It was only as she reached the courtyard that her eyes landed on a figure in the distance, leading a Skythari with golden, gleaming fur. The creature moved with striking grace, wings tucked neatly, its fur catching the sunlight like strands of polished metal. Varek walked beside it with quiet command, his hand brushing the creature’s flank occasionally in a silent rhythm that spoke of mutual trust.

  Kaelin stilled, breath catching. There was an ease between them, a bond she couldn’t name, and her eyes followed the pair as if tethered by instinct.

  As if sensing her stare, Varek turned his head slightly. His eyes met hers across the courtyard—and to her shock, he lifted a hand in a slow, easy wave. Not smug. Not mocking. Just a simple acknowledgment, as though he saw her and wanted her to know it.

  Before she could think better of it, she took a step forward—only to collide with someone. Again.

  Jorvan had always known where to dig in—where her defenses thinned. From the first time they met, he'd worn his resentment like armor, wielding it with calculated precision. Maybe he hated her name, or maybe he hated that she never backed down. Either way, she was done shrinking beneath his shadow.

  A hand gripped her arm roughly, steadying her—but there was nothing gentle about the hold. Kaelin winced, looking up into the familiar, sneering face of Jorvan Hale. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a younger student pause in the archway, wide-eyed at the scene. But after a moment’s hesitation, the young man turned quickly and walked away without a word, disappearing into the hall. Her stomach twisted.

  “Well, well,” he drawled, his grip tightening. “If it isn’t the academy’s little princess, always in the way. After your display in the common hall, we should start calling you Mudcrawler Lover.”

  Kaelin jerked her arm, trying to free herself, but his grip only tightened further—and then, with unsettling ease, he pulled her flush against his chest. He had never gotten so physical before, only verbal, and the shift sent a deeper chill through her. Her breath caught as the sudden proximity sent a jolt of alarm through her. “Let go, Hale,” she hissed, eyes flashing defiantly, her voice low and full of warning.

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  Jorvan smirked, leaning closer until his face was dangerously near hers. "Or what, Kaelin? You'll run to your mudcrawler savior again? Maybe you enjoy being helpless."

  She glared fiercely, jaw tightening as anger simmered beneath her controlled exterior. "I don't need anyone's help, especially his."

  His gaze flickered downwards, lingering uncomfortably, making her skin crawl. "Perhaps you should reconsider your standards, princess. Even filth has its limits."

  Kaelin's pulse quickened, fury mixing with embarrassment. "Back off, Jorvan," she growled, voice trembling slightly with barely restrained fear.

  He leaned closer still, voice dripping malice. "Careful, Nerys. We wouldn't want another embarrassing scene now, would we?"

  Kaelin forcefully tore herself from his grip, stepping back, her breathing heavy. She stared him down with icy determination. "Stay away from me, Hale."

  His eyes glittered with cold amusement. "We'll see, princess." With a mocking bow, he turned and sauntered away, leaving her standing there, heart pounding furiously, frustration and anger warring within her.

  She hated that her hands were still trembling, that her voice hadn’t been stronger, that part of her still expected someone else to step in. No one had.

  She had stood her ground, but why did it still feel like a loss? Like the silence around her had confirmed Jorvan’s words, even when she knew they were nothing but venom.

  Her fingers curled around the strap of her satchel. She hated that it took so little to shake her—one hand, one smirk, one name, moreover that part of her had wanted someone, anyone, to speak up. Just to remind her she wasn't as alone as he made her feel. She passed a pair of first years as she turned down a side corridor. They hushed when they saw her, eyes wide with either concern or curiosity. She didn’t know which was worse. A trio of Skythari wheeled overhead, their shrill cries echoing off the tower spires, a sharp, wind-carved chorus above her turmoil, as if the rest of the academy continued without pause, untouched by the weight she carried. It was strange how the world didn’t stop when yours cracked a little deeper.

  By the time she reached the apothecary wing, she was determined to put the entire encounter behind her. There were more important things to focus on—like securing the ingredient before her next meeting with Aldrin. But as she unpacked her tools in the quiet of the apothecary wing, The scent of drying herbs clung thick to the air—lavender, calendula, and bitterroot. Normally, the familiar aroma calmed her nerves. Today, it merely coated the ache. She fumbled with her pestle, and it slipped from her grip, clattering across the workbench. Her hands refused to steady.