Halven leaned heavy between us, Elio braced on one side and me on the other. Lo tried to shoulder more than she should, so I bumped her back and slid in, hooking Halven’s arm across me.

“By the Ancients, Halven,” I said, teeth gritted in a mock groan. “How do you weigh this much when you’ve barely eaten all semester? Are you hiding bricks in your robes? Or is this just the burden of all your drama made flesh?”

Elio snorted, his golden-orange skin catching the torchlight. “Drama does have mass. That explains everything.”

Halven made a sound that could have been a laugh or a groan. I grinned wider, glad to hear either.

“You’re both idiots,” Lo muttered, though the corners of her mouth pulled tight with relief.

I carried on, because silence never did suit me. “It used to be me, Elio, and Halven. A perfect bro triangle. Strong. Symmetrical. Unbreakable.”

My grin widened as I shifted my grip higher on Halven’s shoulder. “But then Halven vanished, and it turned into a bro line. Just me and Elio. Two points. Weak structure.”

Elio raised an eyebrow, his arms working to keep Halven steady. “And now that he’s back?”

“Back to a triangle, my friend.” I let my grin grow wicked. “But imagine this. If Garnexis accepts Orivian into her life, then we become a bro square squad. Can you even picture the power?”

Halven’s head lolled against my shoulder. His breath hitched like he might actually laugh again, and it warmed something deep in my chest.

Elio’s mouth twisted. “Orivian might refuse membership. Might be afraid you’ll melt him.”

I barked a laugh. “He knows I wouldn’t really do that. I was just looking out for our girl. Someone has to.”

We made it up the final stretch of stairs and through the arch into Aster’s quad. The common room glowed with low lamplight, shadows dancing over stone and tapestries. Elio and I lowered Halven carefully onto the long couch. He slumped back with a sigh that seemed to rattle through his whole frame.

Lo brushed hair from his brow and moved toward the shelves, muttering about food.

Aster sat, unusually still, eyes on me. Her lips pressed together before she finally spoke. “Is there ever a time you stop talking?”

The corners of my mouth curled. I leaned on the back of the couch with deliberate ease and let a slow grin rise. “Yeah. When my hands are full of a Water Fae.”

Her eyes flicked away as if she could roll the words right off her shoulders, but the pink flush at the edge of her blue cheeks betrayed her.

Lo breezed past with a platter of bread and cheese, smacking my arm on the way by.

“Hopeless,” she muttered with a shake of her head, though a smile tugged her mouth.

I kept my grin locked on Aster, enjoying the flicker of warmth behind her mask.

Halven leaned back against the cushions, already half asleep as Lo pressed bread into his hand. Elio sank into the chair opposite, shoulders loose, relief plain in the way he slouched. The room brimmed with voices, clatter, the quiet shuffle of bodies trying to settle after too much chaos.

And in the middle of it, Aster sat with her chin in her hand. She scrutinized me like she was made of stone, though her eyes drifted toward me once, quick and wary, before sliding away again.

The urge to get her alone tugged at me harder than I cared to admit. We’d finally found and saved our friend Halven. He was safe and back with us.

Now we were back to mundane things like final exams and figuring out what to eat next.

But one thing came above all of that now.

Whatever this thing was between me and Aster, I wanted it to work. But this room held too many witnesses, too much noise. I wanted her where the walls did not listen, where she would not slip behind that armor she wore for everyone else.

I walked to her and leaned down, voice pitched low. “My quad’s empty tonight. Want to get out of here?”

Her brows drew together, not quite frown, not quite refusal. She glanced at Lo, at Halven, then back at me. She didn’t speak, but the way her shoulders eased by the smallest fraction gave me enough.

I knew her thoughts. Halven was back, now to deal with me, the Fire Fae, who, I hoped, was never far from in her thoughts.

I straightened, casual, and tipped my head toward the door. After a long breath, she followed.

The hallways were hushed at this hour, lamps dimmed to embers. I opened the door to my quad and let her step in first. The room yawned quiet and empty, the stillness wrapping around us like a seal.

I shut the door behind me and turned. She lingered by the hearth, eyes wary, her hair still as a pond, as if she expected me to press her into something she was not ready to give.

I crossed the room slowly, leaving no room for doubt in my steps. When I reached her, I drew her into my arms, pulling her close until her forehead rested against my chest. My hand slid over her back, steady, certain.

“Orivian’s vow back there,” I murmured against her hair, “it hit me harder than I thought it would. Not because I envy him, but because his words echoed the ones in my mind. I don’t ever want to be apart from you.”

Her breath caught, quiet against me.

“I keep thinking about the vision of you I had in the Docilis Vault,” I continued, holding her tighter. “You wore armor against everyone. Against me. I can’t lose you behind those walls again. I won’t.”

Her fingers curled slightly in the fabric of my shirt, betraying the tension she tried to hide.

I tilted her back just enough to meet her eyes. “I told you once I’d wait for you as long as you needed. I meant it. But don’t think for a second that silence means I’ve stopped trying. I’m here. I’ll always be here. I’ll keep showing you until you believe me. I love you, Aster.”

Her lips parted as if she had a reply, but nothing came out. The firelight caught in her eyes, uncertain and strong all at once. Her silence stretched between us, her body pressed to mine yet braced as though my arms were a test she had not decided to pass. My chest burned with the need to keep speaking, but I forced myself still, letting her think, letting her walls shift on their own.

Strands of her light blue hair moved a little now, flowing into trickles of water, then solidifying again. I brushed some of it back from her face, my thumb grazing her temple. She didn’t pull away. She leaned, just enough that her breath mingled with mine. The armor she carried cracked, subtle but real.

Her fingers curled tighter into my shirt.

“You haven’t let me forget you,” she whispered. Her gaze swept down, hiding her violet eyes and all they could tell me. “Not once. And I don’t want to push you away anymore.”

Her words sank through me like fire in dry tinder, but still, I waited, letting her feel this moment, letting her have control of what this could be between us.

Her lips trembled as though she still fought herself, then steadied, bringing her gaze back to mine. “You measure the world by connection. By belonging. You make people feel like they are part of something bigger. I want that. I want to be part of your world.”

My throat closed with the weight of it.

Her mouth brushed mine, tentative, testing. I caught the edge of her hesitation and held still long enough for her to choose again. She pressed harder, her hand sliding up to the back of my neck. The kiss deepened, carrying every strain of the semester, every agonizing day we searched for a way to save Halven, every moment the two of us had been pulled apart, every unsaid word that had hung between us.

I pulled her closer, anchoring her against me as if I could fuse the choice into permanence. Her walls broke, a slow yielding, each line of her body surrendering into mine.

The kiss grew hotter, unrelenting, no longer a question but an answer written in fire and water.