The Astronomy Tower stood silent, save for the wind threading through the stone balustrades. Dorian held his sister close, feeling the weight of her exhaustion as she pressed against him. For a long time, neither of them spoke. Words felt unnecessary in the quiet solace of their shared grief, the only sound between them the occasional shudder of Lilith's breath as she fought to regain control of herself.

Dorian had always known his father's expectations were suffocating, but he had never seen Lilith break like this. Not like this. She was the perfect Nightingale heir—the poised, controlled, unwavering model of everything Caspian demanded. Seeing her unravel before him struck something deep inside, something protective, something angry.

The anger simmered beneath his skin, a slow-burning fire that had been waiting for an excuse to erupt. But right now, anger wasn't what Lilith needed. She needed her brother.

"You are enough," he whispered again, his voice firm despite the tightness in his throat. "You always have been. You always will be."

Lilith shuddered in his arms but said nothing, only held onto him tighter.

Minutes passed. Perhaps hours. Neither of them moved.

Then, slowly, Lilith pulled away. Her green eyes, red-rimmed and glassy, met his. For the first time, there was no mask, no carefully constructed façade. Just raw exhaustion and something else—something close to despair.

"What am I supposed to do, Dorian?" she asked, her voice hoarse from crying. "No matter how hard I try, he'll always find something wrong with me."

Dorian exhaled sharply. "You're not supposed to do anything. He's the one who's wrong."

Lilith let out a bitter laugh. "That's easy for you to say. You've never cared about his approval."

Dorian flinched. He knew she hadn't meant it as an insult, but the words still stung. "That's not true."

Lilith raised a brow. "Isn't it? You've always ignored his expectations. You let him think you were a disappointment because it was easier than fighting him. But I don't have that choice."

Dorian clenched his jaw. "That's not fair."

Lilith sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I know. I just—" She trailed off, looking out over the vast stretch of the Hogwarts grounds, the Forbidden Forest looming in the distance like a shadowed spectre. "I don't know how much longer I can do this."

Dorian swallowed hard. "Then stop trying."

Lilith blinked at him. "What?"

"Stop trying to please him. Stop letting him control every part of your life."

She shook her head. "It's not that simple."

"Yes, it is," Dorian said, his voice quiet but unyielding. "You're better than him, Lilith. Stronger. Smarter. You don't need him to tell you who you are."

Lilith laughed humourlessly. "You make it sound so easy."

"I know it's not," he admitted. "But if you keep living for him, you'll never be free."

Lilith looked away, but not before he saw the flicker of something in her eyes—something dangerously close to hope.

They sat in silence for a while longer, the cool night air wrapping around them. Eventually, Lilith wiped at her face, exhaling shakily. "I should get back."

Dorian nodded, standing with her. "I'll walk you."

She didn't argue.

As they made their way back down the tower, the weight in Dorian's chest remained. He had comforted her, but he hadn't fixed anything. He couldn't. Only Lilith could decide when she was ready to break free.

And when that time came, he would be standing beside her.

The days that followed were uneasy. Lilith resumed her usual routine—attending classes, fulfilling her Prefect duties, maintaining her perfect composure. But Dorian could see the cracks beneath the surface. The slight hesitations in her movements, the way she avoided their father's letters, the way her jaw clenched whenever someone mentioned the Nightingale name.

She was unravelling, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

But then, something unexpected happened.

Elias Thorne.

Dorian had always known Elias to been an irritant in Lilith's life, an insufferable thorn in her side. But now, something was different. The teasing was still there, the relentless smirks and sarcastic quips, but there was something else too—something softer. Something that made Lilith's shoulders relax just the tiniest bit when he was around.

Dorian noticed the way Elias watched her, the way his usual arrogance softened when Lilith wasn't looking. And more than anything, he noticed the way Lilith let him in, even if she didn't realize she was doing it.

One afternoon, Dorian caught Elias lingering near the courtyard where Lilith often spent her time alone. He approached casually, but Dorian knew better.

"You're hovering," Dorian remarked.

Elias smirked. "Me? Never."

Dorian crossed his arms. "You like her."

Elias raised a brow. "Observant, aren't you?"

Dorian rolled his eyes. "What do you want?"

Elias's smirk faded slightly, and for once, he looked entirely serious. "I just want to make sure she's okay."

Dorian studied him for a long moment before sighing. "Good. Because if you hurt her, I'll hex you so badly you won't be able to walk straight for a week."

Elias chuckled. "Noted."

Dorian turned to leave but paused. "She's not as strong as she pretends to be."

Elias nodded. "Neither am I."

Dorian didn't have a response to that.

As he walked away, he hoped, for Lilith's sake, that Elias Thorne was different from the others.

And if he wasn't, Dorian would make sure he regretted it.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Lilith stood by the Black Lake that evening, watching the ripples dance across the water's surface. She had spent the last few days pretending, forcing herself to believe she could go back to who she was before her father's latest letter. But she couldn't.

Dorian's words haunted her. Stop trying to please him.

But if she didn't, who was she?

A gust of wind stirred her hair, and she closed her eyes, letting herself feel the weight of everything. Maybe Dorian was right. Maybe she had spent so much time being what her father wanted that she had forgotten who she really was.

The thought was terrifying.

But also... liberating.

She opened her eyes, exhaling slowly. For the first time in her life, she considered the possibility that maybe—just maybe—she could choose a different path.

And for the first time, that thought didn't scare her at all.