By the time I left the greenhouse, the stars had started their slow shimmer across the sky.
The air had grown cooler, brushing against my skin with a whisper of nighttime stillness. I walked the corridors of the academy quietly, coat draped over one shoulder, the soles of my boots hushed against the stone.
And even though my heart was still tangled with everything Lillian had said… I didn't feel heavy.
If anything, I felt full.
I reached my dorm and pushed the door open gently, expecting to find the room dark.
Instead—
"Finally," Claire said, sprawled across my bed like she owned it.
She lay on her stomach, her chin resting on a pillow, dark brown hair mussed from the breeze that still drifted in through my open window. She was in her undershirt and skirt, jacket discarded in a careless heap on the floor. Her violet eyes tracked me with casual familiarity.
I blinked. "How did you get in here?"
She grinned. "You gave me the spare key. Remember?"
"…No, I didn't."
"You totally did."
"Claire—"
She rolled over dramatically, arms stretched above her head. "Fine. I stole it off your desk once. But I left snacks and returned it like, a week later. That makes it even."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Breaking and entering with pastries doesn't cancel out the breaking and entering part."
"Whatever," she said, waving a hand. "I missed your bed."
"…That's not a normal thing to say."
She stretched again, her tone suddenly softer. "It smelled like you."
I stopped.
She didn't meet my eyes this time. She reached for the corner of the blanket instead, tugging it over herself like she hadn't just said something that twisted my stomach into a knot.
"I didn't know if you'd ever come back," she said after a moment. "And I—I hated that feeling. I hated not knowing. So I started sleeping here sometimes. Just for a bit. It was stupid."
"It's not stupid," I said.
She looked up at me, and I saw it then—bare and unguarded. The thing she never showed anyone. The quiet ache behind all her jokes. The fear of being forgotten.
"I was scared," she whispered. "But I figured if I kept your room from getting too lonely… maybe you'd feel it. Out there, wherever you were."
I crossed the room and sat at the edge of the bed. She didn't move away.
"I think I did," I said honestly. "I kept dreaming about this place. About you. All of you."
Claire rolled onto her side to face me, eyes searching. "I wanted to be angry, you know? I kept telling myself you were selfish. That you ran away. But that was just me being hurt."
I swallowed. "I didn't mean to leave without saying more."
She reached out and grabbed my wrist, tugging gently until I lay beside her.
"I know."
Her fingers remained curled around my sleeve. Not possessive. Just… holding on.
"I'm not like the others," she said, staring at the ceiling now. "I don't know how to be graceful like Lillian. Or clever like Diana. I don't make things beautiful like Camille. I don't have Tessa's calm, mysterious thing going on."
I frowned. "Claire—"
"I'm loud. Messy. I break rules. And I never think before I speak."
"You're also warm," I said quietly. "And brave. And real. You make people feel seen. You made me feel seen."
Her breath hitched.
"I never felt like I could keep up with the others," she admitted. "But I still wanted to be close to you. I wanted to matter to you. Even just a little."
I turned toward her. She blinked at me, and something in her gaze trembled.
"You matter," I said. "You matter so much. Don't ever think otherwise."
Her laugh was small and a little watery. "Gods, you're being way too sincere right now."
"I'll go back to being snarky in a second, just let me finish being emotionally competent for once."
Claire grinned, then bit her lip. Her eyes searched mine.
Then, with no fanfare, no teasing smirk, she leaned in and pressed her lips to mine.
Soft. Warm. A little clumsy.
Claire.
It wasn't practiced. It wasn't slow or calculated like Lillian's had been.
It was instinct.
When she pulled back, her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes wide.
"I—I didn't mean to—"
"I know," I said, breathless. "But I'm glad you did."
We lay there a little longer, her hand resting over mine between us. The moonlight spilled across her features, catching in the soft curve of her cheek and the slight shake in her lashes.
"I want to be part of whatever future you're trying to build," she whispered. "Even if I'm just one piece of it."
"You're more than a piece," I murmured.
She smiled, so small I almost missed it.
"…You're really serious about all this, huh?" she asked, voice lighter now.
I nodded.
"Good," she said, snuggling closer. "Because I don't want to lose you again."
"You won't," I whispered.
And I meant it.
Whatever came next—whatever decisions, whatever changes—I knew this moment would live in me. Like soft soil and roots curling around something sacred.
We drifted like that into the quiet of the night, side by side, breath syncing.
I didn't know how this story would end yet.
But for now?
I wasn't alone.
Morning came slowly.
Claire had fallen asleep at some point with her head on my chest and one arm curled possessively around my waist, like even in her dreams she wasn't ready to let go. Her dark hair tickled my chin, and I could feel the slow, even rise and fall of her breathing against me. For a while, I didn't move.
I just watched the light shift on the ceiling.
Something about it felt different today—like the sun had risen a little too early, or the air carried something I wasn't ready to name. There was no alarm, no sense of urgency.
Just the soft hush of a beginning.
Eventually, Claire stirred, blinking blearily up at me. "…You're still here."
"Where else would I be?" I murmured.
She smiled faintly and closed her eyes again. "Good."
We stayed like that for a while longer. But the day, like all days, waited for no one.
By the time I left my room, the academy was already buzzing.
Not in the chaotic, mission-driven way it had been during the trials or the battle planning after the North Gate incident. This was different. Lighter. The corridors smelled of fresh parchment and citrus polish, and the student noticeboards had been papered over with new announcements:
Spring Term Celebration Preparations – Open Committee.Theme: Magic in Bloom.Volunteers needed for decoration, performance, culinary, and event planning.
I stopped mid-step, reading it over.
The final celebration of the term. A tradition.
A farewell.
And suddenly I realized… this was it.
The last stretch.
The weeks we had left together would fit into one hand if I tried to count them.
A strange ache pressed against my ribs—sharp and soft all at once.
Camille found me not long after, slipping beside me with the grace of a snowflake, her pale hands folded behind her back.
"You're going to sign up?" she asked, nodding toward the board.
"I was thinking about it."
She tilted her head. "Decoration committee?"
"I'm not exactly artistic."
"You're beautiful enough to make up for it."
I blinked. "Camille."
"What?" she said innocently. "Just a neutral observation."
I rolled my eyes, but I smiled. "You're already on the list, aren't you?"
"Drama club's doing a short performance," she said. "I'm co-directing. Not acting this time."
I nodded, and we walked a little in silence, side by side through the halls.
"You've changed," she said after a moment.
"Again?" I asked lightly.
"Not like before. You used to walk like you were trying not to be noticed. Now it's like you know everyone's looking and you've just made peace with it."
"I don't know about peace," I murmured. "But… maybe acceptance."
Camille looked over at me, her expression unreadable. Then, very quietly: "You're leaving, aren't you?"
I froze.
"What?"
"After the celebration," she said. "You're planning to leave."
I turned to face her. "Did someone tell you that?"
"No." Her eyes softened. "But I know you. And I can see it in the way you've been moving. There's a quiet sadness in your smiles lately. The kind that only comes when someone's already begun saying goodbye in their heart."
I didn't answer.
Because I couldn't lie.
And because she wasn't wrong.
Camille reached out and touched my hand. "You don't have to tell me yet. But when you do leave…"
I looked up.
"…Let me be one of the last ones you say goodbye to."
My throat closed. "Camille—"
She stepped closer, close enough to feel the chill radiating gently from her skin. Her hand cupped my cheek, cold fingers brushing beneath my eye.
"Not because I want to be the most important," she said. "But because I want to be the one who gets to look into your eyes and tell you it's okay to go. Even if it breaks me."
I closed my eyes.
The honesty of her was always so quiet. So sharp.
"Alright," I whispered. "I promise."
She smiled gently and stepped back, brushing invisible dust from her skirt like nothing had happened.
But something had.
And I knew it would echo until the end.
Later that afternoon, the courtyard began to transform.
Streamers. Silken lanterns. Students rehearsing music. The Gardening Club had been called to prepare blooms that would enchant themselves to bloom in rhythm with the music on the final night. Tessa stood among them, sleeves rolled up, hands delicately tracing over the petals of a climbing vine as it bent in gentle deference to her touch.
When I approached, she looked up.
"You're helping?" she asked.
I shrugged. "I was told I have a green thumb now."
Tessa's lips twitched. "You always had it. You just didn't want to admit it."
She handed me a small vine of trailing silver-lilies, and together we began weaving them into the edge of the trellis. For a while, the silence between us felt like it used to—soft, shaded. Natural.
"Claire told me," Tessa said suddenly.
I looked up. "Told you what?"
"That she kissed you."
"Oh." I flushed. "Right."
"She was proud," Tessa said simply. "And scared."
"Scared?"
"That it was too late. That your heart was already full."
I looked down at the vine, twining it slowly through the wood. "Is it terrible if I don't know yet?"
"No," she said. "It's human."
Her hands brushed mine as she guided the next cluster of blooms.
"You have time," she said. "But not forever."
I nodded.
Because we both knew.
Time was blooming, petal by petal.
But it would fall soon.
And when it did—
I would have to choose.