The sky had turned a dusky violet by the time Alexander brought her to the edge of the western gardens—far from the Academy's noise, far from Caelan.
Evelyn folded her arms as she stepped past the wrought-iron gate, brow arched. "So this is the grand reminder?"
Alexander didn't look at her right away. He stood near the marble fountain, where soft moonlight spilled across stone and ivy.
"No," he said. "This is the quiet before the war."
She moved beside him, every step deliberate. "Then maybe you should start talking."
He was silent for a moment. Then: "I know what Caelan is doing."
"Oh?" she asked coolly. "And what's that?"
"Trying to pull you away. Rewriting your memories with new ones."
Her voice was steady. "He's a friend."
Alexander turned to face her fully. "You don't look at him like a friend."
She stepped closer. "And how would you know how I look at anyone?"
The air shifted. Grew heavy.
"I notice everything about you," he said, voice low.
A beat passed—then another.
She inhaled sharply. "Why does it matter to you?"
"It shouldn't."
"But it does."
Silence pulsed between them. A breath. A heartbeat.
He looked away, jaw clenched. "You're the first person I haven't been able to forget."
That was the crack.
Small. Quiet. But real.
Evelyn swallowed. "So what are we doing, Alexander? You show up, protect me, watch me—but you never stay."
He met her eyes then, something raw flickering there.
"I'm trying not to need you."
She froze.
Because behind all the cold, behind the walls and shadows—there it was. The truth he hadn't meant to say.
She stepped forward. Slowly.
"Then stop trying."
For a moment, neither moved. The world was just them, the sound of the fountain, the whisper of leaves.
And then he reached for her—slowly, like he was afraid she'd disappear—and brushed his fingers against her cheek.
Not a kiss.
Not yet.
But a promise.
One he wasn't ready to break.
Not tonight.
But soon.