08:45 — Vantaire Chambers
Theoretical Vantaire training dragged like molasses.
Alia sat cross-legged, boots tapping lightly beneath her, the collar of her uniform tight around her throat. Instructor Vos's voice was smooth as ever, outlining advanced reaction mapping and the moral dissonance of code-switching in hostile territories. None of it stuck.
Callahan, seated across the console desk, was watching her.
He wasn't obvious about it—Callum never was. He tapped on his datapad like a tech bro zoning out, but his eyes kept flicking up. She knew the feeling: when someone could tell your mind had packed its bags and left your body behind.
Neither of them said a word. Callum left early.
By 10:00, she was already tearing the Vantaire cuff from her locker and shoving it into a coded box, away from sight. No need for slip-ups. Not after last night. Not after that hallway.
---
10:19 — Martial Arena 03, Lower Court
Her Noctis training wear fit like a second skin, sleek and breathable. But her head still throbbed from the night before. Not enough to be dizzy—but enough to make the light look slightly off. Everything was too bright. Too loud. Too sharp.
She knew Carmen was going to be there before she even stepped in.
The Sovereign was stationed near the edge of the sparring platform, arms crossed, posture cool and impassive. Supervising like she had better places to be and yet refused to be anywhere else.
And Cade was there too. House Caelus insignia peeking from the edge of his sleeve.
Alia looked down. Focused. Pretended she wasn't seconds from spinning on her heel and walking out.
But she didn't.
The instructor called for sparring partners. Most of the students broke off into predictable pairs. Carmen remained in place—clearly not intending to fight.
So Alia walked straight toward her.
"I'd like to challenge you," she said, bowing the way she'd been taught—low, respectful, sharp.
The room stilled just a little. A few glances. Some whispered muttering.
Carmen didn't blink.
Carmen looked her over. One second too long. Her gaze dragged from the cut on her face—fading now—to the tension in her shoulders. Like she was clinging to something invisible.
She nodded once. Short.
"Alright."
They took the mat.
The instructor called the match.
And for a few precious seconds—it was almost normal.
But Alia was off.
She was moving too fast, too wild, too… angry? Not at Carmen. Not really. At herself. At the migraine behind her temples. At how close she'd come to letting someone in—again.
Carmen parried cleanly, eyes sharp. She wasn't striking—just blocking. Letting Alia come to her.
Don't go easy on me, Alia wanted to scream. Don't look at me like I'm fragile.
So she went red. Reckless.
Launched forward and tried to sweep Carmen's leg. Carmen ducked, pivoted, caught her wrist.
Spun.
And Alia lost her footing.
She tripped over Carmen's ankle, hit the floor on her side with a thud that rang out like a bell.
She tried to scramble back up—only for Carmen to be on her.
A beat.
Carmen knelt one knee down, pinned Alia with her arm across her chest, weight evenly distributed.
Their faces weren't even a foot apart.
Carmen's eyes were searching. Not furious. Not cold. Just… tired of the guesswork.
"What's wrong with you?"
Alia's breath stuttered. She turned her face away, lips pressing into a line.
Carmen stared one second longer, then exhaled—through her nose, tight and clipped.
She stood.
Didn't offer a hand.
Didn't speak.
Just walked off the mat, past the students, past the instructor—like she was checking out of the entire hour.
The room went silent.
Then it exploded with whispers.
Some students laughed behind their hands. Others murmured about how Alia really thought she could take Carmen. That she was asking for it.
Alia stayed on the ground.
Her arm across her face.
Her head thudded softly against the training platform as she dropped it back.
"Stupid," she muttered. "So stupid."
"You're not stupid," a voice said beside her.
Cade.
He knelt, offering his hand.
She stared at it. Blinked once.
And for a second, the memory from last night came surging back: his lips, the way his hand slipped around her waist, the taste of punch on her tongue.
For once, she was relieved.
Relieved that someone else could exist in her headspace besides Carmen Alviero.
She took his hand. Let him pull her up.
He gave her a look—not quite teasing, not quite worried. Somewhere in between.
"You okay?"
Alia straightened.
Brushed her hair from her face.
"Define 'okay,'" she muttered.
And Cade just nodded like that was the most honest answer in the world.
---
11:14 — Martial Arena 03, Lower court
The class was dismissed not long after Carmen left.
The tension lingered like static. A few students tried to pretend they weren't staring at Alia, but the curiosity was too loud in the air. Alia kept her face blank as she walked to the edge of the platform, slipped on her jacket like armor.
Cade followed, keeping a respectful distance—not too close, not too far.
They settled onto the low bench tucked near the back of the room, beside the stacked sparring mats and locker crates. Cade sat first, elbows on his knees, glancing her way but not pushing.
She sat beside him, quieter than usual, tugging her sleeves over her palms like the fabric could buffer her from the world.
"So," Cade said softly, "about last night…"
Alia looked down at the mat. Her boots still had scuff marks from training.
He waited a beat before continuing.
"I just wanna say—I wasn't trying to push anything. I know it got kinda... close. And if I made you uncomfortable, I'm sorry."
Her eyes flicked up.
Surprised, maybe. Or grateful.
Cade didn't look smug or smug-adjacent. He looked honest. Tired, even.
"If you want space or whatever, I can chill. Seriously."
Alia exhaled through her nose. She tilted her head against the wall behind them, stared up at the exposed beams on the ceiling.
"It's not that," she murmured.
Cade glanced at her.
"Then what?"
She paused. Her tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth like she was filtering her words, too exhausted for pretense.
"I just had a lot in my head. Last night. Even now." "It wasn't your fault. I'm sorry for leaving like that."
"You don't owe me an apology."
"Still," she said, softer, "I didn't mean to disappear."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. Just… mutual.
They sat like that for a while—two students who had almost kissed in a secret arcade, now sitting on a cold bench in their bruised bodies and bruised egos, saying very little.
Eventually, Cade stood, stretching his arms above his head with a wince.
"Alright," he said with a faint smirk, "guess I'll go ice my pride."
Alia almost smiled.
"And your back," she added.
"And my back," he agreed, rubbing his spine. "That girl tackled like she meant it."
She didn't answer. Just gave a tiny shrug.
He turned to leave, then looked over his shoulder.
"Hey, for what it's worth… you're kinda terrifying. In a cool way."
She rolled her eyes, but he saw the flicker of amusement.
And then he was gone.
Alia leaned back again, this time alone. Her knees bent, arms looped around them. She stared at her shoes like they held some secret answer she was missing.
Still on the bench.
Still spinning from everything.
The ache in her chest hadn't dulled yet.
But at least it wasn't all from Carmen this time.
---
19:33 — Northwest Girls' Housing, Room 314
The door clicked open.
Alia barely stepped through before—
"YOU."
The sound shot through the room like a warning alarm.
Zuri stood in the middle of their dorm, finger raised and aimed squarely at Alia's forehead like she was about to smite her on divine principle. Her silk robe was still halfway open, her hair pulled back in a high, sleek ponytail that screamed vengeance at sunset.
"Oh god," Alia muttered, too sore to dodge fate. "What now?"
Zuri marched up and jabbed her pointer finger right between Alia's brows. Not hard. Not gentle either.
"You left me. You ditched me. You ghosted like some coward in a teen romance drama."
"Zuri—"
"No," she said, jabbing again. "No, don't Zuri me. You disappeared from that party like a villain in the third act. One minute you're here, flirting, smirking, doing the most with Cade, and the next—poof. Gone."
Alia sighed, heavy and defeated, as she dropped her bag to the floor.
"Can you jab me on the arm instead? My face is the only thing that doesn't hurt."
Zuri blinked. Then looked closer.
"Wait... why are you walking like you just survived a war?"
Alia flopped onto her bed without grace. A pained yelp tore from her throat the moment her back hit the mattress.
"Ow—ow, ow, ow—mother of pearl, I am never sparring again."
Zuri arched a brow, folding her arms like the plot just thickened.
"Sparring with who, exactly?"
Alia turned her head dramatically into her pillow.
"Carmen."
Silence.
Then, a soft, incredulous huff. That kind of tiny, disbelieving laugh people make when they know you're full of chaos.
"You challenged Carmen again?" Zuri asked, one brow up. "And you're surprised your bones are screaming?"
"She didn't even hit me," Alia said weakly. "I hit myself. Emotionally. Spiritually. Existentially."
Zuri rolled her eyes and plopped down beside her.
"You know, normal people flirt with their crushes by texting or buying snacks. You? You go to hand-to-hand combat."
"It's called being expressive."
"It's called being clinically unwell."
They both paused for a beat. Then—
"Wait…" Alia blinked. "Where's Tessa?"
Zuri shrugged, leaning back on her elbows with the nonchalance of a panther in satin.
"Still with Malik, I think. Last I saw, she was not interested in leaving. And judging by the way she smiled at him? They might be dating by now. Or married. Or bonded by blood ritual. Who knows."
Alia actually laughed—soft and short.
"That fast?"
"Tessa Caldwell doesn't play when she finds someone tall and kind who listens to her ghost stories."
Alia exhaled and stared up at the ceiling. The ache in her shoulders pulsed like war drums. She groaned again, flipping to her side with the slowest motion imaginable.
Zuri glanced at her and scoffed.
"You really are broken, huh?"
"Like a glow stick," Alia groaned. "Gotta snap a little before I shine."
Zuri chuckled—small, but real.
"You're such a menace."
"Only because you're worse."
Zuri flicked her pillow and stood, dragging her screen from the desk.
"Alright, nap it off, warrior princess. When Tessa gets back, we're ordering dinner. You're banned from martial arts until you can lift your arms without crying."
"Deal," Alia mumbled, already melting into the mattress. "Just… wake me if Carmen bursts in to finish me off."
Zuri didn't reply. But the smirk on her lips said everything.
She'd stay on watch.
Always.