“I REGRET NOTHING!”

  The sound lingered for a few seconds after Trey was dragged out the room.

  Then Francis turned to Luna.

  “Do you?”

  She blinked. “Do I what?”

  Francis arched a brow. Calm. Surgical.

  “Regret kissing him?”

  Luna opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

  “I… I don’t— that’s—”

  Francis nodded once, satisfied.

  “Good. Take care of him. That idiot waited long enough.”

  Luna frowned. “Waited? For who?”

  Her stomach dipped.

  Mira?

  He said she was just a friend—

  Perched on Francis’s desk, Reid snorted.

  “For you, genius. He’s been trailing after you like a lovesick puppy for months.”

  “What?” Luna stared. “In this world?”

  Francis sighed and rubbed his forehead.

  “Are you visually impaired?” he asked mildly. “Must I prescribe vision correction?”

  Reid added, pitying, “Poor Trey. Loving the only person on earth who can’t read obvious signs.”

  Luna stood there, stiff as a statue, her thoughts refusing to assemble into anything useful.

  Francis exhaled slowly. Then pointed at Trey’s bed.

  “Sit.”

  “…What?”

  “You’re clearly experiencing cognitive malfunction,” he said flatly. “Sit.”

  She glared.

  He stared back, entirely unaffected.

  Eventually, she sat.

  Francis folded his arms like a disappointed tutor.

  “Now, listen carefully. I will use small words.”

  “Hey—”

  “Trey. Likes. You.” He said.

  Her ears went pink instantly. “I—I know that now—”

  “He has liked you for months,” he continued. “Possibly longer.”

  “That’s not— you don’t know that.”

  Francis looked at her.

  “I do. He smiles when you enter a room.”

  Luna opened her mouth. Closed it.

  “He adjusts your chair before you sit,” Francis went on. “He once polished your weapon when you weren’t looking.”

  “He did not—”

  “He did,” he said calmly. “You just weren’t looking.”

  “That’s not—” She tried weakly.

  “Oh, it is,” Ermin said, finally looking up. “The boy practically orbits you.”

  Bluebell leaned against the doorway, grinning wide like she’d been waiting all day for this.

  “I counted,” she said cheerfully. “Three times last week he tripped on the stairs because he was staring at you.”

  “You counted?” Luna squeaked.

  “He polished his boots twice in one morning because you complimented them the day before.” Abel added.

  Luna covered her face. “Why are you all like this?”

  Reid gestured at her crimson ears. “Because you are like this. Dense. Terminal condition.”

  Francis smirked. “Prognosis is good, though. All you have to do is accept he’s your idiot.”

  No one laughed.

  The words settled into the room and stayed there.

  Luna’s hands hovered uselessly in front of her face before slowly lowering. Her ears burned. Her chest felt too tight.

  For a long moment, no one spoke.

  Then the door shifted.

  Bluebell reached for the knob and nodded toward the hall.

  “Well,” she said lightly, careful not to break something fragile, “I believe my work here is done.”

  Abel stepped forward and opened the door for her.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “You did not have any ‘work’ to begin with, Bells,” he said calmly, gesturing outward before she could protest. “Come on.”

  Ermin cleared his throat and rose without comment.

  They drifted out one by one, the door closing softly behind them.

  The room felt different now.

  Smaller.

  Still.

  Francis watched her for a moment, then turned back to his desk.

  His tone softened. Only slightly.

  “Trey is loud. Foolish. Reckless,” he said. “But he chooses people. And once he does, he stays.”

  Luna stared at her hands, fingers curled tight.

  People didn’t choose her.

  They passed through. Stayed when they had to. Left when they could.

  Nobody cared enough to stay. Not like this.

  Not like Trey.

  Her pulse stumbled, once.

  “So… take good care of him.” Francis added.

  “…What if I break him?” she asked softly, closing her eyes.

  She’d known the cheerful version of Trey—the jokes, the bravado, the way he filled a room without trying.

  This quieter, unguarded part of him felt different.

  Breakable.

  She was afraid that loving him might make it worse instead of better.

  “You won’t.” Francis snorted. “And if you do, aim for his bones. He’ll heal.”

  Luna huffed despite herself. The tight knot in her chest loosened—just a little.

  “Get some rest,” Francis said. “And tomorrow, try looking at him properly.”

  Luna folded her arms, stubborn even now.

  “…Fine.”

  Francis smiled faintly. “Finally.”

  Morning came far too early.

  Luna walked into the cafeteria still half-convinced Francis had been teasing her. That he’d exaggerated. That everyone had exaggerated.

  Then Trey looked up.

  His entire face changed the moment he spotted her — not just a grin, but something deeper, like his shoulders loosened and the world settled into place. His eyes lit, bright and unguarded, and for a second it felt like she’d walked straight into the center of his attention without meaning to.

  Her chest tightened, sharp and sudden.

  Oh no.

  He really does look at me like that.

  Halfway through breakfast, the feeling crept back — that prickling awareness between her shoulders. Luna glanced up.

  Trey was staring again.

  Not in a way that made her uncomfortable. Just… soft. Open. Completely unashamed. When she caught him, he didn’t look away. He just winked, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

  Her spoon clattered against the bowl.

  Later, during training, she lifted her spear — and froze.

  It gleamed. Sharper than it had any right to be, polished down to the hilt. She turned slowly.

  “Did you—?”

  Trey shrugged, whistling far too casually. His ears were bright red.

  Bluebell passed behind her a moment later and murmured, far too pleased, “Check his boots.”

  Luna glanced down.

  Extra shine.

  “Guess why,” Bluebell added.

  By the time evening rolled around, Luna felt overheated from ears to collarbone. What Francis had listed had proven true.

  Painfully, embarrassingly true.

  She collapsed onto her bed and buried her face in her pillow.

  “…I hate him,” she muttered weakly.

  From the next bed, Reid replied without hesitation, “No you don’t.”

  Luna screamed into the pillow.

  By late evening, she couldn’t take it anymore.

  The smiles. The staring. The spear. The boots.

  She found Trey leaning against the common room wall, still in his training gear, looking far too pleased with the world. She planted herself in front of him, fists on her hips.

  “Alright,” she said. “Enough. What is wrong with you?”

  He blinked, innocent. “…What did I do?”

  “All day,” she burst out. “Smiling every time I breathe, staring like I’m—I don’t know—the moon, polishing my spear like—like—”

  “Like someone who cares?” Trey offered, grinning.

  “That’s not—” She spluttered. “Why do you keep doing this?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, the grin fading into something quieter.

  “Because I can’t help it.”

  The words stopped her cold.

  “When you walk in, I notice,” he said softly. “When I see you, I’m happy. When your blade’s dull, I want it ready. I don’t plan it. I just… do it.”

  Luna’s hands clenched. Heat rushed up her neck.

  “Then stop doing that!”

  Trey blinked. Then—very carefully—he said, “You want me to stop? Fine. But can you?”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “Can you stop jumping off cliffs for me?”

  Her stomach flipped. He never misses a chance to bring that up.

  “Do not bring that into this argument!”

  “Alright,” he said, hand under his chin, thinking. “Then answer this: can you stop throwing yourself between me and a hit? Can you stop burning through your Quanta so I walk away bruised instead of broken?”

  Luna opened her mouth.

  Nothing came out.

  He held her gaze. There was no teasing left in his eyes.

  “You’ve been doing that since forever,” Trey said quietly. “Saving me. Guarding me. Half the time I don’t even notice until later. You don’t plan it. You just do it. Because that’s who you are.”

  He exhaled, shoulders loosening, but his eyes never left hers.

  “I can’t stop this either,” he added. “It’s not some trick, Luna. It’s the only way I know how to… be near you.”

  Her breath caught.

  “I was just—” she started.

  “I know,” he said softly. “Me too.”

  Silence stretched between them, full of everything they weren’t quite ready to say out loud.

  Then, in true Trey fashion, his mouth twitched.

  “So,” he said lightly, “if you’re going to yell at me for looking after you, I get to yell back. Deal?”

  Her lips twitched despite herself. “You’re impossible.”

  He stepped closer, warmth slipping back into his voice. “Yeah. But apparently I’m your impossible.”

  She shoved his shoulder. “Stop smiling like that.”

  He laughed, easy and unguarded. “Told you I couldn’t.”

  The next day in the study hall only made things worse.

  Luna sat down and felt her chair shift slightly.

  “Your chair is crooked,” Abel said calmly, passing by with a kettle in hand.

  Before she could respond, Trey appeared out of nowhere.

  “I’m on it,” he declared.

  Abel paused. “…Alright?”

  “It’s our thing,” Trey said smugly. “Go adjust Bluebell’s chair instead.”

  There was a beat of silence.

  Then Abel nodded. “I always do.”

  Bluebell choked on her tea.

  “—WHAT?!”

  Abel tilted his head. “Your posture deteriorates when the chair isn’t aligned. I correct it.”

  Reid collapsed into laughter. Francis reached over and patted Bluebell’s back as she coughed.

  “Terminal,” Francis muttered, gaze moving from Trey to Abel.

  Trey pointed triumphantly at Abel. “See? That’s his thing. This is mine. Exclusivity rules.”

  Bluebell buried her face in her hands, laughing and groaning all at once. “Sly fox! Don’t admit things like that out loud!”

  “…Why not?” Abel asked. “It’s factual.”

  Luna groaned into her sleeve.

  “I live in a madhouse.”