He shouldn't have gone to the gardens.
He should've stayed in his office, buried in reports and correspondence, ignoring the way his thoughts kept drifting back to her.
But something—something he couldn't name—had pulled him there.
And now he was staring at her.
Evelyn.
And the boy standing far too close to her.
Caelan Thorne.
Alexander knew the name. A prodigy from the Southern Territories, exiled nobility, charming and infuriating in equal measure. The kind of man who left behind a trail of admiration and trouble without ever seeming to care.
And right now, he was watching Evelyn with the kind of fondness that spoke of history.
Alexander didn't like it.
He watched the way Evelyn leaned away instinctively when he approached, the way her voice dropped when she said his name. She wasn't afraid.
But she was uncertain.
And that unnerved him more than anything else.
"Professor Valerius. We were just catching up," Caelan said smoothly, hands in his pockets, every inch of him relaxed.
Too relaxed.
Alexander met his gaze without blinking. "So, I see."
Evelyn looked between them, sensing the tension like a flame catching dry grass. Her hands fidgeted at her sides.
Alexander hadn't meant to interrupt. Not really. But something in his chest had twisted when he saw her laugh with Caelan, when he heard her voice so free.
That laugh wasn't for him.
Not yet.
He forced his tone neutral. "Evelyn, I need to speak with you. Privately."
Caelan raised a brow but didn't protest. Evelyn hesitated only a second before following Alexander up the path, the silence between them taut.
When they reached the edge of the faculty gardens, he stopped, turning to face her.
"I didn't mean to interfere," he said, voice low.
She looked up at him, confused. "Then why did it feel like you were?"
Because I was.
Because the idea of someone else touching you—someone who makes you smile so easily—makes something vile crawl under my skin.
Instead, he said, "Be careful with him."
"You don't even know him."
"I don't need to," he said. "I know his type."
"And what's your type?" she asked quietly. "The cold, distant protector who only shows up when it's convenient?"
That hit harder than he expected.
He stepped closer before he could stop himself. Close enough to see the flecks of gold in her eyes, to feel the warmth of her breath.
"I'm not distant because I don't care," he said. "I'm distant because if I wasn't—if I let myself feel—"
He stopped.
Too much. Too fast.
Evelyn stared at him, stunned.
Before either of them could speak, a low chime echoed across the courtyard.
A warning bell. Something had happened.
The moment shattered.
Alexander straightened, the mask slipping back into place. "Stay close. Something's wrong."
As he turned and strode toward the disturbance, Evelyn followed—but neither of them said what lingered between them.
Not yet.
But the ice was cracking.
And once it broke?
There would be no going back.