Kael froze under Lusia's stare, the accusation hanging in the air like a dagger. Her words replayed in his head—lustful eyes—and his mouth went dry.
"I… wasn't—" he began, but the firmness in her gaze stopped him cold.
She leaned back, crossing her arms, eyes narrowing slightly. "You really think I didn't notice? You didn't even blink, Kael. Just sat there, staring like the rest of the world didn't exist. Not a single sorry, not a single explanation. What was I supposed to think?"
Kael opened his mouth, closed it again. He searched his memory, trying to explain himself. He had been focused—yes—but on Lyra, not on "all the girls." Yet how could he say that aloud without making things even worse? To Lusia, it would only sound like another excuse.
"I wasn't… doing what you think," he said finally, voice quiet but steady.
"Then what were you doing?" she pressed, her words sharp but not raised. "Because from where I sat, it looked exactly like what I said. And you didn't even deny it until now."
Kael rubbed the back of his neck, frustration and helplessness mingling. "I was just… thinking. My mind drifted. I wasn't even aware how it must've looked."
For a long moment, silence filled the room. Lusia studied him, her expression unreadable. Then, unexpectedly, she let out a soft scoff and turned her face away.
"You're terrible at lying," she muttered.
Kael flinched. "I'm not lying."
Her lips curved into a faint smirk, though her tone still carried an edge. "Maybe. Or maybe you're just terrible at hiding things."
The tension lingered, thick enough to choke on. Kael wanted to argue more, to defend himself, but something in her voice told him it wasn't about winning. Lusia wasn't looking for denial—she was testing him.
Finally, she stretched her arms above her head with a dramatic sigh, as if dismissing the topic entirely. "Fine. I'll let it go this time. But you owe me, Kael. Don't forget it."
Kael exhaled in relief, though the knot in his chest didn't untangle.
"Thanks," he said quietly.
"Don't thank me," she shot back, though the corner of her mouth quirked into the ghost of a smile. "Just don't make me say something like that again. Or next time, I really will beat you."
Her tone lightened as she flopped onto the couch, grabbing a cushion to hug against her chest. For the first time that night, the sharpness in her eyes dulled.
Kael sat down beside her slowly, still uneasy. But as the silence stretched between them, he noticed her breathing even out, her lashes lowering. She wasn't angry anymore—not really. More like… protective, in her own strange, thorn-covered way.
After a while, she spoke again, voice softer this time.
"You're not used to this place yet. I get that. Just… try to be careful about how you look at people. Words don't always matter here. Appearances do."
Kael nodded slowly, the weight of her advice sinking in. "…I'll remember that."
"Good."
The crickets outside sang louder, filling the room with their steady rhythm.
For Kael, the day's riddles had only grown deeper—Lyra's strange thanks, Lusia's sharp protectiveness, the looming shadow of the training. But in that moment, sitting there with Lusia curled up on the couch, he felt something unexpected.
Not comfort, exactly. But connection.
And perhaps, for now, that was enough.
---
The morning light seeped through the shutters and painted the room in a soft, sleepy gold. Kael was still stubbornly horizontal when two nimble fingers pinched his shoulder.
"Rise and shine, you human rock," Lusia said, half amusement, half annoyance, as she gave him a short, practiced yank.
"Mmm—" Kael mumbled, eyes squeezed shut.
"Get up. You've slept enough to grow another foot overnight." She poked him again. When he didn't budge fast enough she rolled her eyes, stacked her hands at his hip and pushed. Kael tumbled off the bed in a graceless flop and, despite the fall, managed to curl his arms around his face and go straight back to sleep.
Lusia stared for a beat, then laughed. "Unbelievable. I'm never leaving you alone."
She left him to grumble and pull himself together. By the time Kael had thrashed into fresh clothes and downed a hurried slice of bread, Lusia was waiting on the doorstep, hair tied, bag slung over one shoulder, already in motion.
They walked together, the town waking around them—bakeries letting out warm breaths of bread, carts trundling to market, a few older folk exchanging quiet nods. Lusia jabbed him with folded elbows as she talked about nothing and everything; Kael answered when necessary, smiled when she expected it, and tried not to think too hard about the knot of worry that still sat behind his ribs from yesterday.
At the school gate the usual bustle threaded through the morning air: girls laughing, prefects calling out instructions, a pair of younger students racing with squeals. Kael breathed it in like something ordinary and good. He felt steadier than he had yesterday.
When he stepped toward his classroom, he took his usual stride — then felt a blunt block to his foot.
"Whoa." A hand slammed into his chest, not hard, but enough. A tall boy with a practiced grin and easy shoulders filled the doorway like he belonged to the frame itself. Tavin Krel. Athletic, confident, the kind who never failed to look like he'd just won an internal bet with life.
"Excuse me?" Kael said, polite but with a thread of steel. He pivoted to step around, but Tavin shifted to match him, placing a casual shoulder where Kael planned to pass.
"Hold up," Tavin drawled, smiling like it was all a joke. "Not so fast, new kid. We like to take turns." He gave a little shove at Kael's chest with the flat of his palm. It was all theater, but enough to irritate.
Kael blinked. "I'm just trying to get into class."
Tavin's smile grew. "Sure. But Finn says you're the guy who thinks he can slide in without greeting the senior line. Can't let that go, now can we?"
"I—" Kael set his jaw. "Move, please." He tried to step sideways. Tavin stepped to match him again. The doorway had become a narrow stage and Tavin was acting out some private script.
Tavin shoved him again, softer this time. "Come on. Make it fun."
Heat rose hot and fast through Kael. He wasn't a small, scared thing; he was tired of being shuffled, of being amusing. He took a beat, inhaled, then leaned forward and said, quietly, "I asked you nicely. Step aside."
Tavin's grin sharpened. "Hahaha—Finn was right. It's fun playing with you." He took a step—not aggressive, practiced—and gave Kael another little push, testing. The hallway hummed, students glanced over like this was their morning entertainment.
Kael's temper, already thin at the edges, cracked. He moved. His hand shot out to shove back, to clear the way through. It was a quick, instinctive move: a touch on Tavin's shoulder, just enough to communicate he wouldn't be messed with.
Tavin wasn't where he'd been.
By the time Kael's fingers connected, the boy had slipped to the side with the smoothness of someone used to bodies and balance. Tavin's hand was on Kael's back—before Kael could twitch, he felt the shove. The motion used Kael's own momentum against him; one step forward and the floor rushed up. He toppled over the threshold and tumbled into the classroom with a muffled thud that pulled every eye.
Silence flipped through the room like a light switch before it dissolved into a wash of whispers and coughs. Heads turned. Some snickered. A few of the louder students called something idiotic and then quieted when the teacher's stare found them.
Kael lay there on the floor for half a heartbeat, cheeks burning, breath whooshing in from the fall. For a moment he felt as if everyone's air pressed against him—curiosity, mockery, interest. He pushed himself up, the indignity a sour taste in his mouth. Anger thudded in his chest again, hotter and more raw than before.
Across the room, Tavin stood in the doorway with that same easy grin, hands buried in his pockets as if nothing untoward had happened. He laughed under his breath and called out, voice carrying, "That's the charm of mornings, right? Keeps you flexible."
A ripple of laughter from the back row. Kael's jaw tightened. He glanced wildly for someone to step in—teacher, prefect, some adult—but the classroom was a slow-moving animal; no one moved yet.
Kael's eyes swept the benches and found Lyra, not interested in the spectacle, not looking up. Her knitting needles clicked quietly—small, precise—and she moved her fingers with the same calm focus he had seen before. Her head was low, concentration folded over the yarn like a shield. It was like watching someone tune a hush into being. For a sliver of absurd comfort he smiled—then the moment was swallowed by the present.
Before he could make another move, a large hand seized his arm. Not a shove this time, but a firm, non-negotiable grip. He was hauled backward, turning to see Tavin now within arm's reach, the grin gone from his face and replaced by impatient amusement.
"Wasted too much time," Tavin said close to his ear, voice low now. "Follow me, or I'm gonna drag you, Kael."
The casual smile was gone; the air between them chilled. The whole class watched, the room a pressure chamber of expectation. Kael felt the grip on his sleeve like a rope, pulling him out of the small anonymity the fall had given him. He was on his feet, pulled away, and the doorway behind him framed the corridor like an unfinished sentence.
Tavin's eyes were straightforward, not friendly, and his tone didn't invite argument.
"Now," he repeated, and the grin was back, but colder.
Kael swallowed. He'd come here to learn sentences and scripts, not to be led by someone else's temper. But he also knew when a fight would turn into trouble faster than any pride would fix. He let himself be nudged forward, muscles taut, and followed out of the classroom, the murmur of the students chasing them down the hall.
Behind him, the muffled click of Lyra's needles kept its steady rhythm, as if nothing had happened at all.
The yard opened before them, wide and sunlit, dust kicking up under every step. Wooden posts lined the edges, and straw dummies stood in crooked rows, scarred from repeated practice. A couple of older students were sparring, their shouts carrying across the space, but most of the yard lay empty.
Tavin let go of Kael's sleeve with a shove. Kael steadied himself, frowning. "What's your problem dragging me out like this?"
"Problem?" Tavin's grin stretched wider. "Call it tradition. Every new face gets tested." He flicked his chin toward the practice dummies. "You don't know your place until the yard shows it to you."
Before Kael could respond, a familiar laugh rang out.
"Well, well, what do we have here? Tavin already making friends by threatening them?"
Kael turned. Sure enough, Finn was striding over, a half-eaten bun in one hand, the other waving lazily in greeting. His messy hair caught the sunlight, and his grin was the same infuriatingly easy one Kael had seen yesterday at lunch.
Finn bit into the bun, chewed, and spoke around it. "Kael, buddy! You've got guts, hanging around this guy so soon. Most people run the other way."
Kael blinked. "You again."
"Third time lucky, huh?" Finn said, brushing crumbs off his hands. "First the forms, then lunch, now the yard. At this rate, we'll be best mates before week's end." He winked.
Tavin rolled his eyes. "Don't fill his head with nonsense."
Finn hopped onto one of the low beams and leaned on his knees, studying Kael with exaggerated curiosity. "Nonsense? Please. I'm the only reason people stick around you, Tavin. You're all scowls and fists. Without me? Boring."
Kael almost let out a chuckle, though he masked it with a cough. Finn's easy manner contrasted sharply with Tavin's taut presence, making the tension feel less like a trap and more like a game.
Tavin picked up a short staff and tossed it at Kael, who caught it with both hands, surprised by the weight.
"You're going to need that," Tavin said flatly.
Kael tightened his grip. "What for? You planning to beat me with sticks now?"
"Not beat. Measure." Tavin's grin turned sharp. "We'll see if you're as steady as you look when you glare at people."
Finn burst into laughter, circling them like a self-declared referee. "Oh, this is rich. Kael, my man, you have no idea how much fun this will be. Don't worry—if Tavin breaks your bones, I'll help carry you to the infirmary. Probably. Maybe. Unless I'm busy eating."
Kael gave him a deadpan look, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward despite himself. Finn's presence was irritating, yes, but also… oddly grounding.
"Enough chatter," Tavin said, spinning his own staff with a sharp snap of wood against air. "Kael, show me if you can stand your ground."
The dust beneath their feet stirred as the circle of the yard seemed to close in, silence falling. Kael's heartbeat thudded in rhythm with the staff in his hands.
Finn leaned back on the beam, hands cupped to his mouth. "Ladies and gentlemen, place your bets! Will our newcomer Kael last more than three hits? Or will Tavin fold him like laundry? Personally, I'm rooting for an upset."
Kael exhaled slowly, steadying his grip. He wasn't sure whether to be more annoyed at Tavin's smirk or Finn's running commentary. But for the first time since this morning, he wasn't distracted by questions about Lyra or Lusia.
This was simpler.
A test.
A fight.
And Kael was ready.