The immortal's queen

Chapter 9: Carl

The cafeteria was loud, chaotic, and smelled like roasted meat and bad decisions.

I sat alone at the corner table, poking at my food while Noemi went back for seconds. Around me, trays clattered, chairs scraped, and too many thoughts pressed faintly against the edge of my control. I kept my eyes down.

Already on Chloe’s bad side. At this rate I’ll have a full collection of enemies before the week ends. Very efficient of me.

I stabbed a piece of bread.

Maybe if I look boring enough, people will leave me alone.

A tray slid onto the table across from me.

I looked up.

Carl.

Handsome in a polished, deliberate way. Dark hair. Easy posture. The kind of face that belonged to someone used to being watched. His smile was mild, but his eyes were assessing.

“You’re in my seat,” I said.

“I don’t see a name on it,” he replied, already sitting. “Carl.”

“I know.”

That earned the smallest flicker of interest.

Of course he sat down. Of course he didn’t ask properly. These people treat furniture and people the same way — if they want it, it’s already theirs.

I went back to my food. “If you’re here for conversation, I’m a terrible investment.”

“I’ve heard.” His tone was light, but not warm. “First-day disaster. Public exposure. Disciplinary labor. You make an impression.”

“Unintentionally.”

“Those are usually the lasting ones.”

I chewed slowly, studying him over my tray. Up close, the charm felt practiced. Controlled. Like everything he said had already been weighed.

“What do you want?” I asked.

Carl rested an arm on the table. “Direct. Good.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He smiled slightly. “You’re the new variable. Variables interest me.”

Variable. Not girl. Not student. Variable. Charming.

“I’m not interested in being collected,” I said.

“I’m not collecting you.” His gaze sharpened just a little. “I’m trying to decide whether you’re useful, dangerous, or both.”

The honesty was cleaner than charm. That made it worse.

“And what do you get out of deciding?” I asked.

“Clarity.”

He let the word sit between us before continuing, voice lower.

“Theo doesn’t usually waste attention on first-years. Labor assignments. Suppression drills. Personal warnings.” His eyes stayed on my face. “That kind of focus isn’t random.”

My fingers tightened around my fork.

So he knows that much already. Gossip here has Olympic speed.

“Maybe he just hates disorder,” I said.

“Maybe.” Carl tilted his head. “Or maybe you unsettled him.”

I gave a short, humorless breath. “Yes. I’m sure the academy’s icy overseer is deeply unsettled by a girl who can’t shut up.”

Carl’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You’d be surprised what bothers men like him.”

There it was — the edge under the polish.

“I don’t need a translator for Theo,” I said. “And I don’t need a guide.”

“I’m offering neither.” He stood, smooth and unhurried, collecting his tray. “Just perspective.”

He looked down at me once more.

“When this place starts closing in — and it will — remember that not everyone here plays the same game he does.”

Then he walked away.

No dramatic exit. No lingering grin. Just the quiet confidence of someone who believed the conversation had gone exactly as intended.

I sat still for a second.

Useful. Dangerous. Variable. What a compliment collection.

Noemi dropped into the seat across from me with a loaded tray and wide eyes.

“Was that Carl?”

“Yes.”

“What did he want?”

I pushed my food away. “To see if I’m a problem worth watching.”

Noemi frowned. “Stay away from him.”

“I plan to.”

Plans and I have a complicated relationship.

I stood, swinging my bag over my shoulder.

“Come on,” I said. “If one more powerful man sits down to analyze me like a science project, I’m going to start charging consultation fees.”

Noemi followed, still glancing over her shoulder.

I didn’t look back.

But the feeling remained anyway — like I’d just stepped into someone’s line of sight and registered as movement worth tracking.