Zayn's gaze lingered on the office doors long after he'd left Luca's side. The boy's scent was sharp, slightly metallic, and undercut with the faint trace of something floral. Zayn had coated him with his mana before he left, as he preferred not to have Luca attract nosy beings, and who could blame him for making him smell like him? Sterling was his. As long as Sterling stayed unaware, there would be no problem.
Luca's mask did help keep his senses under control, but it didn't hide the sigil's heartbeat beneath his skin. Each pulse was a silent thrum, an echo of the power he alone was containing—also something the coat of mana hid. The counter-sigil served as a protective barrier both inside and outside of Sterling's body, but it also linked them to each other—another thing Zayn hadn't intended on telling Sterling.
Zayn grabbed his keys from his office and locked the door behind him. He walked through the halls of The Sovereign Ledger's Headquarters calmly with his back straight, composed and controlled. All kinds of employees either bowed slightly or waved at him when they spotted him, and some even shivered. Zayn didn't smile, didn't return their gestures, or even acknowledge them, as they were nowhere near his top priority at the moment.
He tapped his keycard at an unauthorized door and strode into the observation alcove, a space darker than most, gracefully. His hair billowed behind him when the heavy doors slid shut. Rows of screens flickered silently, showing energy readings, security cameras, and subtle magical traces around HQ. He didn't need the cameras to see Luca; he only needed the sigil's pulse on the mana network. The mana web spread before him like constellations in a night sky. Here, the sigil's pulse beneath Luca's skin showed in delicate, almost imperceptible pale blue threads spiralling outward in direction, rhythm, and intention. His eyes traced the way each thread wasn't dormant and wasn't fading. It was being monitored. Someone else was actively broadcasting into it. Zayn adjusted the suppression level with a slight push of his mana. His counter-sigil didn't just block; it owned the structure. But he knew it couldn't remain static forever. The external force was tuning in and waiting for a reaction. And he would react.
Zayn hummed a faint tune, closed his eyes, and basked in the faint hum of mana surrounding him. In the silence, he let his mind wander—not far, but just enough to feel the thrill of control. He allowed himself a thought he would never voice aloud:
"He is fragile, yet I find myself watching him as though the slightest fracture would be my responsibility."
Quiet settled around him. The usual hum of the observation room felt heavier today, as if the air itself were acknowledging danger. Zayn leaned against the console, studying the faint flicker of blue in the network. The boy was active, curious, and reckless. He would move, and when he did, the network would respond. Whoever was feeding the sigil would respond too. Zayn's eyes dimmed, turning reptilian for half a second before he could recompose himself. Patience was a dangerous luxury, and he was afraid his may not last for much longer.
He was a possessive being—all dragons were. But he hadn't felt possessive for millennia. That is, until this human strolled into his boring life recklessly and became a persistent topic in his mind. His body had welcomed him; it had let him feel his warmth instead of the coldness it would greet anyone else with. His hair had welcomed him, letting the boy admire its gracefulness from up close instead of burning his eyes like anyone else. That was because the boy wasn't anyone else—he was Luca, a boy who still manages to smile despite his pain and tries his hardest to appear strong when, in reality, he is breaking down.
Zayn hadn't forgotten about the slum scum. He already knew that the scum was the root cause of Luca's suffering. And he should have dismantled his head from his body when he had the chance. But there would have been no fun in that. The fun would be when he watched Luca interrogate that criminal. The artifact being a replica hadn't surprised him; he had already sensed it. What he hadn't sensed was that it was etched with a venomous sigil that was most likely forged by the scum themselves. He knew the exact moment it had begun its action in Luca—back on the day he had forced Luca on a break. It was necessary. He couldn't babysit the boy at work; as much as he'd like to, it was better that he took a break before he could break down in the middle of HQ and cause a scene and a string of rumours. Plus, it was easier for Zayn to find him alone… and care for him. Not because that was what he hoped for, but because he knew Luca would refuse to care for himself. He was truly a stubborn individual.
A subtle vibration on his wrist pulled him from the threads of mana. A message flashed across the screen of his watch, with a familiar name. Silas Vyserion.
Zayn groaned, his mood dropping significantly. Silas was never any good. The message was brief, formal, and deceptively calm.
"Ensure your compliance and allegiance remain intact. There will be scrutiny this week. —Silas, your lovely father."
Zayn read the message twice. Compliance. Allegiance. Scrutiny.
The phrasing wasn't a threat, nor was it a directive. It was merely a reminder of the crown he was heir to—an anchor of politics that never slept. A reminder that the world outside Zayn's little obsession was still turning and that turning had consequences. He didn't respond. He shut his watch off and returned to the threads of mana. There was nothing to respond to yet, and control came first. Observation came first. The boy came last, and yet… he came first in ways Zayn refused to name even to himself, and then everything else became background noise.
The message sat in his system like a distant echo, something he would revisit in days to come, when the political tide met the personal one.
But for now, it was just another caution to weave into his calculations.
***
From the high vantage point near the library windows, Zayn watched Luca pace back and forth in his office. Every few steps, the boy paused, pen hovering, brow furrowed. His breathing changed when he read something on his tablet, his lips murmuring something too soft for anyone else to hear.
Zayn's mind catalogued the details: the timing of every gesture, the exact moment Luca came to a realization, and the way his ring caught the light—with Zayn's own mana brushing faintly against it.
He exhaled slowly. He needed to find a new hobby as soon as possible. In fact, Zayn had no hobbies. If he were to claim a hobby, then it would have to be examining Luca.
But the boy had taken distance from him. Even if it was subtle, Zayn could tell. He would do the same. This inexplicable attraction was better left alone, unexplained, and avoided. Zayn doubted his abilities to refrain, but he would try. For Luca. Because that is what he wanted. And from the message he had received from his father, it may as well be the best course of action for him, too.
Zayn exhaled. It bothered him that the person monitoring the Lunar Lily sigil was tracking every pulse of energy from Luca's body and every shift in external mana feeding it—just as he was. But his actions could be excused—the scum's couldn't.
"The moment he moves wrong or panics, they'll know. And I'll know," Zayn thought.
The scum who had placed the sigil believed they were waiting for Luca to make a move, but they hadn't considered that Zayn was already three steps ahead.
His lips curved slightly. It was a predator's patience: the thrill wasn't in the attack but in the waiting and in the quiet observation.