The first thing that went wrong the next morning was his schedule.
Alaric noticed it while standing near the fountain outside the east wing, staring down at his phone with a faint frown. The screen showed his timetable in neat blocks of color too neat. Something felt off.
His first lecture ended at ten forty. The next began at ten fifty.
On opposite ends of campus.
He checked the map again, thumb hovering. Yesterday, those classes had been back-to-back in the same building. He remembered that clearly. He'd chosen the arrangement on purpose, careful not to give himself room for mistakes.
Now the distance between them stretched across half of Ravenshade.
Ten minutes.
Impossible.
He exhaled slowly and started walking.
By the time he reached the second lecture hall, his breath came shallow, his pulse loud in his ears. The doors were already closing. He slipped inside just before they shut, earning a brief glance from the professor.
"You're late," the man said mildly.
"Sorry," Alaric replied. "My schedule-"
The professor waved a hand. "Find a seat."
No reprimand. No sympathy either.
Alaric slid into the nearest empty chair, heat still lingering beneath his skin. He forced himself to focus as the lecture continued, pen moving steadily across his notebook. Still, the irritation tugged at him, quiet but persistent.
When class ended, he checked his schedule again.
It hadn't changed back.
That was when the unease began to settle.
The second issue came an hour later.
Alaric headed toward the research wing, the one reserved for upper-year students and specialized programs. His syllabus listed several texts housed there materials he needed by the end of the week. He reached the glass doors and tapped his student card against the scanner.
A red light blinked.
Access denied.
He tried again.
Red.
A third time.
Still red.
A staff member behind the desk glanced up. "Problem?"
"I think my card isn't working," Alaric said, keeping his voice polite. "I need access to the archives."
She gestured for the card. He passed it over.
Her fingers moved quickly across the keyboard. She frowned, then paused.
"That's strange," she said.
"What is?" Alaric asked.
"Your clearance hasn't been approved yet."
"Yet?" He kept his tone neutral, though something in his chest tightened. "I'm enrolled in the program. It should already be active."
She nodded absently. "It usually is."
"So… when will it be?"
She hesitated. Just long enough for him to notice.
"Hard to say," she replied. "Could be a few days. Maybe longer."
Alaric took his card back. "Is there someone I can talk to?"
She smiled apologetically. "You can submit a request."
"How long does that take?"
She shrugged. "Depends."
He thanked her and stepped aside.
The hallway felt colder than it had a moment ago.
By lunchtime, it was no longer subtle.
A seminar he'd been shortlisted for one he remembered receiving confirmation for now showed as full when he checked the portal. A recommendation form he needed for a scholarship extension suddenly required an additional signature that hadn't been listed before.
He stood outside the administrative office, staring at the screen, jaw tight.
None of it was dramatic.
None of it could be argued.
Each inconvenience, taken alone, meant nothing. A mistake. A delay. A clerical error.
Together, they formed a pattern.
By mid-afternoon, Alaric stopped asking questions.
He sat on a stone bench near the quad, notebook open on his lap, pen resting uselessly between his fingers. Students passed by in loose clusters, laughter easy, conversations fluid. Someone nearby complained lightly about a professor's grading. Another talked about a weekend event he hadn't heard about.
The world around him moved smoothly.
He didn't.
This is punishment, he realized.
Not the kind that left bruises.
The kind that wore you down quietly. That made everything just difficult enough to drain your energy, your focus, your will. The kind that waited for you to fix it yourself.
Silveren hadn't said a word to him since the lecture hall.
Hadn't summoned him. Hadn't threatened him.
He didn't need to.
Ravenshade was correcting a problem.
Alaric closed his notebook slowly.
It would be easy to end this.
One apology. One carefully worded acknowledgment of misunderstanding. A bowed head in the right office, in front of the right person.
The doors would open again. The schedule would correct itself. His name would stop slipping quietly off lists.
He imagined the relief of it the way his shoulders would loosen, the way things would stop resisting him at every turn.
Then he imagined standing in front of Silveren.
Lowering his gaze.
The image made his stomach twist.
Alaric stood.
He crossed the quad without looking at anyone, boots crunching softly against gravel. The administration building loomed ahead, tall and dark against the afternoon sky. Lights flickered on inside as the sun dipped lower.
Halfway across, the sensation returned.
That same subtle pressure. The awareness of being seen.
He slowed.
Then lifted his head.
Silveren stood on the steps of the building, one hand resting lightly against the railing. He wasn't surrounded by anyone. Wasn't speaking. Wasn't doing anything that could be called suspicious.
He was simply there.
Watching.
The distance between them was wide enough to deny intention. Wide enough for coincidence.
But Silveren's gaze didn't waver.
Not hostile.
Not smug.
Observant.
Like a scientist waiting to see what a variable would do under strain.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Alaric straightened.
He met Silveren's eyes openly held them just long enough to acknowledge what this was.
Then he turned and walked away.
Behind him, Silveren remained where he was.
He didn't follow.