The city didn't sleep.
While Lucien searched the lower districts for a presence that had already vanished, the academy stood bathed in artificial light—clean, controlled, and deceptively calm.
Different battleground.
Same game.
Kai had always been aware of eyes on him.
He'd grown up with it.
In the academy, attention followed him the way gravity followed mass—effortlessly, inevitably. Conversations dipped when he passed. Instructors watched him a second longer than necessary. Some with pride. Some with caution.
Power recognized power.
Kai stood at the center of the central training hall, sleeves rolled up, fingers flexing as energy shimmered faintly around his hands. The floor beneath his feet was cracked, spiderweb fractures spreading outward from where he stood.
"Control," an instructor barked.
Kai smiled, relaxed and confident. "This is control."
He exhaled slowly.
The energy vanished.
No backlash. No instability. The fractured floor stopped spreading.
Perfect execution.
A low murmur swept through the hall.
Across the room, Iris watched.
She told herself she was only observing technique.
That was a lie.
There was something about Kai that felt… steady. Where others reacted to her presence with hunger or obsession, he remained grounded—aware, but not consumed.
Kai turned, as if sensing her gaze, and their eyes met.
His smile changed. Softer. Quieter. Reserved only for her.
He walked over.
"You always disappear when training starts," he said lightly. "But you never miss the end."
"I don't like crowds," Iris replied.
"You don't like what crowds do around you," Kai corrected gently.
She stiffened.
He noticed too much.
"I'm fine," she said, too quickly.
Kai didn't press. That was part of what made him dangerous—not raw power, but restraint.
"Well," he said, "if you ever want a quieter place to train, I know a few."
For a moment, she almost said yes without thinking.
"I'll think about it," she said instead.
Around them, eyes lingered.
Together.
Later that night, Kai stood alone on the academy rooftop, city lights stretching endlessly below. The wind tugged at his jacket, but his attention was inward.
Iris.
No—whatever lived inside Iris.
The first time he'd stood close to her, he'd felt it. The pressure. The pull. The way something ancient brushed against his senses and then retreated, as if measuring him.
It wasn't normal.
And it wasn't harmless.
"I know you're watching," Kai said calmly.
The air behind him warped.
A woman stepped out of the distortion, her presence sharp and heavy, eyes glowing faintly gold.
"You're perceptive," she said.
"I had to be," Kai replied. "If I want to survive what's coming."
She studied him. "You feel the imbalance."
"Yes," Kai said. "And I know it centers around her."
"Attachment makes people predictable," the woman warned.
Kai's gaze hardened. "Then it's a good thing I'm not predictable."
Elsewhere in the city, Lucien paused in a rain-slick alley, the Shadow System pulsing uneasily in his mind.
Alert, it said.
"What now?" Lucien muttered.
An anomaly has shifted trajectory.
Lucien frowned. "You're being vague."
Because the variables are human.
"Just say it."
A brief pause.
You are no longer the only player approaching Iris.
Lucien's jaw tightened.
"Player?" he echoed.
Rival.
Back on the rooftop, Kai looked out over the city, unaware of the shadows turning in his direction, unaware of the system calculations being rewritten elsewhere.
He only knew one thing.
If the world was moving toward chaos—
Then he would not be standing behind it.
He would be standing at its center.
With Iris beside him.
Or against him.