Chapter Nine – Damian
She was walking too fast.
Her shoes made soft scraping sounds against the stone walkway like she was trying not to draw attention, like she thought moving fast and keeping her head down would make her invisible. As if the world wouldn't notice her if she slipped quietly enough between the cracks. Like if she didn't breathe too loud, she could disappear.
Wrong place. Wrong time.
Wrong girl.
But I noticed.
I always noticed.
I leaned against the railing outside the east corridor, arms folded across my chest, leaning just enough to look relaxed but still grounded. I was the picture of effortless disinterest — the kind that kept people uneasy because they could never tell if you were watching or sleeping with your eyes open.
Except I was watching. And I hadn't blinked once.
I didn't mean to wait for her. Not exactly. But I'd been standing there ten minutes, unmoving. Something had crawled up the back of my spine the second class started — that cold itch that told me something in the air had shifted. It wasn't wind. It was instinct.
She'd come this way. I knew it.
And when she did, she looked worse up close than she had across the courtyard. Not disheveled — not in the way most would notice. She still had her uniform on. Sort of. Her shirt was misaligned. Two buttons wrong. Collar tugged. Hair loose and uneven like she'd walked straight through a storm with her mouth shut.
But it wasn't her clothes or hair that gave her away.
It was the look behind her eyes.
Hollow. Like someone had lit a fire inside her and walked away before it could finish burning her down.
"Skipping class already?" I asked, tone low but easy, just loud enough to snap against the silence.
She froze.
Good.
She turned slowly, like she was trying not to show she already knew I'd be there. She didn't look shocked. Or scared. Not even angry. Just... tired. Her gaze found mine and lingered, dull but not weak. And in that half-second flicker, I saw something.
Not fear. Not guilt.
Just... exhaustion. Like she'd been trying to outrun something and it finally caught up to her.
"I'm not skipping," she said flatly.
"Right." I pushed off the railing but didn't walk toward her yet. "You're just taking a scenic walk back to your dorm during prime school hours. With your shirt half-buttoned and your hair like you fought gravity. Totally normal."
She glanced down at herself, her hand automatically tugging the hem of her shirt straighter. One button undone, then another. She fixed them quickly, like it mattered, like it changed anything.
"Didn't know I needed permission to exist," she muttered.
I smirked. It was automatic. Sharp. Instant. Like a reflex. Her words were bold, but I caught the slight crack in her voice near the end. Most wouldn't notice. I did.
"You don't need permission," I said, stepping closer now, casually. "But you do need to follow rules. Even when you're dressed like a rebel-themed enchantress."
Her lips parted like she was about to say something biting — something reckless. But then she caught herself. Good. Maybe she was learning. Or maybe she was too tired to care.
"I'm not in the mood, Damian."
I froze for half a second — not enough for her to catch it, but enough for the name to land like a stone against my skin.
I stepped forward slowly, letting the gravel crunch beneath my boots.
"That's funny," I said. "You think this is about mood. Like I care whether you're in one."
She stiffened. Not scared. Just defensive. But still — she didn't back away.
Interesting.
I moved past her, slowly circling her like a current around an anchored boat. Not touching her. Not looming. Just letting my presence bend the air enough to make her notice.
Her shoulders were tense. Her fists curled at her sides like she didn't even realize she was clenching them.
She was unraveling.
I could feel it.
The way the heat hung on her skin. The way her breath dragged slower, deeper. She looked like she wanted to scream but forgot how.
And I knew that look.
Because I'd worn it once too.
"You know what I hate?" I asked, tone light — like we were talking about weather.
She didn't respond.
"Liars," I continued. "Girls who pretend they're lost but really just don't want to be found. Girls who think no one's watching."
She turned to face me now. Her jaw was tight, lips pressed into a straight line.
"I'm not hiding anything," she said.
I stepped in — closer than before. Close enough that I could see the tiny flicker behind her left eye. Rage? Panic? Guilt?
"Aren't you?"
The silence stretched. She didn't blink.
And then something flared in her — not a spell, not fire. Just raw emotion. Something she hadn't decided what to do with yet.
I took a step back.
"Go to class."
"I was going to the dorm," she snapped.
"Not anymore." I folded my arms. "You've just earned yourself detention. Training hall floorboards. You'll scrub them clean. With a spell-suppressant charm. Should be fun."
She blinked like I slapped her. "You're punishing me? For walking?"
I shrugged, tilting my head. "No. I'm punishing you for being sloppy."
She stared at me — eyes like sharp glass, but they couldn't cut me. They didn't even come close.
"Better get moving," I added. "Wouldn't want you to miss your next chance to break the rules."
She turned, stiff and sharp, and walked away with her jaw clenched, fists tighter than before.
But right before she disappeared around the corner, she stopped.
Just for a second.
"Damian," she said, loud enough for me to hear.
I didn't smile this time.
I looked at her calmly. "Don't call me that."
She blinked, a little caught off guard.
"That's the name they gave me," I said simply. "Not the name I answer to."
She didn't ask what I meant. She didn't challenge me. She just nodded once and kept walking.
And the second her shadow slipped from view, the pressure in the air shifted again.
Like something deeper had clicked into place. Something with teeth.
Something older than us both.
Something watching.
Something waiting.
Because whatever Scarlet was—
She'd started something today.
And none of us were going to be the same again.