Astrid
I woke feeling considerably better than the night before, the worst of the cramps finally easing into something manageable, though my body still felt heavy with leftover exhaustion.
For a moment I just lay there, remembering the ridiculous pile of blankets, the heating pad, the two boys hovering around me like I’d been seriously injured instead of simply having a bad afternoon.
My face heated at the memory. I didn’t want to think too hard about how comfortable it had felt.
I got dressed and left my room, following the smell of something cooking toward the kitchen, the apartment quiet except for the clatter of pans. Xander turned around when I walked in, his expression exaggeratedly serious.
"Good," he said. "You’re alive."
"Disappointed?" I asked.
"A little. I was getting used to having the entire apartment to myself."
I knew he was joking, but I noticed the food a second later, something simple, clearly made with me specifically in mind.
"Thank you," I said.
He immediately ruined it. "Don’t get emotional. I’m only protecting my investment."
"What investment?"
"You. Obviously. You’d be terrible at surviving without us."
I threw a napkin at him. He caught it, laughing, and something about the exchange felt easier than it had any right to, comfortable in a way that snuck up on me before I noticed it happening.
Throughout breakfast, he kept casually checking whether I was actually feeling better, glancing over between bites like he was expecting me to collapse at any moment.
"I’m fine, Xander," I finally said. "You don’t have to keep checking on me."
"I know," he said.
"Then stop."
"No."
I gave him an incredulous look. He just grinned.
"You looked like you were dying yesterday."
"I was having cramps."
"Exactly. Terrifying."
I laughed despite myself, though underneath the joking, some quiet part of me registered that he really had been worried. That realization sat strangely in my chest, not because I disliked it, but because I wasn’t used to anyone caring enough to worry in the first place.
The conversation quieted after that. I started clearing my plate, ready to move on with the day.
"Why do you hate people helping you?" Xander asked.
I paused. "I don’t."
He didn’t smile this time. "You do."
I looked away, unwilling to get into everything that question actually touched. My mother. Years of learning that depending on anyone was a risk I couldn’t afford.
"I’m just used to taking care of myself," I said instead.
"That’s not the same thing."
I didn’t have an answer for that.
His usual playful expression dropped away entirely. "You know you’re not a burden, right?"
The words hit harder than I expected. I tried to brush them off. "You barely know me."
"Maybe," he said, and shrugged. "But I know what it looks like when someone thinks they have to handle everything alone."
"How would you know?" I asked.
He hesitated, just for a second. "Because I’ve done it."
I didn’t push. Something in the way he said it told me not to.
"You don’t have to do that here," he added.
The thought of somewhere I didn’t have to constantly defend myself felt almost frightening in its own way.
"I’m not very good at accepting things from people," I admitted quietly.
He smiled. "Then practice."
The sincerity apparently became too much for him, because he switched back to his usual self almost immediately. "Besides, if you’re going to live with us, you’re legally obligated to let me annoy you."
I laughed. "I regret ever sitting at your table."
"Too late," he said, grinning.
The weight of the moment lifted, and I felt lighter than I had in days. I also realized, somewhat unwillingly, that Xander had become genuinely easy to be around. Not because of who his father was. Not because I was stuck living with him. Simply because I liked being around him now, in a way I hadn’t expected.
Reed walked in a moment later, glancing between us without asking what we’d been talking about, though something in his brief pause suggested he’d noticed the shift in the air regardless. Instead he checked the time.
"We need to finish the project," he said.
I nodded. Xander groaned dramatically. "You really know how to ruin a morning."
Reed ignored him entirely.
I noticed, not for the first time, how differently the two of them handled me. Reed never demanded explanations, never pulled me into conversations I wasn’t ready for. He simply gave me space and let me fill it however I needed to. Xander did the opposite, pulling me out of my own head whether I wanted him to or not.
They made me feel safe in completely different ways.
I pushed the thought away before it could go any further.
Later that day, Ivy and I were crossing campus when the academy bells rang, calling everyone toward the main courtyard. Headmaster Aldric stepped up onto the platform and announced the upcoming Founders’ Competition, a major academy tradition held as part of the school’s annual celebration.
Excitement rippled through the crowd immediately, students already turning to each other to discuss which event they’d try for. Combat events. Obstacle courses. Strategy challenges. Academic contests. Team-based competitions.
Ivy launched straight into how competitive the upperclassmen got every year.
"I’m not participating," I said.
She reminded me, with obvious amusement, that first-years were required to enter at least one event.
My stomach dropped. "Of course we are."
Xander and Reed appeared nearby just in time to overhear.
"You should join the team event," Xander said.
"No," I said immediately.
"You didn’t even hear which one."
"I don’t need to."
He grinned. "I already signed us up."
I stared at him. "You didn’t even ask me."
"I knew you’d say no."
I turned toward Reed. "Tell him he can’t do that."
Reed glanced at the registration sheet, then at me. "He’s right."
My mouth dropped open. "You’re both impossible."
Xander looked thoroughly pleased with himself. "You’re welcome."
I found the registration board a few minutes later, weaving through a crowd of students all crowding to check their own placements, scanning the list until my eyes landed on the team event entry.
Team Event, First-Year Division. Astrid. Reed Ashwood. Xander Ashwood.
I turned slowly toward the two of them. "You registered all three of us?"
"Obviously," Xander said, entirely unapologetic.
"Why?"
"Because you’re going to need someone to carry you."
My eyes narrowed. "I can carry myself."
He raised both hands, all false innocence. "Sure."
I could feel exactly what he was doing, deliberately baiting me, and worse, it was working.
I crossed my arms. "Fine. I’ll beat you."
His grin widened, stepping closer, clearly delighted he’d finally gotten the reaction he’d been fishing for.
"See?" he said. "You’re already getting competitive."