The music room is quiet.
Not abandoned—just empty at this hour. Late afternoon light spills through the tall windows, dust drifting lazily in the air. A small portable speaker rests on a bench near the wall.
Pyrrha sets her bag down and looks around, smiling softly.
"This feels… nice," she says. "Quiet."
Erik nods, hands in his pockets. "Yeah. Less chance of witnesses."
She laughs. "Witnesses?"
"I'm assuming this goes badly before it goes well."
"That's not very encouraging."
"I'm being realistic," he says, smiling faintly. "But I'm open to being proven wrong."
She shakes her head and turns on the speaker. Soft music fills the room—slow, steady, forgiving.
Pyrrha turns back to him, suddenly a little more aware of the space between them.
"So," she says, rubbing her hands together slightly, "do you know how to dance?"
Erik tilts his head. "Depends on your definition."
"That's never a good sign."
"I can move to music," he says. "Whether it counts is… debatable."
She laughs and steps closer. "Okay. First things first."
She gently takes his hand and places it at her waist. Her touch is careful, giving him time to adjust.
"And your other hand," she adds, guiding it into hers.
Erik exhales quietly. "Alright. That part's not as scary as I thought."
She smiles. "Good. You're doing fine."
They stand there for a moment, neither of them moving.
"…Are we supposed to start now?" Erik asks.
"Yes."
"Right. Just checking."
They take a step.
Immediately, both of them step the same way.
Their feet bump.
"Oh," Pyrrha says.
"Yeah, that one's on me."
"I think that was both of us."
They stop, then laugh at the same time.
"This is going great," Pyrrha says, grinning.
Erik chuckles. "Give it a minute. We just started."
"Try not thinking so hard," she suggests. "Just follow."
He nods. "I can do that."
They try again.
This time, Erik relaxes a little. His movements are still careful, but there's less tension in his shoulders.
"See?" Pyrrha says softly. "Not so bad."
"Yeah," he admits. "I was expecting worse."
She looks up at him. "High expectations."
"I like being pleasantly surprised."
They sway gently now, still a bit uneven, but moving together.
Then Erik misjudges a step.
He moves back as Pyrrha moves forward.
They stop short—suddenly much closer than before.
"…Hi," Pyrrha says, a little breathless.
Erik blinks, then smiles. "Hey."
Neither of them moves.
The music keeps playing.
"This part isn't in the instructions," Pyrrha says quietly.
"I'm okay with improvising," Erik replies.
She laughs softly and steps back just enough to reset.
"Let's simplify," she says. "No steps. Just sway."
"Now you're speaking my language."
They sway.
Left. Right. Slow and easy.
The awkwardness fades into something comfortable.
"You're doing really well," Pyrrha says.
"Don't tell anyone," he replies lightly. "I have a reputation."
She laughs. "For what?"
"Looking like I know what I'm doing."
They keep moving, talking softly between steps.
About the music.
About the dance.
About absolutely nothing important.
At some point, Pyrrha rests her head lightly against his shoulder.
Erik stiffens for half a second—then relaxes.
"…This okay?" she asks.
"Yeah," he says easily. "More than okay."
They stay like that, swaying gently.
No pressure.
No expectations.
Just closeness.
When the song ends, neither of them moves right away.
Pyrrha lifts her head slightly. "We should probably stop before someone walks in."
Erik nods. "Probably."
They step apart reluctantly.
"Well," she says, smiling warmly, "for a first try… I think that went pretty well."
Erik grins. "Yeah. We didn't fall over. That's a win."
She laughs. "Same time tomorrow?"
"Definitely," he replies without hesitation.
They leave the room together, steps lighter than when they arrived.
For the next few days, Erik and Pyrrha move almost in perfect sync.
Classes, training sessions, meals, study hours—if someone looks for one of them, the other is usually close by. Their routines overlap so neatly that it starts to feel intentional, even when it isn't.
Pyrrha enjoys it.
There's comfort in the predictability, in knowing that Erik will be walking beside her when classes end, or waiting when she finishes helping someone else. It feels… normal.
Erik enjoys it too.
But he also understands what routine creates.
Visibility.
So there is one afternoon when he deliberately breaks it.
He tells Pyrrha he has something to take care of—his tone casual, unremarkable. Nothing urgent. Nothing that invites questions.
She only nods. "Don't forget dinner."
"I won't," he replies easily.
They part near the training hall, Pyrrha heading toward the library while Erik turns down a different corridor.
No one notices.
Mercury Black, Emerald Sustrai, and Cinder Fall blend into Beacon with practiced ease.
They don't act like intruders. They don't act like conspirators. To anyone watching, they are simply exchange students—confident, talented, and mostly uninterested in the rest of the academy.
Erik doesn't approach them.
He doesn't follow too closely, doesn't linger, doesn't stare. He observes the way one might observe the weather—indirectly, patiently.
Mercury is loud in small ways. Casual jokes, careless posture. The kind of presence that draws attention without demanding it.
Emerald stays near him, quiet and alert, but not tense. Her attention drifts often, more out of habit than suspicion.
Cinder—when she appears at all—moves through spaces as if they already belong to her. Calm. Polite. Entirely unremarkable to those who don't know what to look for.
And Erik is certain of one thing.
They do not see him as a threat.
That's expected.
To them, danger comes from above—teachers, Headmasters, Huntsmen and Huntresses who have survived real wars. Not from a first-year student who walks hand in hand with Beacon's champion.
So Erik stays exactly where he belongs in their eyes.
A background variable.
A non-factor.
He notes their schedules before. Room assignments. Patterns in when they leave and return. Which nights their lights stay on longer. Which days Mercury trains harder, which days Cinder doesn't appear at all.
Nothing aggressive.
Nothing that would trigger suspicion.
Just information.
Late that night, Beacon settles into quiet.
Most students are asleep. Hallways empty. The academy breathes slowly, unaware.
Erik moves through it without urgency.
The device in his palm is small and inert—no lights, no signals. Designed for passive observation only. It won't transmit unless called. It won't interfere with Aura systems or Beacon's internal sensors.
He reaches the dormitory floor assigned to Mercury and Emerald.
No guards. No special monitoring.
Just another student wing.
He pauses outside their door, listening.
Nothing.
Good.
He works quickly and cleanly.
One device near the ceiling vent, angled toward the room's center.
Another placed behind a desk panel, invisible unless dismantled.
A third near the window frame, dormant and silent.
No wires. No residue. Nothing out of place.
To anyone else, the room remains exactly what it was before.
Erik steps back, checks once more, then leaves.
No rush. No tension.
If someone were watching, they'd see nothing more than a student returning late from studying.
When Erik finally reaches his own dorm, the hour is late.
He sits on the edge of the bed, exhaling quietly—not from fear, but from habit. This kind of work demands closure, even when nothing goes wrong.
Behind him, the room is dim, lit only by the faint glow of a desk lamp.
Pyrrha is already there, sitting cross-legged on the merged bed, brushing her hair absently as she watches him.
"You're late," she says gently. Not accusing. Just observant.
"Yeah," Erik replies, slipping off his jacket and setting it aside. "Things took longer than I expected."
She studies him for a moment, then smiles. "I figured."
He glances at her. "You're not upset?"
She shakes her head. "I saved you dinner."
That earns a small smile from him.
"Thank you," he says sincerely.
He joins her on the bed, leaning back slightly as she shifts closer without thinking, their shoulders touching. The familiarity is effortless—well-practiced.
"Everything go okay?" she asks quietly.
"It did," Erik answers. "Nothing went wrong."
She hums softly. "That's good."
They sit in comfortable silence for a moment.
Then Pyrrha tilts her head and adds, teasing, "But you're not allowed to make this a habit."
He chuckles under his breath. "No promises."
She laughs quietly and nudges him with her shoulder. "I knew it."
They lie back together soon after, the room settling into stillness as the day finally releases its hold on them.
To Be Continued...