Confusion flooded Lina's mind. What was Ren doing?
They were in the middle of spell theory class, seated in neat rows while the instructor lectured about magical resonance. Ren, in fox form, was supposed to be still—obedient. But his tail swayed lazily in front of her desk, flicking back and forth like a metronome.
Lina shot him a stern look, trying to shoo him away without speaking. But Ren didn't seem to notice—or didn't care. His tail curled upward, then tapped the edge of her notebook, as if he were saying hi.
A few students snickered.
"Lina," the instructor said sharply. "Is your fox distracting you?"
She blinked. Heat rose to her cheeks. "No, sir."
The instructor narrowed his eyes. "Then perhaps you'd like to explain the principle of dual-channel casting."
Lina's mind went blank. She hadn't heard a word of the last five minutes. All she could think about was Ren's tail, Ren's presence, Ren's warmth beside her.
"I—" she started, then stopped.
The instructor raised an eyebrow. "I see."
He turned back to the board, but the damage was done. Lina could feel the eyes on her—curious, suspicious. One student leaned toward another and whispered something. She didn't hear the words, but she saw the glance they gave Ren.
Her stomach twisted.
That night, Lina sat cross-legged on her dorm room floor, the lights dimmed, the window cracked open to let in the cool air. Ren lay beside her, no longer a fox, his human form curled against the wall like he was trying to disappear.
"You need to be more careful," he said, voice low. "They're watching you."
Lina frowned. "Who?"
Ren didn't answer right away. He moved to the window, peering through the curtains as if expecting someone to be there.
"Teachers. Students. The ones who run the ceremony," he said finally. "They notice things. How you look at me. How I look at you."
Lina's chest tightened. "But we haven't done anything wrong."
Ren turned to her, eyes serious. "That doesn't matter. If they think our bond is different, they'll separate us. Or worse."
Lina's breath caught. "What do you mean, worse?"
Ren hesitated. "Some shifters disappear after the ceremony. No one talks about it, but we all know."
She stared at him. "You think they'd—"
"I don't think," he said. "I've seen it."
He stepped closer, voice barely above a whisper. "They say the bond is sacred. But it's only sacred if it stays within their rules. If it gets too strong—if it threatens control—they break it."
Lina's hands curled into fists. "That's not fair."
Ren gave a bitter smile. "It's not supposed to be."
For a moment, the room was silent except for the soft rustle of the curtains. Then Ren looked at her, serious again.
"Promise me you'll be careful. Don't let them see how much you care."
Lina nodded slowly, but her heart was already racing. Because she wasn't sure she could hide it anymore.
The next morning, Lina sat in the testing hall, a scroll unrolled in front of her. The parchment shimmered faintly, enchanted to record her answers in real time. Around her, other students scribbled furiously, their shifters sitting quietly at their feet.
Ren was beside her, in fox form again, his ears perked, his tail still.
Lina dipped her quill and read the question:
"Describe your shifter's magical traits and behavioral patterns. Be thorough."
Her throat tightened.
She knew what they were really asking. They wanted to know if Ren was ordinary. Predictable. Contained.
But he wasn't.
He shifted without permission. He spoke in riddles. He carried a tattoo that defied everything they taught. And he had warned her—if they found out, they'd take him away.
Lina stared at the scroll. Her hand trembled.
She could tell the truth. She could write about his intelligence, his independence, his ability to shift effortlessly. She could describe the way he looked at her like he saw through her.
But she didn't.
Instead, she wrote:
"Ren is obedient. Quiet. His magic is stable and unremarkable. He follows commands without resistance."
Each word felt like a betrayal.
Ren didn't move. But she felt his gaze on her, steady and silent.
When the test ended, she rolled up the scroll and handed it in. Her fingers were numb.
Outside the hall, Ren shifted back into human form. He didn't speak right away.
"You lied," he said softly.
Lina nodded. "I had to."
Ren looked at her for a long moment. Then he said, "Thank you."
She didn't feel proud. She felt hollow.
But she also felt something else—resolve.