Aldric and Leora walked back toward the building at a natural pace—talking, laughing lightly, blending into the crowd as if nothing in the world was wrong. Leora followed his lead perfectly, masking her earlier terror behind a carefully thawed smile.
To anyone watching, they were just two students chatting after a break.
To Aldric, every shadow felt like an eye.
But he laughed anyway, telling Leora a small joke about Mr. Havers—the Constitutional Law lecturer with a voice that sounded like gravel in a blender. She snorted and covered her mouth, genuinely amused.
Good.
If she could laugh, she could survive.
They slipped into the classroom just before Ms. Vos resumed the lecture. The tall woman stood near the podium—sharply dressed as always, hair pinned in a strict bun, glasses low on her nose as if she saw everything and judged half of it.
The class hushed as she tapped her pen twice.
"So," she said smoothly, "if the defense introduces character evidence under the claim of 'habitual behavior,' what happens if the prosecution objects based on irrelevance?"
A few students shifted uncomfortably.
A few pretended to check notes.
A few simply refused to breathe.
Ms. Vos continued, her expression unreadable.
"This is a trick question, since some of you prefer guessing instead of thinking."
Her eyes drifted, slow and precise.
"Anyone answering incorrectly… loses six marks from your practical evaluation."
Groans rolled through the room like a dying wave.
Aldric's brows lifted slightly.
Six marks.
She wasn't playing today.
Ms. Vos scanned the room like a sniper choosing a target.
"Mr. Benedict?"
He raised his hand calmly. "The objection must be sustained. Character evidence tied to habit is only admissible if it directly connects to the conduct in question. Without that, it becomes prejudicial rather than probative."
Ms. Vos paused.
Then a faint smile—barely a twitch—appeared.
"Correct."
Half the room exhaled.
Leora looked relieved.
Aldric simply nodded, lowering his hand with the quiet satisfaction of someone who didn't get lucky—someone who had no choice but to be correct.
Because mistakes weren't allowed.
Not anymore.
The rest of the lecture passed smoothly, though Aldric noticed Ms. Vos glancing subtly in his direction more than once. Not evaluative glances. Not disciplinary ones.
No—these glances felt like measurements.
Like she was trying to understand him.
2:00 PM — END OF THE CLASS
Students rushed out, collapsing into the hallways with the tired glee of people escaping academic jail.
Aldric packed slowly.
He didn't like the way the air shifted when class ended—like tension leaking from hidden valves.
Just as he slung his bag over his shoulder, Ms. Vos called:
"Leora. A word in my office."
Aldric's pulse thinned.
He didn't show it—not even in the smallest movement.
But Leora reacted instantly.
"Yes, Ms. Vos."
Aldric watched her leave, her steps forced to remain steady.
Why her? Why now?
He picked up his notebook, left the classroom, and went down the hall. Outside the school building, he leaned casually against the brick wall, blending into the wave of students leaving campus.
Five minutes passed.
Then fifteen.
Then thirty.
Still no sign of Leora.
Too long, Aldric thought. Way too long.
By the forty-minute mark his jaw set.
By the full hour—
he pushed off the wall, ready to walk back into the building and find her.
But just as he stepped forward, the door opened.
Leora stepped out.
She spotted him immediately—and smiled with subtle relief.
"Took you long enough," Aldric said, his voice easy.
"Thanks for waiting for me," she replied, the small smile on her lips hiding something deeper—gratitude, fear, or both.
Aldric exhaled silently.
Not in relief that she was safe.
But in relief that she was still alive.
As they walked down the steps, Aldric's eyes flicked to the street.
The black car.
Same make. Same model. Same tint.
Still there.
Still watching.
Without hesitation, Aldric placed his right hand around Leora's shoulders—not intimate, not romantic, but protective—and steered her subtly in the opposite direction of the car.
"Everything okay with Ms. Vos?" he asked.
"Yes," Leora answered. "She just talked about me becoming the president of a club."
Aldric let out a quiet, careful breath.
Good.
If it was a lie, she told it cleanly.
If it was the truth, then Ms. Vos was playing a deeper game.
Either way, Leora was still breathing.
He walked her all the way to her street, waited until she safely entered her gate, and only then turned back.
His chest loosened—not in safety, but in determination.
Whoever is watching us… you're slipping. I'm starting to see your patterns.
The sun dipped low, throwing long shadows across the pavement.
Meanwhile the Black Car-
Ms. Vos stepped out of the building, heels tapping softly, posture unchanged from her usual controlled elegance. She approached the black car and the back door opened automatically.
She slipped inside.
The door shut.
The interior was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a dashboard screen.
She removed her glasses with a soft exhale.
From the seat beside her, a deep voice broke the silence.
"He's smart, isn't he, Ms. Vos?"
A beat.
"Or," the man continued, amusement curling through his tone,
"should I say… Sky?"
She chuckled—a rich, controlled sound.
"Smart?" she repeated. "No. That's too small a word for him."
She crossed her legs, resting an elbow on the armrest.
"Aldric Benedict is a genius."
The man smirked, turning slightly toward her.
Light grazed his jawline—sharp, clean-shaven, the outline of someone who had never known weakness.
"Then he's lucky," the man murmured.
"Very lucky, if that's coming from you."
She gave a dangerous, knowing smile.
"Varron," she said softly, "luck has nothing to do with him."
The car pulled away from the curb, disappearing into traffic like it had never been there at all.