Please don’t cry, she thought urgently.
It’s not like you’re dying, so don’t cry.
Because who in the world burst into tears over something this trivial?
It was only embarrassing, not a crisis, not even a disaster.
It was barely even a problem.
But why did her chest feel tight enough to convince her otherwise anyway?
Something moved from behind her, and Lillian felt, rather than saw, Roman moving his arm.
A second later she became quietly aware that the weight of his arm along the back of the bench had disappeared, which made her stare even harder at the Warden, pretending not to notice anything.
Because noticing it would imply she had been aware of it in the first place, which would suggest she had been thinking about it this entire time, which she absolutely had not been doing.
“…”
Beside her, Roman spoke in a voice pitched low enough that only she could hear.
“You can lean back.”
Lillian tensed, but she did not move immediately.
Still staring at the Warden, she carefully—as though sudden movement might somehow attract the attention of the entire Grand Residential Hall—leaned back until her shoulders finally met the wooden backrest.
The moment she did, she realized it was a tactical error.
He was entirely too close.
“Residential regulations,” Roman murmured quietly.
The Warden had only just begun explaining the importance of dormitory discipline when he sighed.
“Three minutes in and we’re already discussing regulations. A strong opening.”
Lillian kept her eyes forward, attempting to become the most attentive student in whole Valerius Academy.
“He’s going to use the phrase ‘institutional integrity’ within the next thirty seconds,” Roman murmured.
That prompted Lillian to briefly glance at him.
He was looking at the podium now, one leg crossed lazily over the other.
“…and it is through the preservation of our institutional integrity that we ensure the continuity of the realm’s peace,” the Warden’s deep, hollow voice droned across the hall.
Roman let out a short, microscopic huff through his nose and glanced at her.
“Told you.”
Lillian held his eyes for exactly three seconds before looking away.
“You’re remarkably quiet, 312,” Roman observed, his tone shifting into a speculative drawl.
“Or is the allergy from the courtyard still affecting your vocal cords?”
A fresh wave of heat bloomed across Lillian’s cheeks.
She desperately wished the stained-glass windows would shatter, or that a rogue lycan would pick now to start an illicit duel in the back rows.
Anything to disrupt the terrifying precision of his attention.
At the front of the hall, the Warden’s silver staff struck the stone a second time, the sound dull and heavy.
“The compliance review for this term will focus heavily on residential movement past the midnight chime. Any student caught traversing the common sectors without a warded transit pass will face three weeks of disciplinary isolation in the lower crypts.”
A unified vibration of dissatisfaction rippled through the hundreds of students packed into the tiers.
“Three weeks, huh.” Roman tilted his head back, resting his skull against the masonry behind them.
“He says that every year. Last autumn, Jett and I spent half the term in the eastern gardens after curfew, and the only thing we encountered was a deeply confused fae patrol.”
Lillian did not turn her head again, but her fingers tightened around her student crest until the silver edges bit into her palm.
Why is he talking to me?
Her brain screamed.
Why is he sharing his illicit nighttime activities with his friend while the Reaper Warden is literally staring in our direction?
“And the crypts are terribly damp anyway,” Roman continued, unbothered by her lack of participation.
“The ventilation charms haven’t been updated since the turn of the century. It ruins the fabrics.”
“…”
“The worst part is that they call it a disciplinary measure, but half the students assigned there spend more time complaining about the cold than actually reflecting on their mistakes.”
“…”
“…which defeats the purpose, in my opinion.”
That finally did it.
Her eyes flickered toward him.
Roman was still looking toward the podium, his sharp jawline set, his expression completely, bafflingly serious.
“…in your opinion?” She found herself asking.
“Yes.”
Lillian stared, her filter completely failing her.
“You… You have an opinion about disciplinary punishments?”
“Of course.” That answer was so immediate that it caught her off guard.
“What’s wrong with it?” The question left before she could stop herself, which made her regret it immediately.
Because when Roman’s eyes finally shifted toward her, the faintest hint of victory appeared on his face, a quiet satisfaction of someone who had successfully convinced a frightened cat to come closer by sitting still long enough.
“They’re inefficient,” he explained.
“Punishment should correct behaviour, shouldn’t it?”
She stared at him again.
For some reason, she had expected him to say something reckless.
Something arrogant.
Or something that matched every rumour she had heard about him.
Instead, he sounded almost… reasonable.
“If a student breaks a rule because they are reckless,” Roman continued, “locking them somewhere uncomfortable for three weeks only teaches them that the academy has uncomfortable rooms.”
“…”
“And if someone breaks a rule because they are curious, punishing curiosity only makes them better at hiding it.”
Lillian hesitated, the space between them suddenly feeling remarkably small “…You sound like you’ve thought about this before.”
Roman’s mouth lifted slightly.
“I have spent enough time being threatened with disciplinary action to develop theories.”
Lillian’s eyes widened a little.
That was true, but— “That is not something you should admit.”
“Why not?”
“Because you are proving the Warden’s point about institutional rebellion.”
Roman considered that for a brief second, then he simply nodded, his dark hair falling over his brow.
“Fair.”
For a brief moment, Lillian forgot she was supposed to be anxious.
Then she remembered who she was sitting beside and immediately looked away again.
Surprisingly, the silence that come to settle between them was not the uncomfortable kind she had grown accustomed to.
It did not feel like she needed to fill it with explanations.
Roman simply sat beside her, occasionally glancing toward the podium with the expression of someone attempting to survive a particularly long lecture.
The Warden continued again.
Something about residential responsibility, about maintaining the academy’s ancient traditions, about preserving the dignity of the institution, which Lillian was certain she would remember none of it by morning.
After several minutes of peaceful quiet, Roman spoke again.
“Speaking of regulations,” he began.
“I still haven’t found my partner for the Evaluation Framework.”
Lillian’s heart gave one sharp, painful thump.
Oh right, the assignment.
The very reason she had spent half the evening trying to find him.
Out of instinct, her mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Roman, completely unaware of the internal crisis happening beside him, continued staring toward the podium.
“I know their name, obviously. The academy sent the partner registry this morning.”
Lillian looked down at her hands.
She knew she should simply say it.
That was all, and it’s only three words.
Any normal person could do that.
But the thing is, her brain had decided that introducing herself to Roman Laurent was apparently equivalent to announcing a public declaration of war.
“What if they’re difficult?” Roman wondered aloud.
Lillian looked up slightly, her inner overthinker instantly jumping onto the defensive.
“Difficult?”
“Mm.” He rested his cheek against his knuckles, appearing genuinely thoughtful.
“Some people take these assignments too seriously. They act like a partnership evaluation is a political negotiation instead of a project.”
Lillian almost gasp aloud, because that sounded suspiciously like a direct summary of her entire life philosophy.
She shifted slightly on the edge of the bench.
“Are you… worried?”
Roman turned his head.
For a moment, he looked almost surprised.
“Worried?”
“I mean… because you haven’t met them yet,” she reasoned.
“And the assessment lifecycle begins tomorrow morning.”
“Oh,” he hummed.
“No.”
“No…?” She asked.
The answer came so easily that it confused her.
“Not even a little?”
“No. It’s just an assignment.”
”But you don’t think it could go badly?
What if… your grades drop?”
“It could,” he admitted.
“But I’ll deal with it if it does. It’s not particularly complicated.”
Lillian went entirely quiet, letting the silence stretch between them as she frantically mulled over the realization that she had been hyper-ventilating over this since the notice was out.
She had mentally failed this assignment at least seventeen times before it had even begun.
Meanwhile, Roman had apparently approached the entire situation with the exact emotional investment of someone casually deciding what to order for dinner.
Then again… perhaps someone like Roman Laurent had never really needed to worry about failing in the first place.
”Although,” Roman added casually, leaning back an inch further until his shoulder casually brushed against the empty space near hers, “I suppose they might say the exact same thing about me.”
Lillian tried hard not to react.
Please don’t say that.
I’m already worried enough for both of us, she wanted to say, but instead she asked, “Do you think they will?”
“Probably.” He gave a small shrug.
“People usually have an opinion about me before we even meet. I’m not exactly easy to ignore.”
Because you’re Roman Laurent, she thought.
It was difficult not to.
His family name alone carried enough history to fill entire academy lectures.
Roman continued, sounding almost amused by the observation himself.
“Half of them decide they dislike me, the other half mostly stare.”
A pause.
He pursed his lips, as if in wonder and said, “…Sometimes because they’re curious. Usually because I’m attractive.”
Huh?
Lillian was not entirely certain she had heard him correctly.
Roman smiled at her, “You’re somewhere in the middle.”
Huh???
“I don’t… I don’t dislike you,” she blurted before her brain could stop her.
Silence.
Genuine surprise flickered across Roman’s face, his lips parting just slightly before a smile began to creep back into place, slower this time, almost as though he had found her answer unexpectedly endearing.
“So,” he said, sounding almost delighted by his own conclusion, “you find me attractive.”
“No!” The denial came far too quickly.
Roman’s lips twitched, as if he was trying not to laugh.
“No?”
“I-I mean… that’s not what I…” She stopped.
Because how was she supposed to finish that sentence?
No, I don’t think you’re attractive?
That would be a blatant lie.
Yes, I do think you’re attractive?
Absolutely not.
She would sooner transfer to another academy.
Roman watched her unravel with remarkable patience.
He ducked his head for the briefest moment, biting back a laugh before looking at her again.
“Alright, I get it,” he mused, “you don’t actually have to answer.”
Lillian almost sighed in relief until he said,
“We’ve ruled out the first half. That only leaves the second.”
Her relief vanished instantly.
“…I wasn’t staring.”
“Nah, you’ve looked at me several times already.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“No!”
“If it makes you feel better, most people try to be subtler.”
Lillian closed her eyes for the briefest second.
This conversation had become unsalvageable.
Roman chuckled softly.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, his voice carrying that same effortless confidence, “I’m flattered. But I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you.”
“…?”
“You’re lovely, I’m sure,” Roman continued as though delivering unfortunate but necessary news, “but you’re not my type.”
Huh?!!
What?!
What did that have to do with anything?!
“I’m not interested in vampiress. My family would immediately assume I was considering marriage,” Roman went on with a small sigh.
“It becomes political. There are meetings. Correspondence. At least one elderly relative starts crying. I’d rather avoid it.”
Heat rushed into her face with horrifying speed.
For three full seconds, Lillian simply looked at him in horror.
Does it looks like that to him?
Does she give off that vibe?
…Does he thinks she’s confessing?!
“I wasn’t asking!” she blurted, louder than intended.
Lillian immediately wished to cease existing.
Roman regarded her for a long moment, the smile lingering unabashedly on his face.
Then, much to her horror, he simply hummed.
“Good. That would’ve been awkward for both of us.”
At that, Lillian turned so quickly toward the podium that she nearly gave herself whiplash.
She was never speaking to him again.
She had spoken to him for less than fifteen minutes, and somehow he had already rejected a confession she had never made.
Before either of them spoke again, someone dropped rather unceremoniously onto the bench beside Roman.
“I leave for five minutes,” Jett muttered under his breath, adjusting the sleeve of his jacket, “and you somehow manage to make a new acquaintance.”
Roman did not even look at him.
“Acquaintance is a generous assessment. She’s 312.”
Jett learned over to look at the girl sitting beside Roman.
“Oh…” He looked back at him.
“She spoke to you?”
“Yep.”
“Practically lifelong friends, then.”
Lillian stared resolutely at the Warden.
She had absolutely not heard that.
“Where’d you disappear to?” Roman asked.
“Residential supervisor stopped me.” Jett sighed.
“Apparently someone tried releasing messenger bats into the girls’ dormitory again.”
Roman blinked once.
“…Huh? I’m almost impressed.”
“Don’t be. They’re looking for whoever encouraged it.”
Roman looked mildly offended.
“Why are you looking at me like that? I encourage creativity, not bats.”
Jett gave him a long look.
“Those two statements aren’t as different as you think.”
Their conversation continued in easy, effortless rhythm, drifting from curfew regulations to increasingly questionable stories from the previous year.
Lillian made a conscious decision not to listen.
By the time the silver staff struck the stone one final time and the Warden dismissed the assembly, she could not have repeated a single regulation with any confidence.
The hall immediately erupted into movement.
“Excuse me.” Lillian was already standing.
She literally fled from the benches, but neither Roman nor Jett made any move to stop her.
She did not look back.
Only when she reached the entrance hall and pushed through the crowd did she finally exhale.
“I’m fairly certain that orientation just shortened my lifespan…” she muttered to herself, pressing a hand against her chest,
“Lillian?”
She looked up.
Stella stood a few paces away, blinking at her.
“…Why,” Stella asked slowly, “do you look like you’ve just survived an assassination attempt?”
Lillian stared at her for a long moment and slowly shook her head, forcing her hands to stop trembling.
“Let’s just go. It’s… a very long story. I’d rather not think about it.”
If she did, she was almost certain she would relive every second of the conversation in painfully vivid detail, analyze each sentence from twelve different angles, and eventually convince herself she should withdraw from Valerius Academy entirely.
“Fair enough,” Stella chuckled softly, turning toward the massive stone archway leading out.
“Come on, let’s go back to our dorm. My friends gathered some chamomile herbs from home for me, I’ll make us tea before bed.”
“That sounds amazing,” Lillian murmured, a genuine wave of relief washing over her.
The two of them followed the stream of students toward the exit, joining the orderly queue beneath the stone archway where several academy officials supervised the dismissal.
One by one, students pressed their silver crests against the obsidian pad to log their exit from the hall.
When their turn arrived, Stella stepped forward and lifted her student crest.
Click.
The runes along the pillar glowed emerald.
“Second Year. Stella Montclair. Departure registered.”
Stella stepped aside.
Lillian reached instinctively toward the inside pocket of her trousers, only for her hand to met nothing but fabric.
Her brow furrowed.
She checked again.
Empty.
No, no, no.
Panicking, her other hand joined the search in her opposite pocket, only to dug a spare hair tie.
“Lillian? Everything okay?” Stella asked, tilting her head.
The colour slowly drained from Lillian’s face.
Her student crest was gone.
She must have dropped it.
Either when she fled from the Hall, or… or when she was clutching it for dear life on the front bench.
“I don’t have it,” Lillian whispered, her voice cracking as the line of students behind them began to murmur impatiently.
“Stella, my crest is gone.”
“What? Are you sure?” Stella gasped, her eyes widening.
Lillian stared at her empty hands, her pulse beginning to climb.
“Yes, I swear I had it here.”
“Did you drop it?” Stella asked.
“I…” Lillian swallowed.
“I don’t know.”
A supervising faculty member gestured politely toward the side.
“If you’ve misplaced your crest, please step aside while the others proceed.”
“Oh… right, sorry.” Lillian nodded automatically, though her thoughts were already spiraling.
She stepped out of the queue and turned to Stella, trying very hard not to panic.
“I’m going to retrace my steps,” she said.
“It has to be somewhere inside the hall.”
Stella nodded immediately.
“I’ll help you!” She stepped out of the scanning queue to follow her.
“Two pairs of eyes are better than one, and it’s dark in those corners anyway.”
”Thank you so much—” Lillian turned back toward the grand double doors of the residential hall, the words of gratitude catching cleanly in her throat
They had not even taken two steps.
“Lillian Shaw.”
Her name stopped her completely.
A few steps away from the entrance of the Grand Residential Hall stood Roman Laurent.
And in his hand… was her student crest.
The engraved letters catching beneath the glow of the enchanted lamps.
LILLIAN SHAW.
Roman turned the crest over once between his fingers, his gaze dropping briefly to the engraved name before returning to her.
There was the faintest trace of amusement in his expression.
“Looking for this?”