Of all the hands it falls onto…
The scene unfolding at the threshold of the Grand Residential Hall was offensively theatrical as the heavy doors framed Roman like a portrait of aristocratic indifference.
As he stepped forward, the dense crowd of exiting students instinctively parted down the center, creating a wide, unobstructed path as if the universe itself were handling his personal security detail.
“Oh, wow…” Stella murmured beside her.
The young witch, if anything, was mesmerised.
Lillian, on the other hand, experienced the overwhelming urge to leave Valerius Academy forever.
So she pivoted on her heels, ready to flee.
“Miss Shaw,” the supervising faculty member looked up from the registration pillar with polite patience.
“Your departure has not yet been logged. Please refrain from leaving.”
Right.
Her crest.
The crest currently sitting in Roman Laurent’s hand.
“…Sorry,” she mumbled weakly and with all the enthusiasm of someone approaching her own execution, Lillian turned back around.
Roman was already walking toward her.
Each measured step echoed softly across the stone courtyard as Lillian’s heartbeat climbed with every one of them.
Jett Winslow followed casually behind.
By the time they reached her, she had instinctively taken a small step backward.
His gaze flickered briefly to the extra distance she had created between them and with unmistakable deliberation, he closed it again with one effortless step.
Lillian pressed her lips together, if only to stop herself from making the tiny, distressed noise threatening to escape.
Roman’s eyes briefly shifted to Stella beside her, offering the witch a polite nod and an easy smile in greeting before returning his attention to Lillian.
“This is rather funny,” he began, idly twirling the silver crest between his fingers.
“I spent the better part of the afternoon reviewing the academy’s synchronization registry, wondering what sort of elusive creature Professor Alder had bound me to.”
He let the thought hang for a moment, watching her.
Lillian wished the stone beneath her shoes would simply open and swallow her whole.
“I considered a few possibilities,” he said.
“An unknown high-born noblewoman from the north. A merchant’s daughter from the City Harbour. A particularly militant strategist from the Iron Factions.” He pretended to think for a moment.
“I even prepared myself for someone spectacularly dull.”
Lillian stared at him, uncertain whether she was supposed to be offended on behalf of his hypothetical partner or relieved she had accidentally escaped that category.
“Instead…” He tilted his head slightly as his gaze settled on her wide, petrified eyes.
“I discover that the mysterious and deeply dedicated Lillian Shaw is the exact same girl who wandered into the wrong room, launched herself down a flight of stairs because she was hungry…”
She could physically feel his eyes roaming every nook and corner of her face, “…and then spent nearly an hour sitting beside me without mentioning she was the person I’d been looking for.”
He laughed under his breath, looking far too entertained by her ongoing humiliation.
“Shaw…” he murmured, the corners of his mouth refusing to behave.
“You have an astonishing talent for walking in circles… Tell me. What was going through that head of yours?”
Right.
How was she supposed to explain that she had not been avoiding him on purpose?
That she had spent the better part of the day trying to find him, only to panic the very moment she actually did?
It was not his fault.
It was not even the assignment.
It was the absurd, undeniable fact that Roman Laurent had turned out to be her partner.
Every time she had almost introduced herself, another irrational thought had arrived first.
He’s Roman Laurent.
Say something normal.
Speak the wrong thing, and he’ll discover you’re a halfbreed and tell his family to kill you.
Okay, actually… don’t say anything at all.
And somehow, through a series of catastrophically anxious decisions, she had managed to spend nearly an hour sitting beside her assigned partner while pretending she was not his assigned partner.
Hearing Roman summarize it aloud now… she had to admit it sounded deeply, profoundly ridiculous.
But whatever it is, she has nowhere to run now.
Lillian lowered her eyes and let out a long suffocating sigh.
“I…” she began weakly.
“…I was going to tell you.”
Roman raised a brow.
“Eventually,” she added in a voice barely above a whisper.
And because he still does not look convinced, she hurried to explain.
“I just… the… the timing kept becoming increasingly terrible.”
Roman offered no interruption.
He merely folded his arms, the silver crest caught loosely between his fingers, and regarded her with open curiosity.
He looked… remarkably comfortable.
Alarmingly comfortable, actually.
Like a man who had nowhere else to be and every intention of hearing her explain herself, which bothered her so much.
Lillian cleared her throat.
“First, I ran into the wrong room by accident,” she murmured, cataloguing the day’s sins as if reading from a ledger.
“Then… I fell down the subterranean staircase.”
“Mm,” Roman offered.
“…Before that we actually crossed paths in the courtyard—”
“Where you sneezed at me and told me you didn’t know a Lillian Shaw,” he provided smoothly.
Her eyes widened in a sudden spike of mortification.
“…You knew it was me?”
“Not at the time,” Roman smiled sweetly.
“I only just connected the trajectories.”
Lillian’s chin dropped a fraction lower, pointing reluctantly at the hall with open palm and offered the absolute smallest nod imaginable.
“…And then we spent the entirety of the residential orientation together.”
“Ah,” Roman looked thoughtfully toward the dark sky for a moment, as though carefully assembling the structural evidence of her evasion.
“So, every single time fate handed you a distinct administrative opportunity to state your name…”
“…I panicked,” Lillian finished for him, the admission leaving her in a defeated breath.
His gaze snapped back down to hers, sharp and brimming with a dangerous delight.
“I must say, that is astonishingly consistent.”
Lillian made a tiny, suffocated sound—somewhere between a quiet whimper and total existential despair.
Roman’s smile tugged a little wider as he leaned down just enough to watch her expression crumble in real time.
“You know, most people generally prefer to exchange formal introductions before they accumulate a significant volume of shared incidents.”
“Are they though…” she whispered miserably.
“We’re currently at… what? Four?”
“…Please do not maintain a tally.”
“Too late,” he chimed, looking far too fascinated by the mathematical progression of her disaster.
“At this rate, we will accidentally survive a border war together before you ever voluntarily tell me your name.”
“I did tell you my name…”
Roman glanced down at the bright silver metal resting in his palm.
“Technically, this did.”
Lillian’s face burned.
Without thinking, she reached out for it, intending to take it back and walk on.
And she would have had it her hand if he did not casually lifted his hand out of her reach.
Puzzled, she looked at him, then at the crest, then at him again.
“…May I have it back?”
Roman pursed his lips as though giving the matter genuine consideration.
“I don’t know… Given your track record today, I’m beginning to wonder if leaving your identity in my custody isn’t the only way to ensure you don’t vanish into the nearest shadow.”
Lillian’s hand dropped back to her side.
“I’m not going to vanish,” she whispered desperately and cast a brief, frantic glance at Stella, who was still standing behind her with highly invested eyes.
“I need to register my departure.”
“You were literally pivoting on your heel to escape the premises when I walked out,” he pointed out smoothly.
“Tell me the truth. Were you planning to run straight to Professor Alder’s office first thing in the morning to request a reassignment?”
Lillian’s eyes widened.
“What? No— I didn’t— We can’t even—”
“Because if you were planning to trade me away,” Roman interrupted, “I’d be deeply offended. I’ve already established that I am an exceptional partner to collaborate with. Jett can vouch for my intellectual contributions.”
From behind them, Jett let out a dry cough.
“Don’t drag me into your delusions, Laurent.”
Roman ignored him entirely, his focus remaining locked onto Lillian’s flushing face.
He held the crest up between them, the gold light of the sconces tracing the sharp lines of her name.
“If you want this back, you’ll have to break the pattern.”
Lillian blinked, a terrible feeling settling into her stomach.
“What do you mean?”
“An introduction,” Roman murmured easily, as if he did not just request something ridiculous.
“A proper one.”
Lillian stared at the silver token, then at the pureblood heir who was clearly having the absolute time of his life at her expense.
Forced to relent, she took a shallow breath, kept her eyes fixed resolutely on the silver crest rather than his face, and forced the syllables past her throat.
“My name—”
“Eyes up here, Shaw.”
Lillian swallowed hard, the silence of the corridor suddenly feeling exceptionally loud.
She forced her gaze up, meeting the brilliant, dangerous spark in his crimson eyes.
“I am Lillian Shaw…” She gulped.
“Second-year sophomore. Faction… Vampire.”
“And?” Roman prompted, clearly testing the limits of her composure.
Lillian’s fingers knotted into the fabric of her sweater.
“And… I am your assigned partner for the Integration Framework.”
Roman waited again.
When she did not say anything further, he tilted his head. Find the original chapter at g.com.
“…That’s it?”
She hesitated.
“Is there more?”
“I don’t know. Usually introductions involve more confidence.”
“I don’t have any,” she blurted.
“Fair enough,” Roman let out a short, breathy huff that sounded remarkably like a victory lap.
“Well, see? That wasn’t terribly complicated.”
Relieved the torture was finally over, Lillian extended her hand, palm flat and upward, fully expecting him to drop the crest into her grasp so she could scan out and flee to the safety of her dorm with Stella.
Instead, Roman’s long, cool fingers slid beneath her palm, his hand turning over to clasp hers in a firm grip.
Lillian felt her heart stopping entirely as the unexpected physical contact sent a jolt of pure shock up her arm.
She stared at their joined hands for a heartbeat too long before her eyes finally snapped to his.
“Roman Laurent,” he said, his voice carrying the same effortless ease it always seemed to.
“I suppose we’re partners.”
Lillian forgot how to breathe.
She had spent the entire afternoon insisting to herself that Roman Laurent merely happened to possess an aesthetically pleasing face.
But standing this close rendered that argument completely indefensible.
There was something deeply unfair about him.
The effortless confidence.
The easy smile.
The steady crimson eyes looking directly into hers as though this level of proximity was the most ordinary thing in the world.
She had the absurd feeling that if he kept looking at her like this for another five seconds, her brain might simply resign.
He gave her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze before his smirk returned, sharp and wicked.
“Since you have an astonishing talent for losing things, I’ve decided to assume executive responsibility. I will be guarding this crest for the duration of the term.”
“Wait—what?” Lillian stammered, her thoughts fumbling into pure chaos.
“No, I need to scan—”
Before she could pull her hand away, Roman used his free hand to casually reach across her, his arm brushing lightly against the fabric of her sleeve as he pressed her silver crest directly against the glowing obsidian pad of the registration pillar.
Click.
The runes flared a brilliant, authorized green.
“Second Year. Lillian Shaw. Departure registered.”
“There,” Roman drawled smoothly, releasing her hand before slipping her silver crest carelessly into his own trouser pocket.
He stepped past her with the same unbothered stride, Jett falling into step beside him.
Roman glanced back over his shoulder just enough to flash her a devastatingly arrogant grin.
“Your departure is logged, Shaw. Go get your rest. I’ll see you at eight tomorrow morning.”
Lillian stood entirely rooted to the stone floor, her hand still tingling where his fingers had held it, staring blankly at the empty space he had just occupied as he vanished into the twilight crowd.
Beside her, Stella slowly closed her mouth.
She turned to her roommate, her emerald eyes the absolute size of saucers, both hands rising to cup her own cheeks in a state of sheer, unadulterated disbelief.
“…Lillian.”
Lillian finally tore her eyes away from the direction Roman had disappeared.
“What?”
“I say this with the utmost affection for your exceptionally quiet lifestyle…” Stella started slowly.
“But what in the High Covens was that?”
Lillian looked just as lost.
“What.”
“No, because I need to understand.” Stella pointed emphatically toward the courtyard.
“He walked over to you. He teased you for ten minutes. He held your hand. He announced that the two of you are partners. Then he stole your crest and walked away smiling.”
Stella grabbed both of Lillian’s shoulders, inhaling a dramatic breath before saying, “That was the most unhinged, brilliantly calculated courtship strategy I have ever witnessed.”
“COURTSHIP?!” Lillian squeaked.
“You cannot expect me to interpret that any other way! You really have a crush on Roman Laurent!”
A few nearby sirens who were halfway through the scanning archway shifted their elegant heads to stare upon hearing Stella’s voice, while a group of freshmen vampires gave them highly amused, lingering glances.
Lillian sprung her hands up to cover her roommate’s mouth.
“No! Keep quiet! People are looking!” She hissed through her teeth.
Completely unfazed by the audience and entirely locked into her theory, Stella lowered her voice into a stage-whisper that was barely any quieter and muffled through Lillian’s hands, “Roman has a crush on you!”
“NO!”
Stella narrowed her eyes.
“…Both?”
“STELLA!”
“Awe, don’t be shy,” Stella beamed, entirely deaf to Lillian’s internal screams as she looped an arm firmly through hers.
She began towing the panicked sophomore down the brick path toward the safety of the residential towers.
“Come, come! We’re making chamomile tea immediately—you’re going to need every ounce of its calming properties if you intend to survive looking at that ridiculously handsome face at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“It’s an assignment!” Lillian protested, her boots practically dragging against the stone as she tried to fight the momentum of Stella’s excitement.
“Mm-hm.”
“It is!”
“That’s usually how the good romances begin,” Stella hummed happily as they disappeared towards the female residential tower without ever looking back, never noticing that not everyone had resumed walking after scanning their own crests.
A handful of students remained where they stood, watching the direction Roman Laurent had gone… then the path Lillian Shaw had taken with that young blonde witch, silently committing the scene to memory.