Alaric’s POV
The sprawling halls of the academy, usually teeming with the restless energy of burgeoning shifters and the hushed whispers of arcane secrets, were quieter than usual, a deceptive stillness that belied the turbulent emotions churning within me. Distant echoes of lingering footsteps faded into the stone, the last of the students retreating into the relative sanctuary of their dormitories. I stood outside Elowen’s room, my fists clenched tightly at my sides, the rhythmic pounding of my heart a heavy drumbeat against my ribs.
She hadn’t said much after I’d practically dragged her away from Lysander’s unsettling presence in the cafeteria. The words hadn’t been necessary. That look in her eyes—a complex tapestry woven with threads of confusion, a subtle hint of guilt, and an underlying current of frustration—haunted the edges of my vision.
I knocked once. A soft, hesitant tap that felt strangely out of sync with the turmoil raging inside me.
The heavy wooden door creaked i
