The lecture didn't start right away.
That was the worst part.
Alaric remained standing beside his seat, every nerve lit up, while the rest of the hall pretended very carefully not to look at him. Some students stared anyway quick glances, curious and cruel. Others kept their eyes forward, like witnesses afraid of being noticed.
Silveren had already taken his place at the front.
He didn't look back again.
The professor entered moments later, shuffling papers, unaware or choosing to be unaware of the tension thick enough to taste. He greeted the hall, adjusted the microphone, and began speaking as if nothing had happened.
Alaric sat down slowly.
His palms were damp. His heart refused to settle.
Don't react, he told himself.
Don't give them anything.
But it was difficult to pretend nothing had happened when the air around him felt altered. Like he'd stepped onto the wrong side of a glass wall.
Five minutes into the lecture, Silveren raised a hand.
The professor paused immediately.
"Yes?" he asked, too quick, too eager.
Silveren stood.
"I believe there's been a misunderstanding," he said calmly.
Every head turned.
Alaric's spine stiffened.
Silveren didn't raise his voice. He didn't smile. He didn't even look at Alaric at first.
"This seat," he continued, gesturing lazily toward the middle rows, "is assigned."
The professor frowned. "Assigned?"
"Yes."
Silveren finally turned.
His gaze landed on Alaric like a measured weight.
"Alaric Rowan," he said again, as if tasting the name. "New transfer. You weren't informed."
The professor looked startled. "I-well, that may have been an oversight."
"It was," Silveren agreed. "One that should be corrected."
The professor nodded quickly. "Of course. Mr. Rowan, if you could move to the back-"
The word back landed hard.
A few students shifted. Someone near Alaric let out a quiet breath that might've been pity. Or relief it wasn't them.
Alaric stood.
His face burned, heat crawling up his neck, but he kept his hands steady as he gathered his notebook.
"I didn't mean to take someone else's place," he said. His voice didn't shake, though it wanted to. "I wasn't told."
Silveren's expression didn't change.
"No," he said softly. "You weren't."
That was it.
No reassurance. No correction. Just confirmation.
Alaric hesitated, then looked directly at him.
"I'll move," he said. "But you don't need to make a spectacle out of it."
The room went very still.
Silveren's eyes sharpened not with anger, but something colder.
"A spectacle?" he repeated. "This is instruction."
Alaric swallowed. "Instruction usually doesn't involve an audience."
A murmur rippled through the hall. It was small, but real.
The professor cleared his throat. "Perhaps we can continue-"
Silveren raised a finger.
The professor stopped mid-sentence.
Silveren stepped closer to the aisle, his voice still even, still unhurried.
"You were given an opportunity to correct your mistake quietly," he said. "You chose otherwise."
Alaric clenched his jaw. "I chose not to be talked down to."
Silveren studied him for a long second.
Then he spoke not loudly, not cruelly but with precision.
"You are not being talked down to," he said. "You are being reminded."
"Of what?" Alaric asked before he could stop himself.
Silveren's gaze flicked briefly over the room, then returned to him.
"Where you stand."
The words cut deeper than shouting ever could.
Alaric moved.
He walked down the aisle with his head high, ignoring the way eyes followed him, ignoring the quiet weight pressing between his shoulders. Each step felt measured, deliberate like surrender disguised as dignity.
When he reached an empty seat near the back, he sat.
The lecture resumed.
No one mentioned what had happened.
But it didn't disappear.
Alaric barely heard the professor's words. His thoughts tangled, sharp and restless.
This place has rules, he realized.
And none of them are written down.
The lecture ended eventually. Chairs scraped. Conversations resumed in careful tones.
Alaric stood to leave.
He made it two rows before Silveren's voice stopped him.
"Mr. Rowan."
The hall quieted again. Slower this time.
Alaric turned.
Silveren faced him fully now, expression unreadable, posture relaxed.
"You're new," he said. "So I'll say this once."
Alaric waited.
"Learn your place," Silveren continued calmly, "before you embarrass yourself again."
For a moment, Alaric said nothing.
Then he nodded once.
"Noted," he replied.
He turned and walked away.
Behind him, Silveren watched, his gaze following Alaric until he disappeared through the doors.
And for the first time since their meeting, something faint and unreadable stirred behind Silveren's eyes.
Not anger.
Not satisfaction.
Something unsettled.