If Aerin Ashborne was fire learning to breathe, then Ilyas Zarae was the quiet edge that learned where to cut.
Seventeen.
Observant.
Too perceptive for his own good.
He had grown up in Ravenshade's shadows—not the feared kind, but the honest ones. Zara's son carried her sharp mind and her refusal to be fooled by pretty stories. Where others saw Caelan as pitiful and lost, Ilyas saw inconsistencies.
And he didn't like them.
At all.
"You're staring again," Ryn muttered, leaning against the training rail.
Across the courtyard, Aerin laughed—head tipped back, hair loose, magic flickering faintly around her fingers as Caelan said something softly amusing. He stood close. Too close.
Ilyas's jaw tightened. "I'm watching."
Ryn followed his gaze, expression darkening. Though only fifteen, Ryn carried himself with an unnerving stillness, his magic compressed so tightly inside him that instructors avoided pushing too hard.
"I don't trust him," Ryn said quietly.
Ilyas snorted. "Good. Neither do I."
They watched as Caelan reached out—hesitated—then brushed rainwater from Aerin's sleeve with careful gentleness.
Something cold settled in Ilyas's chest.
"She's different around him," Ryn added. "Her balance wobbles."
That made Ilyas's hands curl into fists.
"She deserves someone who stands with her," he said. "Not someone who leans on her like she's a sanctuary."
Ryn glanced sideways at him. "You like her."
Ilyas didn't deny it.
"I always have."
Zara noticed too.
She said nothing at first—just watched Caelan from the upper gallery, her eyes sharp, memory long. She recognized the shape of the boy's magic: restrained not by weakness, but by design.
That night, she found Kael in the strategy chamber.
"He's a hook," Zara said without preamble.
Kael's shadows stilled. "I know."
"Elara's trying to give Aerin freedom," Zara continued. "But freedom without truth is just another kind of trap."
Kael exhaled slowly. "If we push too hard, we lose her."
Zara's gaze softened—just slightly. "And if you don't push at all, you lose her anyway."
Aerin, meanwhile, was very tired of being watched.
"You're both being weird," she snapped at Ryn and Ilyas later that evening. "Caelan hasn't done anything wrong."
Ilyas crossed his arms. "That's the problem."
She glared. "You don't know him."
"I know patterns," Ilyas shot back. "And I know when someone shows up too perfectly broken."
Caelan stood a few steps behind her, silent, eyes lowered.
"I didn't ask for this suspicion," he said softly. "If I make you uncomfortable, I'll leave."
Aerin spun on Ilyas. "See? You're hurting him."
Ryn stepped forward, voice calm but heavy. "Or he's hurting you without you noticing."
Aerin's magic flared—light and shadow twisting instinctively.
"Stay out of it," she said. "All of you."
She turned and walked away with Caelan, not looking back.
Ilyas watched her go, something aching and furious in his chest.
"She's choosing him," Ryn said quietly.
Ilyas shook his head. "No. She's choosing what he makes her feel."
That night, Caelan stood alone in his room, hands trembling.
Lucien's presence pressed against his thoughts—not a voice, not an order, but a reminder.
Soon, it whispered.
Caelan swallowed hard.
Because this part had not been planned.
He had not planned to care when Aerin smiled at him like the world made sense.
He had not planned to feel guilt when Ryn looked at him like a threat.
He had not planned to hate himself for being exactly what Lucien needed.
And somewhere in Ravenshade, Ilyas lay awake, staring at the ceiling, knowing one thing with painful clarity:
If Caelan broke Aerin's heart—or worse—
He would not hesitate.
Not even if it meant standing against destiny itself.