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“Let them be.” Hooking two fingers through the belt loop of my pants, Ciaran tugs me closer before I can think better of it. “Coat.”
My pulse trips. “Where are we—”
“You’ll see.”
Damaris blinks between us. “Wait. He calls you mouse?”
Lucan’s grin turns lethal. “Oh, you have no idea.”
“Lucan.”
He lifts both hands. “Hey, I’m the one behaving.”
Ciaran reaches past me, grabs my coat from the chair, and pushes it into my hands. “Now, Rowan.”
Light, I really hate how much I like being ordered around by him. I hate the way my body seems to lean toward him, still remembering his mouth, the heat of him, the feel of him beneath my hands and in my mouth.
Ciaran slides a hand against the small of my back and guides me toward the door like this was always inevitable.
“Have fun,” Lucan drawls. He catches Damaris glaring at him and lifts both hands in mock surrender. “What? I’m behaving—wait. Is that kallan stew?”
Damaris narrows his eyes. “Maybe.”
“Light, I haven’t had that in months.” Before Damaris can stop him, Lucan reaches across the table and steals the abandoned bowl. “You made this?”
“Give that back.”
Lucan takes a bite anyway, his eyes widening. “Oh, that’s actually good.”
Damaris flips him off, failing completely to hide his grin. “And Rowan? What I said earlier still stands.”
The knot that’s been sitting in my chest all afternoon loosens a little, and I nod before Ciaran nudges me toward the hallway.
Then the dorm door closes behind us, and it’s just me and him walking alone through the older academy corridors.
For a while, neither of us says anything. Then I glance sideways at him. “You dragged me out of dinner for this?”
“You haven’t stopped thinking about that room. Or me, for that matter.” He sounds far too pleased about it.
“You’re so full of yourself.”
“I am. And of you.” His grin makes my cheeks heat. “And sweet boys get sweet gifts, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He flashes me another of those irresistible smiles. “Don’t worry. You will soon.”
The crowds disappear surprisingly fast once we leave the student dormitories behind. Most people stay around the central courtyards, cafés, training halls, and residence blocks after dark. But the farther we move toward the older music wing, the quieter Caervast becomes.
By the time we reach the narrow service corridors running behind the academy’s oldest rehearsal rooms, it feels like we’ve stepped into a different version of the campus entirely. The academy feels wrong out here, the shadows stretching longer between the old stone walls while the spaces between the lights seem deeper than they should.
Our footsteps echo softly through the corridor until something metallic scrapes faintly against stone somewhere ahead. Ciaran slows, and I do the same. For a moment, all I can hear is the sound of my own heartbeat and our footsteps against the stone. I'm acutely aware of how dark it is down here and how empty.
Another light stutters overhead before settling again, and when something scrapes somewhere behind us, I stop walking entirely. “Did you hear that?”
Ciaran glances back down the corridor, his expression sharpening. “Yeah. Maybe Caervast enjoys psychologically terrorizing people after midnight.”
“Or maybe somebody’s following us.” My stomach drops at the memory of the party, of the masked stranger cornering me on the rooftop terrace. The certainty that he recognized me long before I recognized him.
