It rained the night after the assessment.
A soft, persistent drizzle coated the windows of the Academy library, blurring the world outside in watery streaks. Evelyn sat at a table in the far corner, surrounded by neglected spellbooks and untouched parchment. Her hand rested over a rune she had half-sketched and abandoned.
She hadn't expected to win. Not like that.
A quiet creak broke the silence.
Alexander entered without announcement, his coat slick from the rain, shoulders broad and dark against the warm library light. His eyes found her instantly. He didn't speak, just approached with the calm assurance of someone who rarely had to ask permission.
"You shouldn't be here," she said, not unkindly.
He ignored that. Instead, he set something on the table beside her. A ribbon—midnight blue, worn at the edge. The same color as the gown she'd worn to the ball.
"You left this," he said simply.
Her fingers hesitated before brushing the fabric. "You sent the dress?"
"I did." He didn't elaborate.
"And the note?"
His eyes didn't waver. "Also mine."
Evelyn stood slowly. "You manipulate people so easily, Valerius. Why bother with me?"
"I don't manipulate you," he said. "You're not that easy."
His tone was too steady, too neutral. It didn't match the way his eyes followed the curve of her mouth when she frowned. Or how he shifted closer, not quite invading her space—but close enough to feel like a deliberate choice.
"You watch me," she said quietly. "Like I'm a problem to solve."
"No," he murmured. "More like something I don't know how to categorize."
He reached up, brushing a strand of damp hair from her cheek, fingers pausing a fraction too long. Her breath caught—but she didn't move.
"I don't fall easily," he said.
"And I don't chase shadows," she replied.
They stood there, the silence pulsing with unspoken things—tension, temptation, restraint. Then he stepped back, gaze cooling.
"When you're ready," he said, "you'll tell me what you want."
And then he was gone.
Outside, the storm kept falling.