
Three days.
He held her in silence, the Moonlace pulsing beside them, the night stretching endless.
"Go," he said finally.
She pulled back, searching his face. "What?"
"Go. Get stronger. Learn everything they can teach you." He cupped her face in his hands. "I'll be here when you return. Six weeks, six months, six years—I'll be here."
Priscilla's eyes filled with tears. "You mean that?"
"I don't say things I don't mean."
She kissed him then—fierce and desperate and full of everything they couldn't say. When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, she laughed shakily.
"Three days," she whispered. "Don't waste them."
He didn't.
The Next Three Days
They spent every possible moment together.
Dawn in the greenhouse, watching her plants wake with the sun. Afternoon in the hidden clearing, sharing meals and secrets and stolen kisses. Night in the training hall, where she practiced the techniques he taught her and he memorized every line of her face.
On the final evening, she gave him something.
A small pot, carefully wrapped, containing a seedling she'd grown herself.
"Moonlace Cascade," she said softly. "I propagated it from the mother plant. It'll take months to mature, but—" She pressed it into his hands. "When you miss me, talk to it. It'll listen."
Nova stared at the tiny plant, its leaves barely formed, its stem fragile.
"I don't know how to talk to plants."
"Learn." She smiled through tears. "For me."
He pulled her close, burying his face in her hair.
"I will."
The next morning, she was gone.
Nova stood at the academy's transport platform, watching the shuttle that carried her disappear into the clouds. Around him, students rushed to morning classes, oblivious to the gap her absence left in the world.
The Moonlace seedling sat in his pocket, warm against his chest.
He touched it once, lightly.
Then he turned and walked to morning exercise.
Week 12, Day 1 — Morning Exercise
Valerius increased gravity to 3x.
Half the class collapsed. Nova ran through it, his body screaming, his mind elsewhere. When the session ended, he was one of only five still standing.
Kaelen clapped him on the shoulder. "What's gotten into you? You ran like you were trying to kill the track."
"Just focused."
"Uh-huh." Kaelen didn't believe him, but he didn't push. "Well, keep it up. Rankings update next week. You might actually break into top 3."
Nova nodded and walked away.
In his room, he checked the Moonlace seedling. It had grown slightly—barely noticeable, but there. A new leaf, unfurling.
He touched it gently.
I'll be here when you return, he'd promised.
He intended to keep that promise.