"Storik, everyone's already gone," Clyde said, fixing Andrew with a hard, unblinking stare.
Andrew stood across from him, arms crossed, not moving.
"I'm staying. I'll wait here for Alan."
"I need to speak with him privately."
"I don't give a damn. I'm not leaving without him."
Clyde exhaled slowly, irritation flashing across his face.
"What are you, his mother now? Since when does someone who hates aristocrats this much start hovering over one of them?"
"Don't push it, Silius. I'm not in the mood."
"Then go cool off. Give me ten minutes, Storik." His voice dropped, tired—but sharp. "And stop looking at me like that. I'm not going to hurt him."
"Alan?" Andrew called.
"It's fine," I said, though it didn't feel fine at all. "I'm under his protection, remember? I'll make it back to the dorm. Go get some rest."
He didn't move right away.
"Don't turn your phone off. If I can't reach you—"
"I know."
He left.
The door closed.
Silence.
Just me and Silius.
He walked back to the table and sat down across from me, resting his chin on his hands, studying me like I was something he'd taken apart and was still trying to understand.
"Well?" I said, already on edge. "Are we just going to sit here, or do you actually have something to say, Mr. Silius? I'm exhausted."
"I've noticed you call me that when you're pissed," he said lightly.
"Wow. Nothing gets past you," I shot back.
"You're really not cute when you're like this," he sighed, straightening. "About your question. Yes—that's on me. I haven't told you anything. But I didn't expect you to ask something like that in the middle of a meeting."
"Yeah, well, I felt like a complete idiot," I snapped. "So I hope dragging me out of bed was worth it. Are you going to answer or not?"
"You could've spent that time in my bed instead," he said with a faint smirk.
"Clyde!" I snapped. "If you're just going to play games again, I'm leaving."
"Relax," he said, the smirk fading. "I'll answer. Not sure you'll understand, though."
"I'm not that stupid."
"That's not the issue." He paused. "Tell me—do you know why demonology isn't taught to all Specials?"
"No. Just that it's a separate course."
"And have you ever wondered why all elites study it—but Specials have to earn access?"
"I didn't even know it had to be earned. One of the instructors mentioned we'd get to it eventually, but that's it. So who actually gets in?"
"Those close to graduation. Future personal guards. Those who go into teaching. Even people entering administration don't get access until they reach a high enough rank."
"So let me get this straight," I said slowly, frowning. "The ones who actually fight entities don't know anything about demons—but the ones in power do?"
I let out a short, incredulous breath.
"That's insane. How are you supposed to fight something you don't understand?"
"Good," Clyde said, getting up and heading toward the kitchenette. "You're thinking."
He glanced back at me.
"So what's your conclusion?"
"Coffee. Strong," I muttered.
I stared at the table for a second.
"It doesn't make sense to keep that kind of knowledge from fighters… unless…" I exhaled. "Unless demons aren't fought at all."
Clyde returned, set the cup in front of me—
then pulled a chair close.
Too close.
"Exactly," he said quietly. "The administration chose a different approach. They decided the best solution was to make deals with demons."
"Deals?" I repeated, taking a sip and closing my eyes for a second. "What kind of deals?"
"That," he said with a soft huff, "I'll tell you next time."
"Oh, come on!" I snapped, slamming the cup down. "If you start something, finish it."
"Then I'll need payment," he said, watching me.
"Are you serious?" I let out a bitter laugh. "You're the one paying me. What exactly do you expect me to give you? Or are you planning to take everything I've earned?"
"Did I say anything about money?" he asked quietly.
I went still.
"I don't have anything else to give," I said, sharper now. "You know that. Fine—don't tell me. I'll just ask Andrew."
I drained the coffee and pushed myself to my feet.
"Storik again," Clyde said, his voice turning cold as he caught my wrist.
His grip tightened.
"You never shut up about him. Practically worship him. It's irritating."
"Let go." I tried to pull free. "Of course I admire him. I respect him."
"Or maybe you're in love with him?"
"We're both men—don't be ridiculous," I said, forcing my voice steady. "I admire him as a mentor. A friend."
"So you like women, then?" he asked, almost amused.
"That's none of your business. I'm leaving."
I yanked my hand free—
—but he caught me again and pulled.
Hard.
I lost my balance and fell straight into him.
"No, Holivan," he said quietly, locking eyes with me. "You're into men."
"Fuck you," I hissed, trying to push away.
It didn't work.
It never worked.
Lying to him felt pointless.
It always did.
Like he could see straight through me.
And that—terrified me.
"Then explain," he continued, his voice low, too close, "why I didn't see any disgust on your face the first time I kissed you. Or any of the other times."
I froze.
"If you liked women, you wouldn't blush when I touch you. You wouldn't get flustered. You wouldn't sneak off to a hotel with Volkin."
"Clyde… let go," I said, my voice slipping. "Stop messing with me. What do you want to hear?"
The words came out before I could stop them.
"That I woke up after an accident with no memory and later realized I'm attracted to men? Fine. That's exactly what happened. Happy? Now leave me alone."
He went still.
Then—
let go.
"Now I am," he said quietly. "Don't ever lie to me again, Holivan. It makes me very angry."
I didn't wait.
I got up and bolted for the door.
I didn't know what he'd do next.
Tell the others.
Use it against me.
Play with it.
Tears blurred my vision as I ran toward the dorms, not caring who saw me.
I was weak.
Not just physically—
but mentally.
And that hurt more than anything.
The tears came harder, dragging everything out with them—fear, anger, exhaustion—
everything I'd been holding back for months finally breaking loose.