Lena didn't follow us back to the dorms.
She waited until the academy paths thinned, until the lantern light grew softer and the air colder. When she finally spoke, it was without looking at me.
"Walk with me."
I did.
We moved toward the old observatory—a structure sealed off from regular classes, sitting at the edge of the academy grounds like a forgotten scar. The wards here were ancient, layered so deeply they felt more like habit than magic.
"This place," Lena said quietly, "is where they keep things they don't want students asking about."
I nodded. "Fitting."
She stopped beneath the open dome. Moonlight spilled down, illuminating the runes carved into the stone floor—runes that weren't defensive.
They were recognition marks.
Lena took a slow breath.
"My full name," she said, "is Lena Valecross."
The air changed.
Not violently.
But decisively.
I felt it—the blade stirring, my instincts sharpening.
Valecross.
In my past life, that name was spoken only in sealed chambers… or erased from records entirely.
"…That family was wiped out," I said.
"Yes," she replied. "Officially."
She turned to face me at last.
Her silver hair caught the moonlight, and for a moment, the calm mask she always wore cracked.
"They were Watchers' Anchors."
I didn't interrupt.
"Long ago," she continued, "when beings beyond this world began to observe it, my bloodline was created to endure their gaze."
Not resist it.
Endure it.
"When a Watcher looks upon a normal person," Lena said softly, "their soul fractures. Memories blur. Identity erodes."
I remembered the combat zone.
The way she'd staggered—but remained standing.
"And you?" I asked.
She smiled faintly. "We remember."
Silence stretched between us.
"That thing," she went on, "didn't just notice you. It noticed us."
Us.
"You felt it," she said. "Because your soul has already been broken once—and reforged."
I exhaled slowly.
"So that's why the council is watching you too."
"Yes." Her eyes hardened. "They think I'm a containment measure."
"And you?" I asked.
She looked away, toward the sky.
"I think they're afraid," she said. "Because whatever you are becoming… doesn't fit their old prophecies."
The blade whispered.
"Her blood resonates with observation-class entities."
I frowned slightly. "You knew about the assassin."
"I suspected," she admitted. "Black Veil doesn't move without approval."
She met my gaze again.
"Kai," she said, voice steady,
"If the Watchers start moving… the academy won't be enough."
"I know," I replied.
She hesitated—then reached into her coat, pulling out a thin metal token etched with the same sigil we'd seen in the archives.
"My family's seal," she said. "It grants access to records even the elders pretend don't exist."
She placed it in my hand.
"I trust you," she said simply.
That was heavier than any oath.
I closed my fingers around the token.
"Then stay alive," I said. "I don't plan on walking this path alone."
She smiled—small, real.
"For the first time," she said,
"neither do I."
Above us, the stars seemed to shift.
Not move.
Adjust.
And far beyond the sky—
Something ancient took note of a forgotten bloodline remembering its purpose.