Amy's POV

After Operation Burgergate reached its greasy, glorious conclusion, we did our best to clean the kitchen like criminal masterminds covering their tracks.

Millie wiped ketchup off the counter with the determination of a girl who'd committed her first real act of rebellion. Maxwell sanitized everything twice, mumbling something about food poisoning and unsanctioned missions. I loaded dishes, still hiding the fact that I had mustard on my elbow and a slice of cheese stuck to my sock.

We were just tiptoeing out the back door, high on forbidden carbs and triumph, when we froze.

Because there he was.

Sitting like some kind of Greek god of mischief on a stone bench beneath a nearby tree, legs casually crossed, cigarette burning lazily between two fingers, and an expression that screamed, "I know everything and I'm amused by it."

Frederick.

"Late-night cooking lessons?" he said with a crooked smile, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Or are we launching a new black-market burger business from the student wing?"

Millie stopped mid-step and groaned. "Ugh. You again."

Maxwell muttered something under his breath that sounded dangerously close to "unbelievable."

I gave my best innocent face, which—if we're being honest—was absolutely unconvincing. "We were just—uh—getting water."

"Sure," Frederick said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Water. With melted cheese, pickles, and bacon grease."

"We cleaned everything," I said quickly.

"You missed the scent of rebellion," he said dryly. "It's still in the air."

Maxwell pinched the bridge of his nose and started walking away. "I'm not part of this."

"You literally made the burger!" Millie yelled after him.

He didn't even turn around. "I have horses to see. Better company."

"Coward!" she shouted.

I couldn't help but laugh, which unfortunately meant Frederick's attention snapped fully to me.

"So..." he said, rising from the bench with a slow stretch. "My girlfriend breaks into the kitchen after hours and doesn't even invite me? I'm hurt."

"I'm not your girlfriend," I said, crossing my arms.

"You wound me, again." His eyes glittered with faux heartbreak. "That's twice in one sentence."

Millie, of course, made it worse. "Well, you should be dating. Honestly, you two are exhausting with all the denial."

"Thank you, Millie," Frederick said, like she'd just been knighted. "Finally, someone with taste."

"You wouldn't dare get your girlfriend in trouble, would you?" she added with a cheeky grin.

Frederick turned to me with a smirk. "I mean... I might. Just to see what kind of begging I can get out of her."

"Oh my god," I groaned, face burning. "You're impossible."

"I'm charming," he corrected.

"You're infuriating," I shot back.

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "Still not denying the 'girlfriend' part, though."

I stepped away quickly. "Only because I'm too tired to fight fiction tonight."

Millie looked back and forth between us like she was watching a live soap opera. "This is my favorite thing. Ever. I need popcorn."

Frederick winked at her. "We'll add that to the menu once we open the rebel café."

"You're both insane," I muttered.

But as much as I tried to seem annoyed, I couldn't stop the grin that tugged at my mouth. There was something completely ridiculous—and oddly comforting—about their banter. Like for once, I wasn't the outsider, but in on the joke.

"Go," Frederick said to Millie, gently nudging her shoulder. "Before the guards realize you're missing and send a search party."

"Ugh, fine," she said, pouting. "Amy, you owe me another burger night."

"Deal," I said, laughing.

She and Frederick started walking toward the West Wing entrance, their silhouettes backlit by the faint garden lamps.

But Maxwell didn't follow them.

Instead, he paused halfway across the gravel path and glanced back at me.

"I'm not going," he said. "I'll be at the stables."

"Now?" I blinked. "It's almost midnight."

"I'd rather be with creatures that don't talk back," he said flatly. "Goodnight."

And with that, he disappeared into the shadows.

Frederick turned just long enough to shake his head and call after him, "Don't forget to kiss the horses goodnight, Max!"

I could practically feel Maxwell flipping him off from the distance.

I decided to go away too. I need some sleep. So I got upstairs straight to the hall and to my room.

I lay in bed with the lights off, but sleep didn't come. It didn't even try.

Instead, my brain was a mess of spinning thoughts.

Maxwell walking away.
Frederick calling me his girlfriend.
Millie saying she wanted more burger nights.
Me... actually wanting that too.

It was all ridiculous. This whole thing was ridiculous.

But the image that kept looping in my head like a broken record was Maxwell. Alone. Frustrated. Leaving instead of laughing. Choosing horses over people. Choosing silence over chaos.

Wise choice. I should've done that a long time ago, if I had done that 4 years ago maybe I would be normal.

I turned on my side. Then my back. Then the other side.

"Don't go," I whispered to myself. "Don't be an idiot. He clearly wants space."

I stared at the ceiling and tried counting backwards from a hundred. Then forward. Then I tried imagining a field full of horses. That only made it worse.

Why did I care this much?

Why did it bother me that he left like that?

It shouldn't.

But it did.

By the time the clock on my wall blinked 2:07 AM, I was still wide awake.

And there it was.

A faint light flickering through the curtain.

I got out of bed, padded across the room in socks, and pulled the curtain aside.

The stables were lit.

I blinked hard, thinking maybe my tired brain was making things up.

But no. A warm glow spilled from the cracks of the wooden doors, stretching faintly across the grass.

He was still there.

I stood frozen for a long moment, arms hugging myself.

Should I?

Why would I?

I shouldn't.

He doesn't even like me. Not really. All we do is argue.

But still... I grabbed my coat.

"Just to check."

That was the lie I told myself as I slipped on my boots and tiptoed through the quiet halls.

Just to check.

No one stopped me, though I kept expecting someone to.

By the time I reached the stables, the cold had crept up my arms and the silence pressed on my ears like thick velvet. My breath puffed in the air, soft and ghostlike.

I pushed the stable door open, slowly.

Creak.

And there he was.

Maxwell.

Sitting on a bale of hay, shirt sleeves rolled up, brushing down a chestnut mare with soft, gentle strokes. The horse snorted contentedly, its eyes half-lidded with sleep.

He didn't look at me right away, but his voice came low.

"You shouldn't be here."

I stepped inside anyway.

"You're still awake," I said quietly.

"So are you."

Fair.

I leaned against one of the wooden posts. The stable smelled like hay, horse, and something earthy and grounding. It was peaceful. Nothing like the loud halls and sparkling conversations of the mansion.

"She's your favorite?" I asked, nodding toward the mare.

He finally looked at me. His eyes were tired, a little hollow, like they'd run out of ways to be angry.

"She's gentle," he said. "Doesn't pretend. Doesn't bite."

I shrugged, folding my arms. "I don't bite."

"You argue like it's a sport."

"You run like it's your job."

He huffed a breath. Almost a laugh. Almost.

"I just—" I looked down. "I don't know why I came."

"You do," he said simply.

I lifted my head. He wasn't teasing. Not this time.

There was something raw in the way he looked at me, like he didn't have the energy left to build a wall. No sarcasm. No biting remarks. Just... Maxwell.

"I didn't like how you left," I admitted.

He stood, brushing hay off his hands. "Didn't like how you all talked like it didn't matter."

"What didn't?"

"Everything." His jaw clenched. "The rules. The image. My sister. You're teaching her how to break it. That's not just 'fun,' Amy. That's dangerous."

I blinked, caught off guard.

"She's sixteen," he went on. "And you... you're not just a student anymore. You're someone she looks up to. Whether you like it or not."

That shut me up.

I swallowed, hard. "I didn't think of it like that."

"Of course not. You don't have to."

Silence settled between us, uncomfortable and real.

"I didn't mean to be a bad influence," I said, softer.

"I know."

The mare snorted again, nudging his arm.

He gave her a distracted pat, then turned back to me.

"I just don't want her to get hurt," he said. "And I'm trying to keep my head on straight."

"You think I'm the problem with that?" I raised an eyebrow.

"I think..." He hesitated. "You make it harder."

"Wow. Thank you."

"I don't mean it like that," he muttered. "You make everything complicated."

I looked at him, half-defensive. "You do that all on your own."

He met my eyes. "And yet here you are. In the stables. At two in the morning."

I didn't respond.

Because he was right.

I stood there, in the stables, under the dull flicker of a hanging lightbulb, with my coat clutched tight around me—and Maxwell looking at me like he didn't know whether to yell or... something else.

The chestnut mare nudged his arm again, and he absently reached out, stroking her like it kept his hands from doing something else. Like grabbing me. Or walking away again.

"I didn't come here to make anything harder," I finally said, voice quiet. "And I'm not trying to corrupt your sister."

"She adores you," he muttered. "That's dangerous enough."

I gave him a flat look. "Well, I adore her too. So what now, Maxwell? You going to warn me off like I'm some sort of threat?"

He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. Not threatening—but intense. That intense stare he always used when I got too close to the truth.

"Maybe a threat," he said. "But mostly, I think you're... confusing."

That word again.

I swallowed, trying to keep my cool. "Confusing how?"

He shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "You're... You don't care about the rules. You don't care about the way things should be. And then you still end up doing the right thing half the time. You make people like you without trying. And you make me—"

He stopped.

I blinked. "I make you... what?"

He looked away. "Forget it."

"No." I took a step forward. "Say it."

He looked at me again, eyes sharp but tired. "You make me think about things I don't want to think about."

We were standing close now, the mare forgotten behind us.

I stared at him, heart pounding. "That's not fair," I whispered. "I never asked to be a distraction in your perfectly ordered world."

"Too late," he muttered.

And then, for a second, I thought he might kiss me. Right there in the middle of the hay and dust and sleepless hours. His eyes flicked to my lips—just for a heartbeat—and my breath caught.

But then...

A loud rustle outside the stable door snapped us both back to reality.

We jolted apart like someone had poured ice water down our backs.

Maxwell recovered first, brushing his hands off on his pants. "You should go."

I hesitated. "And you?"

"I'll stay. Finish up here."

I lingered for a moment longer, eyes searching his face for something. I didn't know what. An answer? A reason? A signal?

But there was nothing.

Just silence.

So I turned and left.

⸻

Back in my room, I took off my coat and flopped onto the bed.

I should've felt like an idiot for going out there. For thinking that maybe—maybe—Maxwell and I were about to have a moment.

But I didn't feel like an idiot.

I felt... confused.

And maybe that's what he meant. Maybe I was confusing, because I didn't fit into the little box people wanted me in.

Or maybe he was just scared.

Either way, I couldn't sleep.

Again.

So I stared at the ceiling and whispered, "You make me think about things I don't want to think about," repeating his words like a curse.

Then I closed my eyes and whispered mine:
"Yeah, well. Same."