The dorm hallway was too quiet that night. Too clean. Too ordinary.
And that was what made it dangerous.
Riven leaned against the wall outside Kael's room, the dim light from the emergency bulb above flickering like a faulty pulse. His body was still, but inside, his thoughts churned like storm clouds.
The photograph from the warehouse, the locket Jordan had uncovered, the shadowy figure—every thread pointed back to Kael. Not as a target. Not as an enemy. As something more. Something Riven couldn't let himself name.
He inhaled, slow and steady, forcing his heartbeat into rhythm. Soldier's discipline. Always control.
But then Kael's laugh echoed faintly through the thin wall—low, tired, but alive—and Riven felt control slip just a little.
The library was nearly deserted when he walked in. Only one lamp was lit at the far end, casting golden light over Kael and Jordan. Jordan was slumped sideways, glasses tilted, asleep on a stack of notes. Kael, though, was still awake, his pen tapping against the desk, his hair messy from running his hands through it too many times.
He looked up when Riven approached, his eyes lighting in that way that was too careless, too knowing.
"You're late," Kael murmured, half a smile tugging at his lips.
Riven pulled a chair closer, sitting down without answering. His eyes swept the table—open textbooks, Jordan's handwriting scrawled with half-decoded ciphers, and Kael's own doodles in the margins. A strange mix of chaos and brilliance.
Kael leaned back in his chair, stretching, his shirt lifting slightly, showing his abs contradicting his personality. Riven forced his gaze away. But his ears showed the truth more prominantly. Focus. Always focus.
"You're staring," Kael said, almost teasing.
Riven's jaw tightened. "You should rest."
Kael tilted his head. "Is that an order, my load?"
For a second, the air between them shifted—something sharp, intimate. Then Jordan snored loudly, breaking the moment. Kael chuckled, but his eyes lingered on Riven's face.
When Jordan finally stirred awake, rubbing his eyes, he pushed his laptop toward them. "Found something," he muttered, voice hoarse, half asleep.
On the screen was a coded file they'd pulled from Lucian's private server. It wasn't just numbers or coordinates. It was names. Lists. Operations. One name stood out—Kael's.
Riven's blood chilled.
"Unfinished mission," Jordan read aloud. "Linked to Project Umbra." He glanced up. "Does that mean anything to you?"
Riven's expression didn't change, but inside he was burning. Project Umbra was a ghost file. A mission whispered about in briefing rooms and erased in the same breath. It was supposed to have been buried years ago.
"Looks like someone's keeping it alive," Jordan said, his tone wary.
Kael frowned, looking between them. "And I'm what—on their list?"
Riven's silence said more than words could.
Hours later, after Jordan had dozed off again, Kael stayed at the table, head resting on folded arms. He was fighting sleep, his eyelids heavy, his breaths slower.
Riven watched. He told himself it was strategy—observing his subject, calculating risk—but the truth was quieter, more dangerous. He simply couldn't look away.
Finally, when Kael's shoulders sagged and he slipped into sleep, Riven stood. He unzipped his jacket, heavy with warmth, and draped it over Kael's frame.
The moment his fingers brushed Kael's arm, Kael stirred, eyes half-opening. "Riven?" he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
Riven froze.
Kael's lips curved faintly. "Didn't know you could be gentle."
Riven pulled back, but Kael caught his wrist—not tight, just enough to hold him there. The library was silent, the world outside swallowed by mist, and for a breath, it felt like they were the only two people alive.
"You don't have to carry it all alone," Kael whispered, not quite awake, not quite dreaming.
Riven's throat tightened. Words rose and died unsaid.
When Kael's hand finally slipped away, he stayed seated beside him, listening to his breathing, pretending it didn't steady his own.
Near dawn, as shadows stretched long through the windows, Riven's phone buzzed—a secured channel, encrypted. He slipped outside to answer it.
A voice, distorted. "The university has a leak. Someone on the inside is feeding Lucian."
Riven's pulse sharpened. "Who?"
No answer. Just static, then: "Watch the cloaked figure. They aren't your enemy. They're keeping Kael alive."
The line went dead.
Riven stared at the phone, his reflection fractured in the black screen. If the cloaked figure wasn't their enemy, then what were they? Protector? Pawn? Something worse?
And why was Kael the center of it all?
Back inside, Kael was awake now, the jacket draped around his shoulders. He looked at Riven with that same lazy, disarming smile. "You look like you saw a ghost."
Riven didn't answer. He sat back down, his mind a battlefield of shadows and half-truths.
Kael leaned closer, his voice low. "Tell me something, Riven. If I wasn't me—if I was just… whoever they say I am—would you still be here?"
The question was too sharp, too direct. Riven almost flinched.
Instead, he said nothing.
Kael chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it. "Didn't think so."
But as Kael looked away, Riven's hand twitched against the table, wanting to reach across, to break the silence. Wanting to tell him that he was wrong. That he would stay. Always.
But soldiers don't confess. They endure.
As the sun began to rise, the mist outside parted just enough for Riven to see the courtyard below.
And there, standing at the edge of the shadows, was the cloaked figure.
Watching them.
Not moving. Not hiding. Just waiting.
Riven's eyes narrowed. He finally understood something—this wasn't over. Whoever the figure was, they weren't finished. And the next move was theirs.