The forum hall empties slowly.
Not because anyone is lingering, but because no one wants to be the first to move. Conversations restart in cautious fragments, voices low, eyes flicking toward the podium where Silveren had stood only moments ago.
Alaric doesn't wait.
He gathers his papers, slides them into his folder, and turns toward the nearest exit. His pulse is steady, but there's a tightness in his chest he can't quite shake. Not fear. Adrenaline. The residue of standing his ground in a place designed to crush it.
As he pushes through the side doors, the noise fades behind him.
The corridor beyond is quieter narrower, lined with dark wood paneling and closed doors. A sign hangs near the entrance, half-hidden behind a pillar.
AUTHORIZED STAFF ONLY.
Alaric notices it a second too late.
He slows, glances back toward the forum doors. They're already closing, swallowed by sound and movement. Turning around would mean re-entering the crowd, the stares, the questions.
He exhales and keeps walking.
The corridor smells faintly of paper and polish. His footsteps echo more sharply here, each one too loud in the absence of voices. He passes doors marked with titles administrative offices, committee rooms, faculty workspaces.
He's almost at the end of the hall when he hears footsteps behind him.
Unhurried.
Measured.
Alaric stops.
He doesn't turn immediately. He doesn't need to.
"Rowan."
Silveren's voice carries differently here. Not amplified. Not formal.
Private.
Alaric turns slowly.
Silveren stands several paces back, jacket unbuttoned now, expression unreadable. The composed stillness he wears in public hasn't slipped but something beneath it feels tighter, coiled.
"This corridor isn't for students," Silveren says.
"Neither was the seat," Alaric replies.
Silveren's eyes narrow just slightly.
"You didn't leave when the discussion ended," Silveren continues. "You fled."
Alaric scoffs softly. "That's generous. I was dismissed."
"By me."
"Yes," Alaric agrees. "Publicly."
Silveren steps closer.
One step.
Then another.
The space between them shortens, the corridor suddenly feeling much narrower than it had a moment ago.
"You enjoy provoking situations you can't control," Silveren says.
"I enjoy being allowed to exist without permission," Alaric answers.
Silveren stops an arm's length away.
"This is not a public forum anymore," he says quietly. "There are no witnesses here. No audience to perform for."
"I wasn't performing," Alaric says. "I was responding."
Silveren studies him, gaze sharp and intent. "You confuse resistance with principle."
"And you confuse authority with being right," Alaric counters.
Silveren's jaw tightens.
"Do you know how many students would trade places with you?" Silveren asks. "How many would apologize without hesitation to secure what you're throwing away?"
"I know exactly how many," Alaric replies. "That's why I won't."
Silveren moves.
Not abruptly. Not violently.
He closes the remaining distance until Alaric's back meets the wall, stone cold against his shoulders. Silveren doesn't touch him but the lack of space is deliberate, overwhelming.
"This is where your logic fails," Silveren says softly. "You believe endurance is strength."
Alaric's breath stays even. "No. I believe submission isn't."
Silveren lifts a hand, bracing it against the wall beside Alaric's head not to pin him, but to claim the space.
The corridor seems to shrink around them.
"You're challenging systems older than you," Silveren says. "Structures that don't bend because one student feels morally superior."
"I don't feel superior," Alaric replies. "I feel tired."
The honesty in that gives Silveren pause.
"Of being reminded where I stand," Alaric continues. "Of being told comfort is conditional."
Silveren's gaze flickers briefly, almost imperceptibly.
"You could end this," Silveren says. "Right now."
Alaric meets his eyes. "By apologizing for something I don't regret?"
"Yes."
Alaric shakes his head once. "Then it wouldn't end. It would just start again."
Silveren leans closer, voice dropping.
"You're closer to consequences than you realize."
"And you're closer to crossing a line," Alaric replies quietly.
The words hang between them.
For a moment, it feels like something is going to snap. Like Silveren might finally let go of restraint. Like Alaric might finally shove back.
Footsteps echo at the far end of the corridor.
"sir Vale?"
A faculty member rounds the corner, expression cautious, eyes darting between them.
Silveren straightens instantly, stepping back as though the distance had never closed.
"Yes?" he replies smoothly.
"I was looking for you regarding the committee meeting-"
"I'll be there shortly," Silveren says.
The faculty member nods, glances once more at Alaric, then retreats.
The silence returns.
Silveren looks at Alaric one last time.
Not with anger.
With something colder.
"Be careful," he says. "You're making yourself memorable."
Alaric exhales slowly. "So are you."
Silveren's lips curve not into a smile, but something close enough to be unsettling.
Then he turns and walks away.
Alaric remains where he is, shoulders still tense, hands clenched at his sides. Only when Silveren disappears does he realize his pulse is racing, his fingers trembling.
Not from fear.
From fury.
And from the certainty that this war has only just begun.