If someone had told Aarvi Mehra that nearly dying would make the campus louder, she would have laughed.
Yet here it was—buzzing with voices, phones raised, theories flying faster than facts.
"Did you see how close that was?"
"I swear the beam paused."
"Bro, it was pure luck."
Luck.
Aarvi sat on the low stone wall near the admin block, legs crossed, arms folded tightly across her chest. Her shoulder still tingled—not pain, not soreness, but something annoyingly alive.
"Are you planning to glare holes into the ground," a familiar voice drawled, "or is this your new coping mechanism?"
She didn't look up.
"Took you long enough," she said. "What happened—fan club emergency?"
Rudra Malhotra stopped in front of her.
No grin. No smug tilt of the head. Just tension, tightly leashed.
"Funny," he said. "I could ask you the same. You vanished pretty fast."
"You dragged me," she replied sweetly. "Against my will. Very heroic."
His lips twitched despite himself. "You didn't complain."
"Oh, I noticed. You don't usually wait for consent."
That earned her a look—sharp, assessing, dangerous in a way that made her pulse misbehave.
"Careful, Mehra," he said quietly. "This isn't one of our usual games."
"Good," she shot back, finally standing. "Because I'm not in the mood for your nonsense."
She stepped closer. Too close.
He didn't move away.
"You didn't even blink," she said. "When that beam fell. Everyone else was screaming. You were… calculating."
"That's a compliment," he said.
"No," she snapped. "That's terrifying."
Silence stretched between them.
She searched his face—waiting for mockery, deflection, arrogance.
Instead, she found restraint.
"What did I do?" she asked softly, and hated herself for it.
Rudra inhaled.
For one heartbeat, she thought he was going to tell her everything.
His mouth opened—
Then his expression changed.
The shift was instant. Like a switch flipped.
His shoulders went rigid. His jaw tightened.
Aarvi felt it too—an invisible weight pressing down, crawling up her spine.
"Wow," she muttered. "You get that look right before you say something life-altering, don't you?"
"Aarvi," he said under his breath.
"That's my name, yes. Congratulations."
His gaze flicked—not to her eyes—but to the space between her brows.
Her stomach dropped.
"What are you staring at?" she demanded.
"Nothing."
"Rudra."
"Drop it."
She laughed sharply. "Oh, now you want to drop things?"
That did it.
He stepped back.
"No," she said, grabbing his sleeve. "Don't walk away. Not after today. You don't get to disappear after—whatever that was."
For the first time since she'd known him, he didn't pull away.
He looked at her like she was something fragile and dangerous all at once.
"I can't say it," he said quietly.
"Why?" she whispered.
His voice softened. "Because once I do… you won't be able to unhear it."
Her heart thudded.
"Try me."
For a moment, the world narrowed to the two of them.
Then—something unseen snapped tight.
Rudra flinched.
"No," he muttered. "Not now."
Aarvi's brows furrowed. "Are you arguing with yourself now?"
He almost smiled.
"I'm sorry," he said instead.
And then he walked away.
Fast.
Coward.
She hated how much that hurt.
Rudra didn't slow until the underground corridor swallowed him whole.
"You almost crossed the line."
The voice emerged from the dark—calm, cold, unimpressed.
"I didn't," Rudra snapped. "I stopped her."
"You interfered."
"She was destabilizing!"
"She was awakening."
The figure stepped forward, its form refusing to settle fully into shape.
"You were assigned to observe," it said. "Not to hesitate."
Rudra clenched his fists. "If she awakens completely, containment won't matter."
"Correct," the voice replied. "Which is why you have a deadline."
The words settled like lead.
"Before she turns twenty-one," the figure continued. "Before the crown completes itself."
Rudra's throat tightened.
"She doesn't even know what she is," he said.
"Then make sure she never does."
Silence.
"You promised," the figure reminded him.
Rudra bowed his head. "I won't deviate again."
"Good," the voice said. "Because affection has ruined far better weapons than you."
The pressure vanished.
Rudra leaned against the wall, eyes shut.
"Idiot," he muttered. "Absolute idiot."
Aarvi stared at her reflection that night longer than she meant to.
Between her eyebrows, the faint crown-shaped mark had returned.
Elegant. Symmetrical.
Awake.
She touched it lightly.
"You choose the worst times," she murmured.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
They noticed you today.
Her pulse spiked.
She typed back.
That's vague. Try harder.
No reply.
She smiled despite herself—sharp, uneasy.
"Oh," she whispered to her reflection. "You're in trouble now."
The mark pulsed faintly.
As if agreeing.
—End of Chapter 2—