Lillian’s quill moved across the parchment of her notebook in a disciplined rhythm.
She kept her posture straight and her gaze fixed firmly on the front chalkboard, deliberately ignoring the lingering side-eyes from the rows around them.
Fortunately, during the brief lull while Professor Amarila was arranging her lecture diagrams, Lillian had managed to lean over and whisper a desperate clarification to the fae girl.
It took some convincing that Roman was merely deploying an insufferable excuse to dodge a detention, thankfully the fae had eventually shrugged and accepted the explanation.
Thankfully…
Professor Amarila turned toward the class, her dark velvet robes sweeping against the stone dais as she tapped her chalk against an intricate diagram of a corrupted mana core.
The Advanced Arcane Theory subject was inherently dangerous and Amarila taught it with a cold, unforgiving edge.
“Who can identify the primary catalyst for soul-fracturing when attempting to anchor a blood ritual to an unstable mana core?” Amarila asked, her sharp gaze sweeping over the front rows.
“And why does standard warding fail to contain the feedback?”
Before any of the eager students in the lower tiers could even raise a hand, a voice spoke up from beside Lillian.
“The soul fractures because the caster attempts to bridge the resonance using raw blood pressure instead of ancestral intent,” Roman explained lazily, his chin resting in his palm.
“Standard warding fails because ancient curses don’t attack the physical perimeter, they feed directly on the caster’s magical instability, turning the ward into a conductor for the feedback loop.”
Amarila offered a rare, approving nod, her chalk already making a sharp checkmark on the side of the board as a small silver rune blinked above the class register.
“Correct, Mr. Laurent. A precise understanding of forbidden mechanics. Five points to you and Miss Shaw.”
Lillian did not pause her quill.
She simply added the extra note regarding ancestral intent and feedback loops into the margin of her parchment.
In Professor Amarila’s class, the Evaluation Framework was brutal and continuous.
Every verbal contribution, every diagnostic answer, and every structural correction made during classes directly impacted the team’s weekly standing.
Well… having the pureblood heir in your cohort as a partner certainly had its academic perks, even if he was a social hazard.
Ten minutes later, Amarila posed another complex problem, this time regarding the lingering residual weight of blood sacrifices.
And once again, before the front row could even construct a coherent theory, Roman cut in seamlessly.
“The residual signature can’t be washed clean by standard purification. Blood sacrifices leave a permanent, dark resonance in the surrounding stone that decays only when the original caster’s line dies out.”
“Good,” Amarila remarked, a small, approving smile touching her lips.
“Another five points to the Laurent-Shaw pairing.”
Roman merely let out a faint, amused hum.
Concepts regarding ancient, forbidden magic that required other students hours of tedious library research were simply foundational knowledge he had absorbed before he was even old enough to attend Valerius.
Much to his advantage.
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting sideways.
Lillian was still writing.
Her dark hair fell forward in a loose curtain, shielding her profile as her hand flew across the page, capturing every single word of Amarila’s subsequent lecture on dark resonance decay.
Her focus was absolute, her lower lip slightly caught between her teeth as she crammed three lines of tight, neat script into the bottom margin.
Roman watched her for a moment.
The arrogant tilt of his head softened just a fraction, his crimson eyes tracing the stubborn, disciplined line of her cheekbone and the slight, unconsciously adorable dip of her lip.
She is absurdly determined over the smallest thing.
It had been the same in the vault.
While he had been perfectly prepared to reduce that oversized stone mutt into decorative gravel, Lillian had stood there watching it.
Studying it.
Picking apart its movements instead of blindly overpowering them.
In hindsight… they would not have recovered the relic nearly as quickly without her.
At least if it were not for the fact that they got separated.
His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the moment the creature’s stone tail had launched from the archway.
He had moved before he had even thought about it.
But instead of immediately pulling away right after, she had smoothed his wrinkled lapels flat just because he complained about it.
The corner of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly.
Weird little thing.
Roman leaned over.
And with a deliberate, agonizing precision, he extended his arm and gave her elbow an unexpected nudge with his own.
Scratch—
Lillian’s hand jerked across the parchment.
A thick, disgraceful streak of black ink slashed straight through three lines of her perfectly organized notes on blood sacrifice decay, ruining the entire bottom paragraph.
Startled, Lillian slowly lifted her head, her crimson eyes turning to glare at his already smug face through the dark strands of her hair.
Roman was propping his cheek on his knuckles, his chair pulled just a little too close to hers as he looked down at her ruined paper with a lazy, intoxicating smirk, then back up to her face.
“You’re ignoring me,” he said.
Lillian stared at the black ink line dragging across her notes, then looked up into his gleaming, wicked eyes.
She leaned back a bit when she noticed how close his face actually was.
This man really has no sense of proximity.
“I was paying attention to the lecture, which is what a normal student does,” she said in a tight, barely audible whisper.
Her hand already reaching into her satchel to retrieve a piece of cloth.
“And that’s exactly why normal students are forgettable,” he chimed, looking far too pleased as he looked down at her parchment.
“And your notes were overly dramatic anyway. You’ve been scribbling furiously for twenty minutes like the exam is tonight. Look at me.”
Lillian did not look at him.
“It’s called taking notes,” she sighed, carefully dabbing the cloth against the wet ink before it could bleed into the desk.
“Unlike you, some of us actually need to study.”
“You don’t need to study dark resonance decay, Lils, I just answered it. You could’ve just written ‘what he said’ and saved yourself the wrist cramp.”
“I’m pretty sure Professor Amarila would penalize me if my revision notes just said ‘refer to Roman Laurent’s ego’.”
“I’ll write you a signed permission slip,” Roman smiled brightly, tilting his head, trying to catch her eye under the curtain of her dark hair.
“I’ll even stamp it with the Laurent seal if it makes you feel more official.”
“That’s generous,” Lillian said, her quill dipping back into the inkwell with a quiet clink.
“But I think I’ll stick to actual notes, thanks.”
She did not even spare him a glance.
Roman watched the relentless scratch of her quill for another second.
…Still ignoring him.
How stubborn.
Reasoning had not worked.
Neither had teasing.
So without the slightest hint of embarrassment, he simply changed tactics.
Roman leaned a fraction closer, resting an elbow lazily against the edge of the desk.
A loose strand of dark hair slipped over his forehead as a familiar, dangerously charming smile settled onto his face, the sort that had talked professors into extensions and admirers into poor decisions.
“Lillian,” he coaxed gently, his voice dropping into a serious, comfortable drawl that actually made her skin tingle.
“Look at me for two seconds. I’m trying to have a proper conversation here.”
“…”
“I’ve been talking to the side of your face for the past minute. Don’t you pity me? My throat is practically dry from carrying this dialogue,” he sighed dramatically.
“…”
“Eye contact is generally considered polite too. I thought you had better manners than this.”
When she still did not reply, choosing instead to dip her quill into the inkwell, Roman let out a tiny, soft click of his tongue.
“Come on, Lils,” he nudged her elbow again, though this time not hard enough to spill her ink.
“You’re seriously going to make me sit here and beg for a single glance? That hurts my fragile pride.”
Fragile???
Lillian held out for another couple of seconds, stubbornly finishing the sentence she was on.
But alas, the weight of his undivided attention sitting right beside her was impossible to ignore.
With a quiet exhale, she finally turned her head to face him.
“What is it, Roman?”
For the briefest second, Roman simply looked at her.
He had been so occupied trying to get her attention that he had momentarily forgotten why he had interrupted her in the first place.
Though just as quickly, the smirk was back on his face.
He rested his cheek lazily against his knuckles again, completely unbothered by the fact that they were now sitting so close their shoulders brushed whenever either of them shifted.
“There you are, I thought I was going to have to report a missing person to the registrar.”
Lillian gave him a look one would give to something they found mentally strange.
“Are you always this stubborn, Lils?” he asked, ignoring the look she was giving him completely.
“Or is ignoring me just your favourite new hobby?”
“I was trying to study. Something you seem fundamentally incapable of understanding.”
Roman raised a brow, pursing his lips like he was genuinely confused.
“You were writing down my answers word for word. That’s not studying, that’s just fan behaviour.”
“Fan behaviour?”
“Though I suppose I can’t blame you. If I had to sit next to someone carrying the entire class on his back, I’d probably write down every syllable too.”
Lillian’s mouth parted in stunned disbelief.
“I wrote down two words of your answer before you nudged me—”
“Details, details,” Roman interrupted smoothly, waving a dismissive hand as if her completely valid defense was merely background noise.
“Look at it this way, Lils,” he began.
“We’re partners now. That means my brilliant answers are technically our brilliant answers. We’re in this together.”
Lillian stared at him weirdly.
“We’re partners for an academic evaluation, not a joint identity.”
“A distinction without a difference,” Roman shrugged.
“Joint identity, academic partnership—either way, my reputation is currently tied to your notebook. So when you write down three paragraphs for a simple two-word concept, it makes us look inefficient.”
Lillian let out a tiny grumbled, which, in his opinion, looked no different than an angry cat.
“I am thorough. There is a vast difference between efficiency and laziness.”
“Is there?” He tilted his head, eyes twinkling.
“Because from where I’m sitting, I just scored us ten evaluation points while barely sitting up straight, and you’re currently fighting a losing battle against a drop of black ink.”
Frustrated, Lillian closed her mouth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of another retort.
She simply stared at him, her eyes narrowing into a look so flat, unimpressed, and thoroughly exhausted that Roman’s chest rumbled with a triumphant chuckle.
Settling back against his chair, Roman watched as she picked up her quill again, turning her focus back to the front of the hall.
He studied her face for another moment, the sharp, insufferable glint in his eyes softening into something almost curious as he took in the lingering tension in her shoulders.
“…Are you still upset with me?” He did not know why he asked, he just felt like he wanted to.
Lillian looked genuinely surprised by the question.
She paused, her quill hovering an inch above the fresh line of parchment as she glanced back at him.
If he meant what happened with Professor Amarila, she had already decided it was not worth dwelling on.
It had been infuriating, but hardly unforgivable.
Still, she decided to ask, “Shouldn’t you already know the answer?”
“I’d rather hear it from the source.”
She stared at him for another second before letting out the smallest sigh.
“You’re the top tracker in our tier. I’m fairly certain assessing emotional threat levels falls well within your skill set.”
“Assessing threat levels is easy,” Roman nodded.
“Assessing you is a different matter entirely. So what is it?”
Lillian’s hand stilled completely.
Her thoughts running a hundred miles per hour.
“I’m not upset,” she said carefully, keeping her tone strictly neutral.
“I’m just tired. The vaults were… a lot.”
Roman did not push the technical inconsistencies of her vault registry drop, nor did he bring up the lingering scent of ancient dead-zones that had clung to her clothes before she changed.
Instead, the lazy, sharp edge of his smile softened into a surprisingly gentle, unbothered smirk.
“Fair enough, Lils,” he murmured, turning his head back toward Professor Amarila’s blackboard as the lecture shifted to its final phase.
“Then I’ll handle the rest of the answers today. Consider it my contribution to your recovery.”
Lillian stared at the side of his face, her quill remaining stationary against the paper.
The sudden shift from his insufferable arrogance to that unexpected accommodation was enough to give her mental whiplash, though she could not help but feel grateful at the same time.
For some reason, the knot in her chest that had been coiled tight ever since the Lower Vaults finally began to loosen.
“…My name is Lillian, by the way,” she reminded him softly.
“Not Lils.”
Roman did not even turn his head away from the blackboard, but the corner of his lips tugged upward into a satisfied curve.
“I like Lils better. It’s shorter. Fits my vocabulary.”
“It’s not your name to shorten,” she whispered back, though she was unable to fight the microscopic curve tugging at the corner of her own mouth.
“It’s my partner’s name.” His attention flicking sideways to catch hers for a fleeting second before returning to Professor Amarila’s new diagram.
“Which makes it my privilege.”
Lillian let out a tiny, defeated exhale, the sound so faint it was nearly swallowed by the ambient scratching of quills around the hall and Professor Amarila’s voice.
She looked down at the ruined, smudged ink on her parchment, then back at the pristine, fresh line waiting right beneath it.
She did not correct him again.