Elara didn't sleep that night.
Every time she closed her eyes, she felt it, that faint, rhythmic pulse beneath her skin, echoing through the mark on her palm. It wasn't just a bond. It was a beacon. A reminder that, no matter how far she tried to run from him, fate would always pull her back.
By dawn, she'd stopped trying to fight it.
If she couldn't cut the thread, she would use it.
The old Elara, the one who'd stood amid ash and ruin, had fought Lucien with steel and conviction. And she'd lost. This time, she'd win with deception. With patience. With lies if she had to.
And the first would begin today.
****
By midmorning, the Academy was alive with noise. Students hurried between classes, their laughter echoing across the courtyard. Elara moved among them like a ghost, every sense sharpened, waiting for him.
She didn't have to wait long.
Lucien stood near the outer fountain, a book in one hand, the other brushing absently against the strap of his satchel. The sunlight caught on his dark hair, haloing him in gold. He looked… ordinary. Too ordinary for what she knew he would become.
Elara steadied her breath, smoothing her expression before approaching.
"Lucien," she called softly.
He looked up immediately, surprise flickering across his face. "Elara. You're—"
He hesitated, searching for the right word. "—All right?"
"Better," she lied. "About yesterday… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have panicked."
He shook his head. "Don't apologize. Whatever that was…it wasn't normal."
She forced a nervous laugh. "Normal isn't really my specialty."
That earned a faint smile. It reached his eyes this time, softening him.
"I'll keep that in mind," he said.
Silence stretched between them, not heavy, but cautious. Elara let it linger just long enough to feel real before speaking again.
"Actually," she said carefully, "I wanted to thank you. For catching me. I would've cracked my head open if you hadn't."
His expression turned thoughtful. "Anyone would've done the same."
"No," she said, meaning it more than she should have. "Not everyone would have."
Lucien blinked, then looked away, as though unsure how to respond to kindness.
Good. That uncertainty was her opening.
Elara smiled, small, uncertain, disarming. "How about I return the favour? Coffee in the west wing hall after lectures? It's the least I can do."
He hesitated, visibly torn. "I don't usually…"
"Talk to people?" she finished for him, teasing gently.
He looked at her in mild surprise. "You noticed."
"I notice things," she said softly. "Especially people who sit two rows ahead of me and never look up from their books."
For a second, his composure cracked. "You really are strange."
She grinned. "You keep saying that."
"And you keep proving it true."
His eyes glimmered, and just like that, the tension between them eased, a small, careful bridge built between truth and pretense.
****
The west hall café was warm and humming with quiet conversation. Magic-lanterns floated above each table, casting amber light that flickered like candle flame.
Elara arrived early. She needed to think.
Every word she spoke to him was a gamble, every glance a weapon. The boy sitting across from her now wasn't the villain she remembered, but she could already sense the shadow in him, waiting to grow.
When Lucien arrived, he looked almost hesitant, as though he wasn't sure why he'd agreed.
"You came," she said.
He shrugged lightly. "I was curious."
"About me?"
"About why you're pretending you're not terrified of me."
Her heart skipped. "I'm not pretending."
"Yes, you are." His voice was calm, almost gentle. "You look at me like you've already seen what I'm capable of."
For a moment, she couldn't breathe. He was too perceptive…even now, unawakened.
Elara forced a laugh, stirring her coffee to hide her shaking hand. "You read too much into things."
"Maybe," he murmured. "Or maybe I just see things other people don't."
The words mirrored her own from the day before. For an instant, their eyes locked, the mark on her palm pulsing faintly beneath the tablecloth, echoing his heartbeat.
It took everything in her not to flinch.
****
They talked for nearly an hour, about magic theory, about the absurdity of Professor Dalen's lectures, about the stars visible from the east tower after curfew.
Lucien was different when he wasn't under watch. He laughed softly, more to himself than to others, and listened with an intensity that made every word feel significant.
Elara found herself almost forgetting why she was there… almost.
Then he asked, "Why did you really come to the Academy, Elara?"
Her mind blanked. The truth wasn't something she could afford to say: Because I failed you once, and I need to stop it from happening again.
She smiled faintly. "Because I wanted to make a difference. I thought learning magic would let me fix things that were broken."
Lucien's gaze lingered on her face. "And has it?"
"No," she said honestly. "Not yet."
Something flickered in his eyes, recognition, maybe. Or sorrow.
When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. "You sound like someone who's already lost too much."
"I think everyone has," she murmured. "Some just hide it better."
They sat in silence for a moment, the air between them threaded with unspoken understanding.
Then Lucien leaned back slightly, the faintest of smiles playing on his lips. "You're easy to talk to."
"Careful," she teased. "That almost sounds like trust."
"Maybe it is."
Her chest tightened. She hadn't expected him to say it so easily.
She forced another smile, steady, harmless, practiced. "Then I'll take that as a compliment."
But inside, the guilt was growing claws.
This was the first lie.
The first step toward saving a doomed world.
And the first time she realized that the closer she got to him, the harder it would be to let go.
****
That night, when Elara returned to her room, the mark on her palm pulsed again, slow, steady, synchronized.
She pressed her hand against her chest and whispered into the dark:
"This isn't real. It's a plan. It's just a plan."
But somewhere deep inside, a voice that wasn't hers whispered back.
Fate doesn't care what you call it.