The lounge was loud in the good way.
The kind of loud that happens at the end of a long day when people have finally stopped performing and just exist for a while, conversations overlapping, someone laughing too hard at something, the clinking of cups, cadets spread across every available surface in various states of relaxation.
One corner was louder than the rest.
"Wait — seriously? You were that bad?" Nova was leaning back so far he was practically horizontal, laughing with his whole body, one hand pressed to his stomach like he needed to hold himself together.
Celia's face had gone pink. "You promised you wouldn't laugh!"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" He was not sorry. He was still laughing. "But the way you described it, I just—"
"You are the worst person I have ever met," Celia announced, turning sharply away from him with her arms folded. She looked at Gideon with the energy of someone filing a formal complaint. "Look at him. And look at you. That is the difference between a gentleman and whatever Nova is."
Gideon, who had been listening quietly with a small smile, adjusted his posture slightly. "Mm," he said. Then his eyes moved toward the entrance. "We're about to have company."
Both Nova and Celia turned.
Sylvia walked in with her usual unhurried composure, the lounge noise dipping slightly the way it always did when she entered a room, then picking back up again. She crossed to their corner and sat, one leg crossing over the other neatly.
Celia scooted to make space. "Finally. Where's Lucas?"
"He had something to take care of," Sylvia said. "He'll be here shortly."
Nova groaned and threw his head back. "Oh man, he's missing it." A mischievous look spread across his face as he turned to Celia. "I was hoping he'd hear the story too."
Celia shot to her feet. "Don't you dare."
"I'm just saying—"
"Nova I will end you—"
"Hey guys."
Nova's head snapped around immediately. "Oh perfect timing — Lucas, welcome back! So Celia was just—"
"NOVA." Celia's voice hit a register that made nearby cadets glance over.
Sylvia watched Lucas approach from where she sat, a small thought passing through her mind. 'That was fast. He'd said he had something to take care of. It had been maybe two minutes. Did he even go anywhere?'
But before the thought could settle, Lucas walked straight past the others and stopped directly in front of her, his expression carrying a seriousness that sat strangely on his face — too deliberate, too careful, not quite matching the Lucas she knew.
"Hey, Sylvia," he said, voice dropped low. "There's something important I need to talk to you about."
The corner went completely silent.
Nova, Gideon, and Celia all froze in perfect unison, eyes snapping to the two of them like something magnetic had just activated.
Sylvia looked up at him, calm, a small curiosity in her gaze. "Alright. What is it?"
Lucas scratched the back of his head. His eyes flickered sideways, something that looked like embarrassment crossing his face. "I can't really say it here," he muttered, glancing around like the presence of three people was suddenly a logistical problem. "With everyone around and all... could we maybe go somewhere else? Like private? Just for a bit?"
Behind him, three minds simultaneously detonated.
He can't say it here.He wants to go somewhere else.He's — is he actually — is he blushing—IS HE GOING TO CONFESS??!
The thought arrived in all three heads at the exact same moment with the exact same punctuation.
Nova's jaw dropped so slowly it was almost artistic.
Sylvia, completely unbothered by whatever was happening behind her, simply nodded and stood up. "Alright," she said. "Let's go."
Lucas turned and walked out at a pace that suggested he wanted to be somewhere else immediately. Sylvia followed, unhurried, and the two of them disappeared through the lounge entrance.
The corner held its silence for approximately five seconds.
Then Nova rose from the couch with the slow terrible energy of a man who has been personally wronged.
"That bastard," he said, his voice low and horrified. "He moved ahead of us. He actually went ahead to make her his girl when we didn't even had a clue about!?" An invisible dramatic aura erupted around him, imaginary flames and all. "I will NOT forgive this betrayal."
He pointed at the exit like he was declaring war on it.
"Hey guys, I'm back. Did you all wait long?"
Nova turned.
Lucas was walking toward them from the entrance, casual, hands in his pockets, the particular unbothered energy of someone who has just arrived and is happy about it.
The three of them stared at him.
"...What," Nova said.
Lucas looked between them. "What?"
"You just left," Celia said slowly, like she was explaining something to someone who had forgotten how time worked. "With Sylvia. Like thirty seconds ago. You said you had something important to tell her and you both walked out together."
Lucas stopped walking.
"I literally just got here," he said.
"Lucas."
"I walked in from the east corridor just now. I haven't even sat down yet." He looked at them properly. "What are you talking about?"
The confusion on his face was real. Not performed, not deflecting — genuinely confused in the way that makes your stomach drop slightly when you're watching it happen to someone else.
Gideon's expression had already shifted. Something in it going careful and quiet. "Lucas," he said. "If you just arrived. Then who just left with Sylvia?"
The words landed in the room and sat there.
Lucas went very still.
A flicker passed behind his eyes — not confusion anymore. Something colder. Recognition traveling from somewhere distant toward the surface and arriving with a feeling he didn't like at all.
'There's one person who can do that.'
*****
The forest path had gone quiet in the way that felt wrong rather than peaceful. The sounds of the academy faded behind them as Sylvia walked beside Lucas, her eyes moving over the trees, the light thinning as they went deeper.
She slowed slightly. "Isn't this far enough?" Her voice was calm but the edge was there. "How much further are we going?"
"Just a little more," Lucas said, ahead of her, not turning.
She watched his back. Something had been sitting wrong since they'd left the lounge, small things that didn't line up, adding up quietly the way small things do until they became something she couldn't ignore.
"Lucas," she said.
"Yeah?"
"Do you remember our promise?"
A pause. Brief but there. "Yeah, of course."
Her eyes sharpened. "Then tell me what you thought about it."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Ah," he said, scratching the back of his head, still not turning around. "My memory's a bit bad lately, you know how it is. If you remind me I can probably—"
The lightning left her hand before he finished the sentence.
It crossed the distance in a straight blue line and he moved fast, genuinely fast, not the reaction of someone caught off guard but the reaction of someone who had been waiting for exactly this, leaping sideways with a speed that said he'd been ready. But not quite ready enough. The edge of the strike caught his cheek, opening a thin line that beaded red against his skin as he landed several feet away, boots scraping the ground.
Sylvia stood completely still. The lightning still hummed around her fingertips, restrained and ready, her posture carrying that cold sharpness that meant she had moved past uncertainty and arrived somewhere decisive.
"Who are you," she said. Not a question. A verdict.
Silence.
Then he laughed. Low and unhurried, like someone who has been waiting for the game to end and is relieved it finally has.
He raised one hand and pressed his fingers into his own face.
And peeled it.
The skin came away in one piece, Lucas's features, his white hair, his expression, all of it lifting away like a mask, crumpling in his hand, revealing something completely different underneath. A different face. Older. Sharper. Wearing a smirk that knew exactly what it was doing.
He straightened up and rolled his shoulders like a man finally comfortable in his own skin.
His eyes found hers across the space between them, gleaming with something dark and assured.
"Nice to finally meet you, Sylvia Silvercrest." His voice was smooth. Deliberate. A voice that was used to being listened to. "I am—" A pause, small and theatrical.
"Talon Ironhart."