When the final bell rang and the lecture hall began to clear, Roman immediately slung his satchel over one shoulder.
He paused just long enough to toss her student crest back into her hands, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“Try not to lose it again, Lils.” Then he gave her a lazy two-finger salute and vanished into the corridor’s crowd as quickly as he had appeared.
A simple, unceremonious goodbye.
Lillian took her crest and packed her notes in silence, staring at the empty space beside her mahogany desk.
The second day of the term, and it’s already like this, she thought, letting out a heavy, tired exhale.
She could only imagine what Professor Alder’s next class would bring.
If a basic diagnostic trial down in the Lower Vaults nearly resulted in a collapse, the actual coursework was bound to be a nightmare.
But she shook the anxiety off, setting her jaw with quiet resolve.
She had survived a year of Valerius Academy by being disciplined, invisible, and relentless.
She would survive this, too.
She just had to keep her eyes on the finish line.
After graduation, all of this would be behind her.
For so long, she envisioned the quiet life waiting for her back home—stepping away from the cutthroat aristocracy of Valerius to become a tutor, teaching the young children at the sanctuary orphanage where she had grown up.
Giving them the care, patience, and love she had relied on as a child.
That was the real goal.
The academy was just a bridge she had to cross.
Before heading back to her dorm to collapse, Lillian made a mandatory detour toward the Blood Dispensary.
Unlike the structured morning distribution, the second half of the Blood Registry Ration operated on a broader timeframe, opening from late evening well into the night.
That means students could collect their vials whenever they pleased, but the rule was absolute: every vampire must log their registry intake before midnight, or face immediate disciplinary quarantine.
Lillian preferred getting it over with early so she could lock herself in her room, study, and rest.
The Dispensary’s cavernous hall was already bustling when she stepped through the brass archway.
Apparently, she was not the only one eager to clear her registry, though most of the students gathered around the distribution counters looked genuinely starved.
As she entered, she noticed a large group of academy Vanguards were crowded near the stone pillars.
Their high-energy physical training drained their reserves twice as fast, making them far more aggressive during evening rations.
Lillian kept her head down, collecting her glass vial from the counter, tapping her student crest against the scanner, and stepping toward a quiet alcove near the side pillars to drink.
She was halfway through her ration when a group of voices near the adjacent hallway caught her attention.
“That smug Laurent going to learn what humiliation feels like,” a voice growled, thick with malice.
Lillian stilled, her hand freezing around the glass vial as she slowly and carefully move her gaze.
Tucked slightly further back in the corridor, out of the main Dispensary light, was Vance Montrose.
The Vanguard who had talked to her in the lecture hall before Roman had casually kicked him into a desk.
Surrounding him were three other Vanguards, their dark leather uniforms bearing the insignia of lower-tier martial houses.
“Shut your mouth, Vance,” one of them spat, flicking a paranoid glance around the dispensary.
“You talk too much shit in public.”
“Fuck off, I don’t give a damn,” Vance snarled, his face twisted in disgust.
“That prick thinks he’s untouchable just because he was born with a silver spoon up his ass. Dragging me through a desk like I’m some fucking dog?”
“So what’s the plan, then?” the female Vanguard in the group muttered, leaning in with a cold smirk.
“You actually think you can take him one-on-one? He’s a pureblood, Vance. His reflexes are bullshit.”
“Who said anything about a fair fight?” Vance sneered, letting out a dark, cruel laugh.
“We’re going to the Black Ravine tonight.”
The mention of the name alone was enough to make the air between them grow cold.
“The Ravine?” the third Vanguard chuckled darkly.
“Shit, you’re really trying to bury him.”
“Damn right,” Vance growled, pulling a tiny, dark vial sealed with heavy purple wax from inside his leather vest.
“Because I’m not taking any chances with his high-and-mighty bloodline.”
“What is that?” The third Vanguards asked, squinting at the glass.
“A little gift from a warlock in the lower slums,” Vance whispered, his eyes gleaming with a vicious and ugly intent.
“It’s a concentrated necrotic toxin. One light scratch on his skin, and his precious regeneration goes straight to hell. His blood will turn to thick sludge, his limbs will go completely numb, and he won’t be able to heal a single damn cut.”
“Holy shit,” the female Vanguard breathed, staring at the wax seal with wide eyes.
“That stuff is illegal as hell.”
“Who’s gonna report it? The dead?” Vance sneered.
“While he’s on his knees choking on his own blood, we’re gonna smash his hands to fucking splinters.” His grip around the vial tighten until his knuckles turned white.
“Laurent biggest weakness is that he thinks he is untouchable. Tonight, I’m going to remind him that even purebloods bleed.”
“Fuck yeah,” one of the men grinned.
“Count me in. I want to see the bastard bleed.”
Lillian’s throat clamped shut, her grip tightening on her cold glass vial until the knuckles of her fingers turned even paler as she recounted what she just heard.
A necrotic toxin and a four-on-one ambush in the dead-zone of the Black Ravine…
What’s going to happen to him if he actually goes there?
The question flared hot and sharp in her chest.
The image of Roman, that arrogant pureblood who was untouched by even the dust of the Lower Vaults kneeling in the dirt, choking on poisoned blood while four Vanguards tore into him made her stomach drop into an abyss.
She took a slow breath, forcing her heartbeat to settle as she retreated deeper into the shadow of the pillar.
No. Stop it.
It’s Roman Laurent.
He was not some helpless sophomore.
He was a ruthless, analytical prodigy who probably had three different contingency plans running in his head before he even stepped foot into a room.
He could survive whatever trash Vance and his little crew threw at him.
He did not need an invisible vampire worrying about his safety.
Getting involved meant throwing herself right into the path of a warlock’s toxin and pureblood house politics which is the exact nightmare she was trying to avoid.
It’s not my problem, she told herself firmly, though the words felt strangely hollow against her ribs.
I have to focus on my own survival.
Finishing the last drop of her ration, Lillian tossed the empty vial into the Dispensary’s disposal bin, kept her head low and swiftly walked out into the cool evening air.
With a heavy, conflicted heart, she made her way back through the sprawling stone courtyards toward the sophomore dormitories.
When she pushed open the door to her room, the soft, amber glow of enchanted candlelight greeted her.
Stella was already deeply absorbed in her evening routine.
A thick, leather-bound spellbook sat open on her desk, surrounded by scattered parchment and glowing runes as she murmured under her breath, her fingers tracing delicate arc lines in the air to practice her incantations.
As the door clicked shut, Stella glanced up from her book, offering a warm smile.
“Welcome back, Lillian!” She beamed, though her hands were still twitching as she tried to stabilize a hovering blue rune in the air.
“How was—whoa!”
Before she could finish her sentence, the rune flared violently, emitting a sharp, metallic pop.
Instantly, the velvet sofa in the middle of their room groaned as its four legs lifted off the floor, levitating three feet into the air.
“Oh, no, no, no—not again!” Stella shrieked, immediately abandoning her desk.
She launched herself across the room, diving onto the floating sofa and pressing her entire body weight against the cushions in a desperate attempt to force it back down.
Instead, her momentum sent the sofa drifting sideways like an oversized, velvet raft.
At the exact same time, the magic began cascading across the rest of her belongings.
A stack of heavy spellbooks on Stella’s nightstand began opening and closing their pages like frantically flapping birds, flying off the wood and bumping against the ceiling.
A mug of tea lifted off her desk and started spinning in mid-air while her laundry basket began hopping rhythmically toward the door.
Lillian stood frozen in the doorway, her satchel slipping slightly off her shoulder as she watched a pair of Stella’s boots march past her feet in perfect parade formation.
Flabbergasted, she looked over at her roommate, who was currently lying flat on her stomach atop the floating sofa, clinging to the armrests for dear life as it drifted near the ceiling.
“Stella…” Lillian murmured slowly, her voice a mix of exhausted disbelief and genuine concern.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m great! Totally fine!” Stella squeaked out, her face flushed red as she tried to reach down and grab her runaway spellbook.
“Just… testing out gravitational tethering for my class! I swear I have this under control—sorry, sorry, I’ll fix this, I promise I won’t leave a mess!”
Stella frantically snapped her fingers, reciting a hasty counter-incantation.
The tea mug plummeted, missing Lillian’s head by an inch, making her duck herself in surprise as she watched it land with a dull thud on the rug while the sofa dropped heavily back onto its four wooden legs, nearly sending the young witch flying.
Lillian stared at the chaotic room for a beat, then simply shook her head, trying not to smile.
“It’s fine, Stella. Just… don’t crush the desk.”
Leaving her roommate to chase down her hopping laundry basket, Lillian grabbed her towel and clothes, retreating into the washroom.
She let the hot water wash away the cold, lingering tension of the day.
About the suffocating weight of the Lower Vaults, the relentless hum of Advanced Arcane Theory, and the dark, sinister whispers of Vance’s warlock toxin down at the Dispensary.
It’s not my problem, she reminded herself under the rush of the water, closing her eyes.
He’s Roman.
He’ll be fine.
When she finally stepped back into her room, wet hair wrapped in a towel, the floating chaos had subsided.
Most of Stella’s things were back on the floor, though a few stray parchments were still stuck to the ceiling.
She thought for a second if she should offer to help, but seeing how the young witch was reprimanding her misbehaving spellbooks, she decided not to.
Without a word, Lillian sat down at her own clean, organized desk.
She pulled out her notebook, dipped her quill into the inkwell, and immediately buried herself in her studies, trying to drown out the rest of the world in a sea of script and equations.
For two solid hours, the only sound on Lillian’s side of the room was the steady scratch of her quill against parchment.
She methodically transcribed and revised her notes from today’s classes before prepping her materials for tomorrow’s lectures.
Once her desk was restored to perfect order, she pulled a small, worn leather journal from the stack of books arranged neatly on her shelf and wrote about today’s event.
It was a habit she had developed over the years because she liked preserving little pieces of her life.
The pages held ordinary moments, passing thoughts, and memories she did not want to lose, carefully written down in her neat, familiar handwriting.
By the time she closed her journal, the fatigue had settled deep into her bones.
Lillian climbed into bed, pulling the soft blanket over her shoulders and curling up on her side.
She rested her chin against her pillow, opening a thick novel she had been slowly picking through for weeks.
At first, she was genuinely absorbed in the pages, letting the fictional prose wash over her tired mind.
But as the room grew quiet, her gaze drifted upward, flicking toward the cuckoo clock mounted on the wall across the room.
11:00.
Almost midnight.
Midnight.
The exact time Vance and his crew were meeting Roman at the Black Ravine.
Lillian squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, forcing her gaze back down to her book.
Stop it.
He’s Roman Laurent.
Ten agonizing minutes crawled by.
11:10.
Lillian stared at the same paragraph for the fifth time without reading a single word.
Over by the vanity, Stella was humming softly to herself while carefully wrapping strands of her hair around a curling roller.
Lillian swallowed hard, shifting on her bed as she rested her chin on her arms, looking over at her roommate.
“Stella?” She called out softly.
“Hmm?” Stella replied, glancing at her through the mirror while adjusting a tight golden curl.
“Hypothetically… if you overhead someone planning a… prank on your friend,” Lillian asked, keeping her tone completely offhand and casual.
“What would you do?”
Stella’s face lit up instantly.
“Oh, I’m one hundred percent joining in! Birthday pranks and surprise party ambushes are literally my specialty. Is it your friend’s birthday? And are we setting up a glitter trap? Tell me we’re setting up a glitter trap.”
“No,” Lillian corrected quickly, sitting up a fraction.
“Not… not that kind of prank, I mean.
Like…” she thought for a moment, “…a bad one.
From people who genuinely dislike them and want to humiliate them.”
“Wait, seriously?” Stella’s cheerful expression instantly vanished, replaced by a deep frown as she turned around on her stool.
“Then that’s not a prank, Lillian, that’s just being a cruel jerk.” She crossed her arms.
“If someone was plotting something malicious against my friend, I’d tell them immediately. I’d help them smash whoever was trying to mess with them.”
Lillian blinked, a small knot twisting in her chest.
“Right… Of course.”
Stella narrowed her eyes curiously, tilting her head.
“Why? Did someone say something to you?”
“No! No, nothing like that,” Lillian said smoothly, holding up her open novel as a shield.
“It’s just a scene in the book I’m currently reading. The main character is trying to figure out what to do.”
“Oh,” Stella let out a relieved laugh, turning back to the mirror.
“Well, tell your main character to stop overthinking and go help her friend!”
Lillian let out a faint breath, sinking back into her pillows.
Friend?
Roman isn’t even my friend…
She looked at the clock.
11:20.
She tried to read again, but the letters bled together into useless black lines instead.
11:30.
She stared at the ceiling, listening to the steady tick-tick-tick of the clock hands.
Thinking about a necrotic toxin, and Vance mashing Roman’s hands to splinters so he could not channel an array.
11:40.
She flipped onto her stomach, burying her face in her pillow.
He’s a pureblood vampire.
He can handle four Vanguards.
11:50.
Ten minutes until midnight.
Lillian stared at the clock, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
She squeezed her eyes shut, pulling the blanket up to her chin, determined to simply sleep it off.
It was not her business.
It was not her fight.
She was going to close her eyes, wake up early, and have a normal day tomorrow.
Except her brain refused to cooperate as an unbidden memory flashed through her mind.
The split second in the Lower Vaults when Roman had protected her from that four legged guardian and searched for her instead of leaving her inside the Vault.
And then in class, when he had casually handle all the lecture questions for the rest of the afternoon, taking the pressure off her the second she mentioned she was tired.
He was arrogant, insufferable, and a complete social hazard.
But she could not deny the fact that he had helped her.
That he had looked out for her when he had zero obligation to do so.
And now, that image collided violently with the thought of him kneeling in the dirt of the Ravine, choking on poisoned blood while four Vanguards tore into him.
Lillian sat bolt upright in bed.
“Screw this,” she muttered under her breath.
Without giving herself another second to rationalise, she threw off her blanket, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and threw on a dark knitted cardigan over her clothes.
She jammed her boots onto her feet and headed straight for the dormitory door.
“Lillian?” Stella called out, startled as the door swung open.
“Where are you going? It’s almost curfew!”
“Library,” Lillian lied briskly over her shoulder, stepping out into the hallway.
“I forgot a reference text.”
Before Stella could point out that the library closed at eleven, Lillian shut the door behind her and broke into a silent, desperate run toward the dark, unmonitored cliffs of the Black Ravine.