The Laboratory was a relief.
Not because it was quiet—it wasn't.
Something was always hissing or sparking or vibrating ominously in here. But at least the air didn't taste like polished marble and judgment.
It smelled like ozone, hot metal, and slightly singed parchment.
Which, in fairness, was just the scent profile of Julian trying very hard.
I pushed the doors open and attempted what I imagined was a smooth, villainous glide. The kind of entrance where cloaks billow on cue and people instinctively tremble.
Instead, my heart was still pounding from the throne room, and I was very aware that there might still be something unpleasant on my boots.
Deep breaths, Alex.You are terrifying.You are the Eschaton.You are not, under any circumstances, thinking about blueberry muffins.
Julian stood over a glowing dome of light, sweat dampening his collar. Beside him was Hannah.
I saw the scar on her cheek immediately.
It always pulled my eyes.
Thin. Pale. Slightly curved.
A mistake I made when we were twelve and I thought I could replicate a blade construct from a theoretical magic text without supervision.
I'd been so excited. "Stand still," I'd told her.
My leg cramped.
The spell slipped.
Light flared.
And then there was blood.
She'd forgiven me in three days. I'd forgiven myself never.
Because I'm a Scott, I'd spent the next week pretending I'd done it on purpose because she was "breathing too loudly." I'd thought that would make it hurt less.
It didn't.
I am the worst person alive, I thought, as I stepped fully into the light.
"Then suppress it."
Julian flinched so violently he dropped the spell. The glowing dome collapsed with a small, sad little ding.
Oh no. I didn't mean— I just wanted to—
He looked at me like I'd materialized from a storm cloud.
"Brother," he said, wiping his face.
And then he smiled.
Just—smiled.
Warm. Open. No fear. No resentment.
How are you like this? I wondered. I walk in here radiating post-execution energy and you greet me like I brought pastries.
It made my chest ache in a different way.
"Father sent me," I said, grabbing a wrench from the table because my hands needed something to hold or they were going to betray me by shaking. "He thinks you're wasting time."
I tossed the wrench back down.
CLANG.
Too loud.
I winced internally. Brilliant. Now it looks like you're furious. He thinks you're angry. You're not angry. You're just socially malfunctioning.
Julian didn't seem fazed. He started explaining his Phoenix fire defense system, eyes lighting up as he spoke.
He gestured animatedly, describing layered shields and controlled bursts that would repel siege engines without harming civilians.
It was… brilliant.
It would save people.
I wanted to grin at him. Clap him on the back. Tell him I was proud.
"Lives that are barely worth saving," I muttered instead.
Why. Why did you say that.
The words tasted bitter the second they left my mouth.
They are worth saving. All of them. Especially the bakers.
Especially the little girls waiting by windows. Especially the people who make muffins and argue and fall in love and don't know they're one royal decision away from catastrophe.
But the Prince Persona had already spoken.
Julian's smile dimmed just a fraction. Not crushed. Just… confused.
Then Hannah stepped closer.
Lavender.
Of all the things to notice after obliterating a man earlier today, my brain chose lavender.
"Alex," she said softly.
I turned.
She was looking at me like she always did—carefully. Not afraid. Just… aware. Like she was trying to read the weather in my face.
"You look imposing today."
Imposing.
Is that polite for "you look like you haven't slept in three days and might cry at any moment"?
"Execution duty," I replied.
Flat. Controlled. Distant.
Her shoulders tightened.
"Was it… messy?"
I almost laughed.
Messy? Hannah, I nearly passed out. I saw organs I did not consent to seeing. I am one intrusive memory away from becoming a vegetarian.
"Enough," I said, turning slightly so she wouldn't see my expression crack.
Because if she looked too closely, she'd see it. The guilt. The nausea. The fact that I am not built for this.
I told Julian to prepare for the War Council. Practical. Structured. Safe topics.
And then Hannah didn't step back.
She stepped closer.
Close enough that I could see my reflection in her eyes—tall, gold-haired, composed.
Close enough that I could hear the slight hitch in her breath.
"Alex," she said quietly. "Would you like to have dinner together tonight? Just the two of us? I… I had the chefs prepare that venison you like."
Time stopped.
My brain split in two.
Half of me: YES. Absolutely. Please. I am starving. I do not want to eat alone at a twelve-seat table pretending the silence is intentional.
The other half: You will have to talk. For an hour. Without a script.
What if you say something cruel by accident? What if you knock over a goblet? What if she realizes you're not imposing—you're just scared?
The idea of a one-on-one dinner with Hannah was somehow more terrifying than facing an enemy battalion.
Because battalions don't look at you like that.
"I'll think about it," I said.
My voice cracked—just a little.
She noticed. Of course she noticed.
You absolute coward, my inner voice screamed. She made you your favorite meal and you responded like a bureaucrat.
I turned too quickly.
"Come, Julian. We're leaving."
I walked down the corridor at a pace just shy of fleeing. My boots echoed against the stone.
Behind my composed expression, my thoughts were chaos.
She asked you to dinner.
You said "I'll think about it."
You are an idiot.
A tall, golden, catastrophically inept idiot.
Julian hurried beside me, still explaining shield matrices, completely unaware that I was internally reliving every social interaction of the past five years.
I could still smell lavender.
I could still see the scar.
I could still hear the wet sound from the throne room.
I am two different people, I thought.
The one they see.
And the one who wants muffins, forgiveness, and maybe—just maybe—someone who doesn't mistake panic for cruelty.
And the worst part?
Hannah probably thinks I'm aloof.
When really, I'm just terrified of wanting anything at all.