The polished black tiles of St. Bernards reflected nothing—no light, no warmth, no mercy.
The Sovereign Table had adjourned. Carmen Alviero walked in silence, the halls parting for her like obedient shadows. Her overcoat swayed with deliberate rhythm. Every student she passed stiffened. Not from fear—but from instinct. You don't look power in the eyes. You acknowledge it with silence.
She had just crossed the East Archway when—
"Alviero."
She paused. Turned.
Ajax Savier stood half a corridor down, posture fluid, voice wrapped in cool neutrality. Not prideful. Not desperate. Just that dangerous middle ground he'd perfected—a tone that left no room for weakness.
"Savier," she returned, chin lifted ever so slightly.
"How was your term break?" he asked. Like he cared.
"Quiet," she replied. "Which means productive."
"Still prefer silence to small talk, I see."
"And yet, you're still talking."
He huffed a soft sound that almost resembled a laugh. Almost.
They didn't entertain each other. They simply tolerated the fact that neither could afford to move first.
And then—
CRASH.
A blur of caramel skin, long hair tipped in chartreuse, and profane muttering slammed into Carmen's side.
Alia Reivas.
Of course.
Her oversized tote exploded across the tiles—lip gloss, encrypted notebooks, a silver pen shaped like a syringe, three phones (why?), and a Vantaire-issued data cuff now blinking madly as it clattered across the floor.
"Ugh—seriously? Move, Ajax!" Alia snapped from the ground.
Ajax, without even glancing at her, gave a calm sigh. "You're a mess," he turned, and walked away.
"Asshole," she mumbled, glaring after him before refocusing on her scattered things.
Carmen said nothing.
She just watched.
Observed.
The way Alia's uniform was impeccably pressed, but her tie was missing.
The way her black Noctis-issued blazer clashed visibly with the chrome-blue Vantaire accessory hugging her wrist.
Fascinating.
Without a word, Carmen extended her hand.
Alia blinked up at her. For half a second, her bratty scowl faltered.
"Morning," she said dryly, taking the hand.
Carmen pulled her up with casual grace. Her fingers lingered a second longer than necessary. Not warm. Not cold. Just... curious.
"Watch your footing," Carmen murmured. "St. Bernards is all edges."
Alia dusted herself off, retrieving her data cuff without meeting Carmen's gaze.
"Noted," she said, all sugary disinterest. "Thanks."
Carmen's lip twitched a little as her gaze dropped once more to the Vantaire cuff.
She said nothing.
Yet.
Because questions like that? They weren't asked in hallways. They were asked behind locked doors…
…with consequences already drawn.
---
By sundown, the sterile iron stillness of the day faded into something softer. Not warm—St. Bernards was never warm—but dimmed and watchful, like the school itself was finally letting the students breathe… just to see what they'd do with the oxygen.
The housing complex glowed across the outer fields.
There were four main hostel blocks:
Two for boys, two for girls.
Each wing a spiral of glass, metal, and false security.
No curfew.
No hall monitors.
Just the knowledge that every inch of ground was monitored by something with a legal kill switch.
Inside each housing, the rooms were pristine. Two or three students to a suite, depending on ranking. Socialization wasn't encouraged—it was designed. Different houses were mixed. On purpose. Let the snakes learn each other's scents before the biting started.
Except one room.
The Sovereign Quarters.
Tucked in the topmost floor of the West Wing, it was a penthouse built like a throne room disguised as a loft.
---
That night, Carmen stood by her window, blazer hung neatly, sleeves rolled to her elbows, fingers trailing the edge of her wine glass like a thought she hadn't said aloud yet.
The Sovereign Table had been quiet since the Assembly.
Betty had retired early. Calum was likely still coding something into the wall. Ajax was… brooding somewhere. Predictably.
She didn't mind the silence.
What she did mind was the gnawing itch of curiosity still crawling under her skin from earlier.
Alia Reivas.
That Vantaire cuff hadn't been a mistake. And if it was… it was a deliberate one.
Carmen had seen many things in her two years as Sovereign—ambition, seduction, violence, desperation. But duality?
Dualism was rare. Dangerous.
And always worth watching.
---
22:40 — Northwest girls' housing, Room 314
Meanwhile, two floors below, Alia was lying diagonally across her assigned bed, boots still on, her third phone pressed to her cheek while she updated her brother with exactly zero grace.
"Yes, Ajax, I unpacked. No, I didn't tell her anything. Yes, I wore the cuff. Intentionally. No, she didn't ask. She just—ugh, looked."
Ajax's voice crackled through:
"She always looks. Carmen doesn't blink unless it's part of a plan."
"Yeah, well." Alia tossed a pillow across the room. "Let her look. Maybe she'll like what she sees."
"Don't be cute."
"Too late."
She hung up before he could say more.
Alia's two roommates were already asleep—one drooling into a textbook, the other dead to the world. Boring. Predictable. Safe.
She checked her watch. 22:47.
Then she grinned. Got up. Slid into a new shirt—black silk with a back cut-out—and grabbed a hoodie to pretend she was following dorm regulations.
And without hesitation, she stepped out the door.
---
22:50 — Northwest girls' housing, the roof
The roof of the Northwest girls' housing was technically off-limits. But at St. Bernards, technicality was just another game.
The night air was cool but not cold. Carried a sharpness, though—like it had been filtered through security lasers. The sky was clear, the stars annoyingly perfect. Alia sat at the edge of the roof, arms loosely wrapped around her knees, eyes vacant and a little... glazed.
There was pressure behind her ribcage again. Not quite pain. Not quite fear.
Just fuzz.
She hated that feeling.
She got it sometimes—middle of the night, middle of a crowd, middle of a class while someone droned about political structures. The world would twist inward, all cotton-stuffed and too much. Her fingers would go cold. Her breath would forget the choreography.
She'd learned not to fight it. Not exactly. Just to wait.
Let it pass like a storm she was too tired to name.
After twenty minutes of stargazing and precisely zero relief, she stood up with a sigh.
"Ugh. I need a distraction. Or caffeine. Or a fight."
She climbed down the fire escape like she'd done it a hundred times. Because she had.
The housing was half-asleep. Quiet. Lights dimmed to a sleepy amber.
But as she turned a corner past the Stack—the mini in-house library tucked near the east stairwell—she caught a movement.
Bare feet.
A long black overcoat.
A glint of silver at the throat.
Carmen Alviero.
Of course.
Walking out of the Stack like some barefoot deity fresh from banishing her demons.
Alia blinked. "Why are you barefoot?"
Carmen looked at her. Just looked.
That unblinking, unsettling gaze that felt like being peeled and filed.
"Shoes make noise. I didn't want noise," she said simply.
They stood like that for a beat. Maybe two.
Then Carmen's eyes drifted downward—not far. Just enough to catch the tell-tale flicker of blue metal on Alia's wrist.
"You wore the cuff again."
Not a question. Not quite an accusation either.
Alia's fingers reflexively covered it. "Oh. This old thing?"
Carmen raised an eyebrow.
"You're Noctis. You were scanned that way. And yet… you display Vantaire tech like you're advertising."
Alia smiled, wide and sweet. "I like options."
"This school doesn't."
"Then it can learn to cope."
Carmen didn't laugh. But her eyes glinted like she might've.
"Does Ajax know?" Carmen asked softly, tilting her head.
"I don't report to Ajax," Alia said, too quickly.
Carmen hummed. A sound of dangerous curiosity, not disbelief.
Then, the tension broke.
Not with violence. Not with threats.
Just—
"Do you always wander at night?" Carmen asked, voice quieter now.
Alia blinked. "Do you always read barefoot like a haunted librarian?"
Silence. Then…
Carmen looked away, faintly amused. "Touché."
They stood under the hallway light, shadows bending together in the soft glow.
No threats. No performance. Just two girls who weren't supposed to speak like this.
Then Alia, still smirking, leaned against the wall.
"I get weird sometimes. At night. Like the walls are closing in. Or like I'm being watched, but only by something I can't punch."
"That's not weird," Carmen said. "That's awareness."
"I guess." Alia looked at her, really looked at her. "Is that why you don't sleep either?"
Carmen didn't answer.
But she didn't walk away, either.
"I like the roof," Alia said suddenly. "It's quiet. Makes my head stop spinning. You should come up sometime."
"Why?"
Alia shrugged, already walking backwards down the hall.
"So I can annoy you in peace."
Carmen watched her go, lips just barely lifting.
And for the first time in a long time, she didn't try to decipher it.
She just… watched.