The stars were clearer that night than Kaelen had ever seen them.
He stood alone on the outer balcony of the East Wing observatory, the hum of the masquerade fading behind closed doors. Out here, there were no masks. No music. Just wind and silence—and the pulse of the glyph beneath his skin.
He exhaled slowly, the night air cool against his neck. The wards above shimmered faintly, holding the chill at bay while the constellations wheeled slowly overhead.
He didn't turn when he heard the footsteps behind him.
He didn't need to.
"I was starting to think you'd vanish again," Selene said softly.
He looked over his shoulder.
She hadn't changed out of her masquerade gown. The moonstone mask was gone, but the faint shimmer of her magic still clung to her like stardust—visible only if you knew how to look.
"I needed air," Kaelen said.
Selene nodded, stepping beside him. "So did I."
For a while, they stood without speaking.
The tension between them was quieter now. Not gone—never gone—but softened. Like a thread pulled taut by distance and time, but never frayed.
Kaelen glanced at her, the lamplight catching in her silver hair. "You look…"
She raised an eyebrow, waiting.
He shrugged. "Like you don't belong here. Not in a bad way. Just… like you were never meant to be part of this masquerade."
Selene smiled faintly. "I wasn't. Not really."
Her voice held something quieter than usual. Not guarded. Just tired.
Kaelen turned to face her fully. "Why did you come tonight?"
She didn't answer at first. Her fingers brushed the balcony's edge, tracing invisible glyphs against the stone.
"When you danced with Mira," she said, "I watched. I told myself it didn't matter. That you were just… playing the role."
Kaelen's chest tightened.
"But it did matter." Selene met his gaze. "Because I wasn't ready for how much I wanted it to be me."
There it was. No mask. No barrier.
Just her.
Kaelen stepped closer. The space between them felt thinner now, like even the night held its breath.
"You could've asked," he said gently.
"I'm not good at asking."
"I've noticed."
Her smile twitched. "Do you regret meeting me?"
"No." His voice was firm. Immediate. "Do you regret saving me?"
Selene looked down. "Sometimes. Not because of you. Because of what it woke up in me."
A gust of wind danced around them, stirring her hair.
Kaelen reached up—slowly—and tucked a strand behind her ear. She didn't pull away.
"There's something between us," he said. "Something old. Something we don't understand yet."
"I know."
"But that doesn't make what I feel now any less real."
Her eyes searched his, as if trying to read a truth deeper than language.
"I'm scared of what comes next," she admitted. "Not just for me. For you."
Kaelen stepped closer still. Their foreheads nearly touched.
"Then let's face it together," he whispered.
And for a moment—just one—they were no longer fugitives, or students, or weapons shaped by fate.
They were just Kaelen and Selene.
Standing beneath stars they didn't remember but somehow still belonged to.
When she leaned into him, it wasn't a kiss. Not yet.
But her hand found his, fingers lacing tightly. As if holding on to something she hadn't meant to reach for.
As if afraid that if she let go, the thread between them would snap.
Elsewhere…
Seraphine stared down at the glass scrying dish in the inner sanctum of the library, the image of Kaelen and Selene dissolving like mist.
She didn't cry. She didn't rage.
But her hand clenched tight around the edge of the table until the wood cracked.
She whispered something under her breath—ancient, soft, painful.
Not a curse.
Not yet.
But something far more dangerous.
A vow.