Sylas hated confrontation.
Not because he was a coward—he'd faced literal magical nightmares and survived the verbal minefield that was Headmaster Elowen—but because people were unpredictable. You never knew when they'd explode, cry, or punch you in the face.
Vivienne Ashthorn, unfortunately, seemed capable of all three simultaneously.
She stood in the courtyard, arms folded, posture tense. Her silver-blonde hair gleamed like the blade of a guillotine. She hadn't seen him yet, which gave him precisely five seconds to prepare.
"You've faced worse," he muttered to himself. "What's one morally ambiguous, potentially homicidal princess with a sharp memory and sharper daggers?"
He stepped forward.
"Vivienne."
She turned slowly, eyes narrowing.
"You're a hard man to pin down."
"Well," Sylas said with a strained smile, "I do enjoy the thrill of being almost murdered. Keeps me agile."
Her jaw tightened. "That wasn't a joke."
"No, but my trauma response is."
They stared at each other in tense silence.
Finally, she said, "What are you really doing here?"
"Which 'here' are we talking about? The Academy? This plane of existence? The garden?"
"Sylas."
He sighed, letting the mask slip—just a little.
"You said something before. Back when you held a knife to my throat."
"You weren't supposed to hear that."
"And yet, here we are. Still not stabbed, but arguably emotionally bleeding."
Vivienne looked away, jaw working.
"You don't remember it," she said finally. "The ritual. The blood. The pact."
Sylas stepped closer. "No. But I think I'm starting to."
Her eyes flicked back to him, uncertain. "Then you know why I can't trust you."
"Maybe," he said. "But I'm not him. Whoever he was—whoever I was—I didn't choose this."
"And I'm supposed to just believe that?"
"No. You're supposed to stop trying to kill me long enough for us to figure this out."
She hesitated. Then said, "The cube marked you."
Sylas tensed. "You knew about the cube?"
"I was there when it was sealed."
That pulled him up short.
"You what?"
Vivienne looked tired. Older than she had any right to at eighteen.
"My family's bloodline is tied to its protection. I was trained my whole life to deal with its consequences. When it flared, I knew someone had touched it."
"And you assumed it was me."
"Because it was you."
Sylas opened his mouth—then shut it. Fair.
"So what now?" he asked, quieter.
Vivienne looked at him—really looked at him—for the first time.
"I don't know," she said. "But I'm willing to find out. As long as you're not lying."
Sylas tilted his head.
"I've lied about a lot of things," he admitted. "My name. My past. My ability to survive academic workloads."
"But not this?"
He smiled faintly. "No. Not this."
A pause.
Vivienne sheathed the small dagger Sylas hadn't even noticed she was holding behind her back.
"Then we work together," she said. "And if you betray me—"
"I'll let you stab me without a witty comeback. Promise."
She raised an eyebrow. "I doubt that."