Marcus walked through the empty academy grounds, mentally reviewing his latest failure.
Three days since the office conversation.
Three days of avoiding Seraphina.
Three days of telling himself he wouldn't mess up again.
The moon was high, casting shadows across the training grounds.
He'd stayed late at the library, researching more about the prophecy.
Looking for loopholes. Finding none.
A single light caught his eye.
Third floor, east wing. Seraphina's office.
It was past midnight. What was she still doing here?
Not your problem, Marcus. Keep walking.
But his feet had other ideas. They carried him toward the building entrance.
This is a bad idea.
His hand opened the door anyway.
You're supposed to be avoiding her.
His legs climbed the stairs.
Turn around right now.
He knocked softly on her office door. No answer.
The door was slightly open. Marcus peered inside.
Seraphina was slumped over her desk, asleep. Papers scattered everywhere.
Red ink on her fingers from grading. Her hair had come loose from its usual tight bun.
She looked exhausted. More than exhausted. She looked broken.
Marcus stepped inside quietly. The floor didn't creak, thankfully.
Student evaluations covered every surface.
Grade reports. Lesson plans for next month. A half-eaten sandwich from what looked like lunch.
She'd been here all day. Maybe longer.
Her face, usually so controlled, was soft in sleep. Vulnerable.
The ice queen mask completely gone.
There were dark circles under her eyes.
Had those been there before? How had he not noticed?
Because she hides them, his emotional intelligence supplied.
Just like she hides everything else.
Marcus looked around the room. No blanket.
The window was open, letting in cold night air. She'd freeze if she stayed like this.
Marcus shrugged off his coat without thinking.
It was a nice coat. Dark blue wool, silver buttons.
One of the few things the original Marcus had owned that wasn't gaudy.
He draped it carefully over Seraphina's shoulders. She stirred slightly but didn't wake.
The academy kitchen was closed, but Marcus knew where the professors kept their tea. He'd seen a kettle in the break room down the hall.
Five minutes later, he had a steaming cup of chamomile tea. The good stuff, not the student-grade sawdust.
He set it on her desk, careful not to disturb the papers.
Then he hesitated. Should he leave a note? Would that be weird?
Everything about this is weird, he reminded himself.
But she looked so tired. So alone. Someone should tell her it was okay.
Marcus found a clean piece of parchment. His handwriting was different from the original Marcus's. Neater. More controlled.
He wrote quickly, not overthinking it:
"Being strong doesn't mean being invincible. You're allowed to be tired."
He didn't sign it. That would complicate things.
Marcus placed the note next to the tea where she'd see it. Then he looked at her one more time.
Still asleep. Still exhausted. Still beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with her appearance.
Get out before you make this worse.
Marcus left, closing the door silently behind him. His walk home was cold without his coat. He didn't care.
He'd helped someone who needed it. That's what mattered.
You're supposed to be helping Theodore, his brain reminded him.
"Theodore doesn't need a coat," Marcus muttered to the empty street. "Seraphina did."
You're going to regret this.
Probably. But right now, Marcus felt something he hadn't felt since transmigrating.
He felt like himself. The real him.
The one who helped people without expecting anything back.
It was a dangerous feeling. It was also the best he'd felt in days.
✧✧✧
Seraphina woke to warmth.
That was the first strange thing. Her office was always cold at night.
The second strange thing was the weight on her shoulders. Soft, warm, smelling faintly of... soap?
Something clean and masculine.
A coat. Someone had put a coat on her.
She sat up, confused. The coat slipped down, pooling in her lap.
Navy blue wool. Expensive but not flashy. Not academy issued.
Her neck hurt from sleeping at her desk. What time was it? The window showed pre-dawn darkness. Maybe four in the morning?
Steam caught her eye. A cup of tea sat on her desk, still warm.
How long had it been there?
Next to it, a note in unfamiliar handwriting.
"Being strong doesn't mean being invincible. You're allowed to be tired."
Seraphina read it three times.
On the fourth read, her vision blurred.
You're allowed to be tired.
When was the last time someone had said that?
When was the last time someone had given her permission to be human?
Richard used to. He'd find her working late and drag her to bed.
Tell her the world wouldn't end if she rested.
But Richard was gone. And the world had ended anyway, just for her.
Since then, she'd been Professor Ashwood.
Always strong. Always perfect. Always cold enough that no one would see the cracks.
But someone had seen. Someone had come to her office in the middle of the night and left tea.
The tea was chamomile. Her favorite. How did they know?
Seraphina picked up the coat, examining it closer.
Quality fabric. Well-maintained. It smelled nice, like cedar and something else.
Safety, maybe.
Who would do this?
Her mind went immediately to Marcus.
No. That was ridiculous. Why would the formerly drunk disappointment leave her tea?
But their conversation three days ago whispered otherwise.
The way he'd seen through her mask.
The way he'd asked about Seraphina, not Professor Ashwood.
"You're allowed to be human. Even the ice queen needs to thaw sometimes."
He'd said that. Right before leaving her office looking panicked.
Seraphina brought the coat closer, breathing in the scent. It was comforting in a way that made her chest tight.
The tears came suddenly. Not sobs, just silent streams down her cheeks.
She was so tired. Tired of being perfect. Tired of being alone. Tired of pretending Richard's death hadn't broken something fundamental inside her.
You're allowed to be tired.
The note gave her permission she couldn't give herself.
Permission to feel. To hurt. To be less than perfect.
Seraphina folded the note carefully and placed it in her desk drawer.
The coat she kept wrapped around herself.
She sipped the tea. It was perfect temperature now.
Whoever made it knew what they were doing.
"Marcus," she said to the empty office.
Testing the name. Tasting it.
If it was him, and her instincts said it was, then he'd done something no one else had managed in three years.
He'd made her feel seen.
Not as the ice queen. Not as the perfect professor. As Seraphina.
Tired, lonely, grieving Seraphina.
She pulled the coat tighter. It was warm. Safe. Real.
For the first time in three years, she allowed herself a dangerous thought:
Maybe I don't have to do this alone.
The thought terrified her. It also felt like coming home.
Seraphina finished her tea and gathered her papers. She'd go home.
Sleep in an actual bed. Take care of herself.
Because someone thought she was worth a coat and cup of tea. Someone thought she was allowed to be tired.
That was everything.