The days that follow don’t pass quietly. Coughs grow harder to ignore, sharp and wet, lingering too long in the halls. A few desks sit empty in class, then a few more, their absences explained through rumors instead of announcements. By the time the Academy starts pretending things are normal again, it feels less like relief and more like the quiet before something breaks.
Nearly three weeks have passed since my conversation with Sylas. In public, we maintain the illusion of being mates in name, standing together when it matters. In private, Oliver and I steal time where we can, slipping away at night, hoarding hours in the dark.
Guilt keeps me careful, especially in class, where distance replaces the touches I want to share with Oliver. Sylas slowly withdraws, as he stops watching me a
