Elias threaded between chairs like drifting smoke. He had dressed with extra care today: a deep hunter-green turtleneck beneath his fitted academy blazer, the fabric hugging his slim frame and setting off the cool pallor of his skin. His black trousers were pressed to a razor edge, but his boots soft leather, worn at the toes betrayed miles of pacing. He kept his shoulders tucked, eyes lowered, the perfect picture of anonymous obedience.
Except his pulse was rioting.
Every step echoed with Lucien Thorn's gaze from yesterday, how it had snared him in the corridor, cool and merciless, like silk drawn tight across a throat. Sleep had been impossible. Even doubled doses of suppressant pills hadn't steadied the frantic beat in his veins. Something about that look had reached past the chemical walls he lived behind and curled its fingers around the deepest part of him.
He slid onto the end of a long oak bench, setting his tray down in front of Juno and Mara. Juno was demolishing a stack of honeyed toast; Mara stirred cardamom into her coffee, green curls piled atop her head in a silk scarf the color of autumn moss.
"You look like a haunted painting," Juno said through a mouthful of toast.
"Good morning to you too," Elias replied, forcing a dry smile. He lifted his mug, black coffee strong enough to strip varnish and tried not to grimace when the heat teased the tender place behind his ear where the scent-blocker patch pressed against skin. He'd replaced it twice already this morning, terrified the adhesive might fail.
Mara tipped her head, studying him. She wore the women's cut of the uniform, a tailored navy blazer cinched with a sash embroidered in silver thread, pleated skirt skimming long caramel‐brown legs above polished knee boots. "You're trembling," she murmured. "Did the new professor assign a pop essay?"
"I'm fine."
She arched a brow, unconvinced. "Fine never looks that pale."
Across the aisle Calum lounged with his usual entourage. Sunlight knifed through the high windows and lit the blond streaks in his hair; a sly smile curved his mouth when he caught Elias's eye. He murmured something, and the whole table snickered. A sheet of notebook paper slid across the polished surface to Mara's elbow. She unfolded it.
Heard Rivers finally got Thorn's attention. How long before the omega cracks? ♡
Mara's cheeks flushed scarlet. She crumpled the note and shot Calum a murderous glare. Elias's stomach twisted, bile sour in his throat. They didn't know, not really but rumors were sharks: once they scented uncertainty, they tore until they tasted blood.
"Ignore him," Juno muttered, jaw tight. He tore the note in half, then quarters, dropping the pieces into Mara's half-finished coffee like shreds of menace sinking into murk. "Calum only barks when he's jealous."
Elias forced himself to take another sip of coffee. The mug rattled faintly against the saucer. "I have Rhetoric in forty minutes. Need to go over the reading."
"I'll walk you," Mara said, but Elias shook his head.
"Library's closer to the lecture hall." He pushed to his feet. "See you both later."
He could feel Calum's gaze tracking him as he threaded through the crowded hall. The low buzz of conversation folded around him like static. He tried to breathe through it slow, controlled but the walls seemed too narrow; the arches, too low.
Power is surviving when no one wants you to.
Lucien's word echoed in his skull, and the tiny, traitorous part of him thrilled at the memory thrummed to life like something half starved finally offered a sip of water.
* * *
The third-floor stacks of the East Library were bathed in wintry light that filtered through diamond-paned windows. Dust motes danced like faint constellations. Elias settled at a narrow reading table with his copy of The Sickness of Want open before him. Leather cracked beneath his fingertips; the smell of old pages and ink curled like incense.
He underlined a paragraph, but the words drifted, rearranged themselves into the shape of a pair of obsidian eyes.
"Skipping breakfast isn't healthy, Rivers."
The voice, velvet sheathed over a blade slid through the silence behind him. Elias froze, pen poised above paper, lungs refusing to drag air. Slowly, he turned.
Lucien Thorn stood at the end of the aisle, hands tucked into the pockets of a charcoal over-coat that left its midnight lining exposed with every subtle movement. Beneath, a black vest hugged a tapered waist, silver watch-chain glinting against dark wool. His tie was a muted merlot, matching the thin line of silk handkerchief peeking from his breast pocket.
Light from the tall window carved sharp edges along his cheekbones. He looked less like a man than a midnight statue animated by stray moonlight.
"You left the refectory abruptly," he continued, stepping closer. The hush of his shoes against marble was near soundless. "Is something wrong?"
Elias's mouth was dry. "No, sir. Just needed quiet."
Lucien's gaze flicked down to the open book, then up to Elias's face. Elias was acutely aware of every rise and fall of his own chest, the heat blooming beneath his collar.
He's too close.
"'Quiet,'" Lucien murmured, "is often the most dangerous noise of all."
Elias didn't trust his voice, so he said nothing. Lucien's attention dropped lower briefly to the edge of the scent-blocker patch just visible below cropped black hair. His nostrils flared a fraction, that impossible darkness in his eyes seeming to deepen.
A coil of tension tightened in Elias's abdomen. Instinct screamed run. But his legs wouldn't obey. Lucien's presence filled the narrow aisle, crowding out oxygen, thought, time.
"How are you finding the text?" Lucien asked finally, tone conversational but soft enough to feel intimate.
"It's…" Elias swallowed. "Dense. But fascinating."
"Fascinating?" One dark brow arched. "Most call it disturbing."
"I suppose disturbing can fascinate."
Lucien's lips quirked, something close to a smile but sharper, honed. "Indeed it can."
He reached out, elegant fingers brushing the brittle page Elias had been marking. The spark of contact shot heat up Elias's arm. He pulled back instinctively, heart a caged bird.
Lucien watched him with penetrating calm. "Relax," he said so quietly Elias barely caught it. "I don't bite."
Elias managed a half laugh that was more breath than sound. You're lying, he thought, a flicker of anger piercing through the fog of nerves. Everything about Lucien screamed teeth and velvet and blood.
"Was there something you needed, Professor?" He folded his hands in his lap to keep them from trembling.
"For now," Lucien said, eyes steady on him, "just to ensure you were…all right."
All right. The phrase felt foreign, heavy with implication.
"I'm fine," Elias whispered.
Lucien studied him a moment longer, pupils dilated like twin eclipses. Then he inclined his head. "If you ever find the text overwhelming, my office door is open." His gaze lingered on Elias's flushed cheeks. "I find conversation is the best antidote to…silent obsession."
He turned, coat flaring around his calves, and strode away without another word.
Elias collapsed back against the chair the moment the aisle emptied, breath shuddering out of him. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning the soft tick of the library clock.
Conversation. Silent obsession.
Was that an invitation or a warning?
* * *
The afternoon lecture hall buzzed long before Lucien arrived. Nadia perched on the edge of her seat, clutching her annotated copy of the text to her chest; Calum spun his pen idly, eyes flicking to Elias with calculated interest. Juno sprawled beside him, feet propped on the seat ahead despite the academy's strict decorum code.
Elias sat rigid, cold sweat gathering at the base of his spine. The moments in the library looped in his head, Lucien's nearness, the almost-touch, the flare of something primal beneath the man's serene façade.
The door opened precisely at one. Lucien entered with silent authority, the merlot tie now replaced by a narrow black one, silver tiebar glinting. He placed a stack of papers on the table, unhurried.
"Take out your essays," he said. "We're going to discuss the nature of longing."
Juno muttered, "Speak for yourself," under his breath, earning a swat from Elias.
Lucien's dark gaze swept the room. "Everyone in this academy is trained to want, status, prestige, power. But what happens when wanting becomes needing?" He paced slowly. "When the object of desire is no longer separate from the self, but buried under your skin?"
Elias felt heat crawl up his throat. The air seemed too thin again.
Lucien paused mid-stride. His eyes landed on Elias brief, but incendiary.
"Mr. Rivers," he said, voice smooth as winter water. "Define the difference between longing and obsession."
A beat of hushed anticipation shimmered through the class. Elias forced his tongue to unstick from the roof of his mouth.
"Longing is…" He exhaled. "Sustained yearning. A pull you can live with."
"And obsession?"
"It's a hunger that overrides reason," Elias said softly. "It demands to be fed."
Lucien's expression flickered, satisfaction? approval? then smoothed into inscrutable calm. "Well stated."
Calum leaned over, whispering, "Teacher's pet."
Elias ignored him, though heat prickled under his collar.
The lecture wove through philosophical treatises and harrowing personal accounts from the text; Lucien dissected each with surgical precision, challenging shallow answers, coaxing depth. Every so often, his eyes would slide to Elias, just a fraction too long, a touch too intense—and Elias's lungs would seize.
By the time the final bell rang, the room felt charged, as if lightning had brushed the rafters.
Students filed out, murmuring. Lucien gathered his papers, but when Elias stood to leave, that cool voice halted him.
"Mr. Rivers. A moment."
Juno shot Elias a worried look. Calum's smirk curled deeper. Mara lingered in the doorway until Lucien lifted a brow; she ducked out hastily.
The door swung shut, sealing Elias in the empty hall with Lucien.
Alone.
Lucien leaned against the edge of the lectern, arms folding, the motion stretching dark fabric across a broad chest. "You seemed distracted this morning."
"I—" Elias swallowed. "I'm keeping up."
"I didn't say you weren't," Lucien replied, tone mild. "I said you were distracted."
Silence pooled between them, thick as ink.
Elias stared down at his polished shoes. His voice, when it came, was a whisper. "It's nothing."
"Nothing doesn't make your heart race," Lucien said, so softly Elias almost thought he imagined it.
Heat flooded Elias's ears. He forced himself to meet those night-black eyes. "Why do you care?"
Lucien's lips curved in something too sharp for a smile. "Because, Elias, something tells me your 'nothing' will soon become everything."
He pushed off the lectern, steps echoing as he strode past Elias toward the door. "Office hours tomorrow at ten. I expect you."
Without waiting for agreement, he opened the door and vanished into the hallway's murmur leaving Elias alone with the tremor of his own heartbeat and the hollow certainty that his carefully constructed brick was beginning to crack.