chapter 5

no rest for the incredulous

In the evening, the courtyard is quiet.

And for once, so is my head.

The angel's presence still lingers in the way my skin remembers warmth, on my wrist where their fingers had been. It shouldn't be possible for a singular, feather-like touch to be so powerful, but then, a lot of things that shouldn't be possible keep happening to me.

I make my way back to my dorm, the heavy pull of exhaustion dragging at me with every step. There's a part of me that wants to fight it—to keep going, to pretend none of this is getting to me—but that's a losing battle. The moment my door clicks shut behind me, my body sags in relief. Just a minute. Just one.

I barely make it to my bed before I'm slumping onto it, eyes sliding shut. I don't expect to actually rest, not really, but the quiet is welcome. It's rare that I get a moment like this anymore. No ghosts whispering at the edges of my mind, no suffocating weight pressing in, no—

A knock at the door.

I groan into my pillow. Of course.

Dragging myself upright, I shuffle over, cracking the door open just enough to glare at whoever dares interrupt my brief and glorious moment of peace.

Varek stands on the other side, one brow arched in what could possibly be amusement. Except you can never tell with Varek. "You look awful."

"And you chose today of all days to take my advice and showed up at my door like a regular person," I deadpan.

He steps inside, barely waiting for my invitation. His sharp gaze sweeps over me, taking in the tired lines of my face, the way I still haven't bothered to fix my shirt from where I'd crumpled into bed. "You're worse than I thought."

"Flattering. Really."

He doesn't rise to the bait this time. That's when I know he's actually serious.

"Sit," he orders, nodding toward the bed where my sheets lay haphazard.

I debate being difficult. Then decide I don't have the energy. With a sigh, I plop down, watching as he leans against my desk, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

"I heard Amaris' angel helped you."

I blink at him. "Okay, seriously, how does everyone just know things around here? Is there a secret gossip network I'm unaware of?"

Varek ignores me. "They helped you," he repeats.

"Uh, yeah? I was there, actually."

He narrows his eyes. "I'm surprised you don't find that odd."

I pause, watching him carefully now. "Why?"

Varek tilts his head slightly, studying me. "Angels don't interfere unless it concerns the soul they are entrusted to. That's their purpose. They don't stray outside of it. They don't just... help people. Not like that. You should really pay attention in class. Or pay attention in general, really."

I think back to the courtyard. To the way the angel had touched my wrist, brief but undeniable. The warmth, the steadiness, the way their presence had cut through the crushing weight of exhaustion and fear like it was nothing.

Something flickers in Varek's expression. He's bothered by this.

Why?

"What exactly did they do?" he asks after a moment.

I shift in my seat, rubbing absently at my wrist. "They just... stood there, mostly. Looked at me like they were peeling back my ribs to see what was inside. Said I wasn't wearing it."

"The charm?"

"Yeah."

"And then?"

I hesitate. I don't know why. It wasn't anything, was it? Just a touch. Just warmth. But the memory of it is still pressed into my skin, lingering in a way that makes my breath hitch if I think too hard about it.

"They touched my wrist," I admit. "And suddenly, I could breathe again."

Silence stretches between us.

"That's not nothing," Varek says, voice quieter now. "The other ghosts also left you alone after that?"

"Completely."

His lips press together, thoughtful. "That's... rare."

"You keep saying things like that, and yet, here we are."

He exhales sharply through his nose, not quite a sigh, but close. "It means something. I don't know what yet, but angels don't just do things without reason."

I think about the way they'd looked at me. Like they were searching for something. Like they'd found it.

"Maybe I'm just charming," I say lightly, because I don't know what to do with the weight in Varek's gaze.

He doesn't laugh. "Or maybe you're in more trouble than you realize."

I roll my eyes, leaning back. "So dramatic."

Varek studies me for a moment longer, then straightens, pushing off the desk. "Get some rest, Soren."

"Is that an order?"

"A suggestion," he corrects. "One I'd recommend you take, considering you're clearly running on fumes."

I don't have the energy to argue. Not really.

Varek lingers a second longer, then heads for the door, pausing only once before he steps through it. "You should really start paying attention."

And then he's gone, leaving me alone in the quiet of my room.

-

Sleep doesn't come easy.

I try. I let my head sink into the pillow, stare up at the darkened ceiling, listen to the faint sounds of the academy settling for the night. But my thoughts keep circling, restless, too much left unanswered, too much still pressing against my ribs. I feel marked, like something has been left behind beneath my skin, something not entirely my own.

Eventually, the stillness gets to me.

The halls are quiet when I slip outside, lit by a scattering of lanterns, their glow pooling against stone. The air is cool, tinged with the distant scent of damp earth and old wood, and the silence that lingers isn't oppressive. Just watchful.

Like the academy itself is awake, listening.

I keep my steps light as I walk. Not sneaking, exactly, but not drawing attention either.

Or so I think.

Because it isn't long before I feel it—something, someone, watching me.

Not the ghosts. This is different.

Where the dead bring a creeping chill, this presence is something else entirely. A low, smoldering heat licking at the edges of my senses, a quiet pressure that sets every instinct on edge. Not a threat, but unmistakable in its weight.

Demon.

He stands at the far end of the corridor, leaning against the stone railing of an open-air balcony. The dim light casts his features in sharp relief: tall, dark, angular, built like he belongs in the shadows rather than simply standing in them. There's an ease in the way he holds himself, like the academy is his to roam as he pleases, like he is a natural part of the landscape rather than something lurking in its corners.

I slow, but only slightly. Enough to make it clear that I see him, that I'm not startled, that I'm aware.

Golden eyes flick toward me, glinting with something unreadable before his mouth tips into a slow, amused curve.

"Well," he murmurs, voice smooth as smoke. "Now here's something you don't see every day. A fae, out wandering alone at this hour."

I study him, weighing the remark. "I could say the same about you," I say at last—not because demons are out of place at night, but because there's no reason for one to be loitering here, in this exact spot, watching the empty halls like he's waiting for something.

He doesn't deny it. Just tilts his head, his smirk lingering. "Fair."

Silence stretches between us, not quite tense but heavy with consideration. We're measuring each other, taking stock of the space between us, of what the other might be looking for.

Up close, I can feel it more clearly; the simmering warmth of his presence, not oppressive, but contained, like something barely held in check. Power coiled beneath the surface, banked like embers waiting for air.

He watches me watching him. Then, after a moment, he pushes off the railing, stretching lazily as he turns to face me fully.

"You look like you've had a long night," he says, gaze flicking over me in open assessment.

I huff a short laugh, rubbing a hand down my face. "You have no idea."

"Mm." A low hum of consideration. Then—

His expression shifts.

It's subtle, but immediate. His nose scrunches slightly, mouth twisting like he just caught the scent of something wrong.

I frown. "What?"

He narrows his eyes at me. Then, slowly, slowly, he steps closer. Not aggressively, just enough to lean in, just enough to breathe in, testing the air.

And then he recoils.

"Oh, that is disgusting."

I blink, resisting the urge to squawk in offence. "Excuse me?" There's no way I smell... do I?

He lift a hand like he physically needs to ward me off. "What did you do?"

"I—what?"

"You smell like—" His face twists, genuine horror flickering through his expression. "Please, for the love of all things unholy, tell me you did not let an angel touch you."

Ah...

I shift my weight, feeling my lips twitch despite myself. "Would it make you feel better if I lied?"

"Infinitely."

"Well, in that case..."

"Too late. Damage is done." His gaze flicks to my wrist like he can see where the touch lingers. "You reek of divinity."

I snort. "Reek? Bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"I think I'm developing hives." He inspects his palm like he expects to find burn marks just from proximity.

I snort, unable to help myself. "You're not allergic to them."

"Oh, really? Because it feels like I am. It's like... like swallowing holy water. Like choking on sanctimony and self-righteousness." He makes a vague gagging sound. "I think I need to exorcise myself."

That startles an actual laugh out of me.

"What, are you about to burst into flames? Is that it?"

"Not yet," he mutters darkly. "Give it time."

I shake my head, still grinning despite myself. "Alright, well. Since I apparently just ruined your night, what do I call you? Or should I just go with 'Dramatic Demon #5'?"

He huffs, but there's a flicker of amusement in his gaze as he offers a slight, sharp tilt of his head. "Syviel."

A name, freely given.

Rare, for a demon.

It takes me a second too long to respond, because Syviel watches me, head still angled, something interested lingering in his gaze before I manage, "Soren."

His mouth curves. "I know."

A slow prickle spreads along my spine. The way he says it. Casual. Assured. Like my name is something he's always known, like he was simply waiting for the right moment to use it. I study him warily, but Syviel doesn't seem rushed to explain. He looks at me like he's enjoying something only he understands, dark eyes glinting with quiet amusement.

Demons are like that, I suppose. Always holding their cards close, always a step ahead in the game. But knowing someone's name, especially without being given it, that's something different. Something intimate. Something powerful.

And I don't like it.

I shift my weight, keeping my expression light. "That's a neat trick. You make a habit of knowing things you shouldn't?"

Syviel hums, tilting his head, the sleek curve of his horns catching the dim glow of the courtyard lanterns. "Names are easy," he says, like that explains anything. "They linger on people. In the way they carry themselves, the way others look at them. You're no exception."

I bristle, but before I can snap back, he adds, "Besides," his smile sharpens, "you've been interesting lately."

Oh, that is not something I want to hear, despite how much I enjoy causing trouble around the academy.

I narrow my eyes. "That so?"

He doesn't elaborate. Just watches me, that knowing little smirk playing at the edges of his lips, like I'm the punchline to a joke he isn't going to share. It's infuriating. There's something too leisurely about the way he stands, like he has all the time in the world, like he's enjoying this. Enjoying watching me squirm under the weight of his attention.

"You know they don't do that," he murmurs, right as I'm thinking of making a move to leave because I refuse to stand here and be made a spectacle of. "Not for just anyone."

I know that. Varek and I already had this discussion earlier.

But hearing it from him—so casually, so certain—sends something sharp curling in my chest.

I hadn't let myself think about it too much. Or maybe I had, but only in passing, only in the safe space of my own mind where I could twist it into something insignificant. A moment of necessity. A calculated act, nothing more.

But if a demon finds it strange—

I press my lips together, jaw tightening.

My silence must say enough, because Syviel's smirk creeps back into place. "Nothing to say?" he taunts, clearly enjoying himself. "I would've thought you'd be just as curious as I am."

I am.

That's the problem.

But I'll be damned if I let a demon of all creatures pick apart something I don't even understand myself.

So I don't.

I push off the wall, turning away without a second glance. "This has been illuminating," I say, tone light, deliberately careless. "Let's never do this again."

I don't check to see if Syviel is still smirking. I don't give him the satisfaction.

The hush of the corridors should be a relief, but my thoughts are anything but quiet. They coil, restless, circling back to the weight of his words.

They don't do that. Not for just anyone.

A statement of fact. No room for doubt.

I don't care.

It doesn't mean anything.

The touch, the warmth, the steady, grounding certainty of it—none of it means anything. It can't.

I reach my door and shove it open, slipping inside before the lingering press of Syviel's attention can catch up to me. The lock clicks into place, and I lean back against the wood, fingers curling at my sides.

The silence here is different. Heavier.

I exhale slowly, tilting my head up, eyes tracing the uneven lines of the ceiling. I should be sleeping. I need to be sleeping.

Instead, I lift my wrist.

The skin is cool now, absent of any lingering heat. But the memory of it, the way it had settled deep, threading through my bones like the slow, certain rise of dawn, refuses to fade.

I drag my sleeve down over my fingers and turn away, crossing the room in a few strides to collapse onto the bed.

It's nothing.

It has to be nothing.

But even as exhaustion drags at my bones, even as my eyes slip shut, I know.

I don't believe myself.

a/n

don't mind me, i'm obsessed with the idea of finishing this book in february so it doesn't collide with my plans for escapril 😭

thank you so much for being here! i hope you guys are having as much fun reading this book as i am writing it 💙

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