The next blow didn't come in words.
It came on stone.
Riley was descending one of the narrower staircases connecting the eastern wing when it happened. Her bag was slung over one shoulder, her steps careful but unhurried. The air was thick with afternoon dust, sunlight bleeding through a narrow slit of glass.
Then—
A sharp shove from behind. Sudden. Brutal.
Her body pitched forward, balance ripped from her. She tumbled down half the staircase before she could catch herself on the landing.
Pain bloomed sharp across her shin where stone scraped skin raw. Her ankle twisted beneath her weight. For a moment she just sat there, gasping, palms flat against the cold landing as her thoughts scrambled to catch up.
By the time she looked up—
No one.
Only the faint echo of retreating steps, quick and purposeful, fading into the upper corridor.
Riley's chest tightened.
Not an accident. Not this time.
Her leg throbbed as she drew it close, inspecting the angry red scrape, the swelling already rising at her ankle. It hurt—sharp, hot—but what stung more was the emptiness. The hollow absence of a single witness. The silence of the stairwell.
She remembered Raya.
The trembling girl she had found cornered in the abandoned training hall. The way her voice had cracked when she begged Riley not to report Selanne. If she finds out I said anything, they'll come after you too.
Back then, Riley had thought she understood. She had been furious, protective, determined to help Raya. But now—sitting on the cold landing with blood trickling down her shin—she realized it hadn't just been fear that kept Raya quiet.
It was this. The loneliness. The way no one else saw.
The way cruelty always struck in shadows where proof disappeared like smoke.
Her throat tightened. So this is what she lives with. Every day.
Riley pushed herself up, teeth clenched, ignoring the sting as she limped the rest of the staircase. Her steps were uneven, but she kept walking.
Because if she stopped, she wasn't sure she'd start again.
---
That night, she dug out the small glass bottle Riel had given her — the Shadowleaf balm with its faint golden sheen.
She uncorked it, the earthy-sharp scent filling the air, and rubbed it gently into her swollen ankle. Desperately, she hoped. Maybe by morning, it would vanish. Maybe that expensive, rare ointment could undo what the stone stairs had done.
And yes—when the balm seeped in, the ache dulled. The sharp stabbing pain softened to a manageable throb. Her skin cooled under the faint shimmer it left behind.
But balm was only balm.
When she woke the next morning, the swelling was still there. Angry and purple. Much less fierce than before, but hardly gone.
Even an ointment that few could afford, that Ace himself called military-grade, couldn't erase something like this overnight.
Her limp stayed.
And her pride burned worse than the bruise.
---
When she arrived at her first class, Ace caught it instantly.
"You're limping."
His voice cut sharper than usual, his brows drawn into a frown that didn't match his normally easy grin.
Riley tried to wave it off, laughing thinly. "Tripped on my own books."
But Ace didn't look convinced. His eyes narrowed, catching the way she kept weight off her left leg, the faint edge of bandage visible beneath her skirt. His jaw shifted, working against words he didn't speak.
He wanted to press, she could tell. Wanted to demand the truth out of her. But he didn't. He gave her space instead, like he always did.
That was the thing about Ace. He trusted too much in the words people offered him. He gave her silence when she needed questions. Gave her space when what she wanted, maybe, was someone to drag the truth out.
But she didn't tell him anything further. She kept silent as if begging Ace to not pry into it.
Because telling meant exposing weakness. Telling meant admitting Selanne's whispers weren't just whispers anymore.
And Riley wasn't ready to be anyone's pity.
If anything, Riley refused to be who Selanne whispered to her. Just a girl hiding behind powerful figures. Not knowing her own standing.
---
That silence Riley gave gnawed at him.
Ace sat through the lecture pretending to take notes, but all he could think about was the wince Riley tried to hide every time she shifted her legs. He had seen Selanne smirking with her pack in the corner, whispering words just loud enough to sting. He had overheard the cruel joke about "clumsy girls who couldn't even walk down stairs properly."
He wasn't stupid. He knew.
And yet—
Ace gripped his quill so hard the feather split.
What am I supposed to do?
If he stormed up to Selanne, demanded she stop, she'd twist the story on its head. She had the Count of Elowen's crest behind her. His family name was powerful, yes, but it wasn't Luciell wearing it — it was him. The reckless, loud Sweinz boy who never took anything seriously. They'd laugh him off. Maybe even claim Riley really had fallen on her own.
He thought of reporting it to a professor. But how could he? "I heard whispers," he imagined himself saying. "I think they pushed her." It sounded flimsy. Childish. Nothing that would hold weight in a hall where noble politics mattered more than bruises.
His jaw clenched.
Riley had stood up for Raya without hesitation, in front of real flames and jeers. She hadn't cared about titles or danger. If she could do that for someone she barely knew... why can't I do the same for her?
The truth stung deeper than he wanted to admit.
Because he was afraid.
Not for himself. For her. He had seen how cruelty escalated when defiance was answered with weakness. If he acted clumsily, if he picked the wrong fight, Selanne's group wouldn't stop — they'd get worse. And he couldn't be everywhere.
So he sat there, fists tight under the desk, heart pounding with the shame of his own hesitation.
I'll find the right moment, he promised himself. Just... not yet.
Later that day, the hall buzzed with chatter. Ace sat at one of the long oak tables, spinning a quill between his fingers, though his mind wasn't on his notes. It was on Riley. On the way she'd laughed too quickly, on the stiffness in her shoulders as she hid her limp.
He wanted to believe her. He always wanted to believe her. But something didn't fit.
Then laughter rang out. Too sharp. Too practiced.
His head tilted slightly, catching sight of Selanne and her cluster of girls in the corner. Their smiles were wide, their voices honeyed, but their words carried, even beneath their hands.
"...clumsy girls who don't know how to walk noble stairs."
The quill snapped between his fingers.
So it was them.
Of course it was them.
Heat surged into his chest, flooding with guilt and anger until his vision blurred. He should have known. Should have seen it sooner. Riley had been quieter these past days, her laugh thinner, her eyes shadowed when she thought no one was looking.
And he—her so-called friend, sworn to stand beside her—had done nothing.
Again.
The name Sweinz was supposed to mean protection. His brother had carried it like a banner, a shield no one dared to cross. Luciell never let shadows grow around those he claimed as his own.
And Ace? What did he wield? A smile too easy to ignore. A voice too light to cut.
His fists clenched beneath the table, nails biting into his palms until they ached.
He had let her fall.
And worse—he wasn't sure he knew how to stop it.
---
The rest of the week stretched heavy.
For Riley, the whispers sharpened. Laughter followed her footsteps, soft enough to be deniable, loud enough to sting. Comments trailed like poisoned threads:
"She's always near the red and black, isn't she?"
"I wonder what she's offering to be so well-guarded."
"She flirts like a noble but walks like a rat."
None of it direct. Never loud enough for a teacher to catch. Always careful. Always when she was alone.
But always there.
And now, with every echo, she thought of Raya. Thought of the way fear had silenced her.
Was this what every bullied student here carried? The constant balance between speaking and being crushed worse? Between silence and invisibility?
Her ankle still ached, but she forced her steps steady, refusing to limp where they could see. She raised her head higher, shoulders squared.
She would not give them the satisfaction of bending her.
But inside—inside she was starting to fray.
By week's end, she made herself a promise.
If Selanne wanted her broken, she'd have to face her directly.
Riley was done waiting for the bite.
She was going to bare her own teeth.