Ardion could not decide when the unease began.

  It was not sudden. There was no sharp moment he could return to and say, there. It settled instead, quietly, like a pressure change he had not noticed until breathing became effort.

  The academy looked as it always did.

  Students moved through the stone corridors in loose clusters, voices overlapping in familiar rhythms. Laughter echoed briefly and dissolved. Somewhere below, a bell rang to mark the end of an afternoon lecture. Nothing about the place suggested danger.

  And yet.

  Ardion found himself slowing his pace, eyes lifting more often than necessary, scanning shadows that had never concerned him before.

  He disliked that.

  Discomfort had always been something he could name, categorize, dismiss. This one resisted that instinct. It clung without explanation, tightening whenever he tried to ignore it.

  Sylas noticed first.

  "You've been staring at nothing all afternoon," he said, leaning back against the balustrade that overlooked the lower courtyard. "If you're expecting someone dramatic to appear, I'll be offended."

  "I'm not," Ardion replied.

  The answer came too quickly.

  Kael smirked. "You are."

  Deric did not join in. He rarely did. Instead, his gaze drifted past them, sharp and methodical, taking in the paths below, the angles of stone, the lines of sight between buildings.

  The sun was beginning its slow descent, casting long, slanted shadows across the courtyard stones. Evening crept in gradually here, never announcing itself outright. Lanterns along the walkways flickered to life one by one, their warm glow softening the sharp edges of the academy.

  Ardion told himself to let it go.

  To forget the confrontation. The words. The way her voice had lowered, controlled, deliberate.

  Something that follows you.

  Ridiculous.

  And yet, the thought returned uninvited, threading itself through his awareness as stubbornly as the unease.

  He turned and saw her.

  Aylinor stood at the far end of the path, partially obscured by one of the outer columns, speaking quietly with a junior instructor. Her posture was relaxed, almost careless. One shoulder leaned slightly against the stone as if she had all the time in the world.

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  Nothing about her suggested urgency or attention.

  She finished the exchange, nodded once, and turned away.

  For a brief moment, their eyes met across the distance.

  There was no recognition in her expression. No acknowledgment. If she noticed him at all, she gave no sign of it.

  Then she disappeared down a side corridor, swallowed by shadow and stone.

  "That's her," Sylas said, following Ardion's gaze. "Miss Frederick."

  Ardion did not respond.

  "She's everywhere lately," Kael added. "Or nowhere. I can't tell which."

  That bothered him more than it should have.

  He could not quite articulate why. It was not suspicion, exactly. Nor curiosity, though that was certainly there. It was the way she seemed to occupy space without leaving a trace. As if she could step in and out of notice at will.

  He told himself he was imagining it.

  They stayed out longer than planned that evening. No reason was given. No one questioned it. The academy grounds thinned as dusk settled in, students drifting back toward the inner halls in ones and twos.

  By the time they reached the western garden paths, the place was nearly empty.

  The air cooled noticeably, carrying the faint scent of damp stone and trimmed hedges. Stone lanterns lined the walkway at even intervals, their light steady and unassuming.

  Ardion drew a slow breath and frowned.

  The scent was wrong. Neither new nor sharp. As if something unfamiliar had been there long enough to fade, but not long enough to belong.

  "This shortcut always feels like a bad idea," Sylas muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

  "It's faster," Ardion replied.

  Deric slowed slightly, eyes narrowing. "Fast doesn't mean safe."

  Ardion glanced back at him. "You think something's wrong?"

  Deric did not answer immediately. His attention was fixed ahead, posture subtly shifting.

  "I think," he said finally, "that this place feels quieter than it should."

  The words had barely settled when the air changed.

  It was not a sound. Not exactly. It was the absence of one.

  The insects went silent.

  Kael inhaled sharply. “That—”

  Ardion reached toward his side, ready to summon his weapon. "Black Hounds."

  He recognized the pattern.

  This wasn’t wild shadow. It moved with restraint. With intent. The kind of thing he’d only seen described in reports that avoided specifics and buried conclusions behind sealed margins.

  Sylas lowered his voice. "Dark Wolves?"

  "Night Reavers," Deric corrected. "They use them."

  Another shadow shifted, hugging the edge of lantern light, testing distance.

  Kael glanced around, pulse visible at his throat. "Is this an attack on the academy?"

  Deric shook his head once. "No. If it were, we'd already be boxed in."

  The darkness moved again. Closer.

  "We don't have enough defense here," Kael said. "We need to alert the authority."

  "Not yet," Deric said. "If we scatter—"

  "Whatever we do," Ardion cut in, jaw tight, "don't let the Black Hounds breach."

  The nearest lantern shattered without warning.

  Darkness swallowed the path.

  Ardion's heart slammed against his ribs.

  Something moved fast. Too fast.

  A blade flashed from the dark, angled not toward the nearest body, not toward the loudest voice, but straight for him.

  He barely had time to react.

  Sylas shouted his name. Kael swore, stumbling backward. Deric lunged, steel ringing against steel as he intercepted the strike by inches.

  The impact sent a shock through Ardion's arm even though he had not been the one to block it.

  In that instant, it became clear.

  This wasn’t an ambush.

  It was aimed.

  The world narrowed to movement and breath and the sudden, terrifying certainty that this was not a warning.

  This was not intimidation.

  This was an execution.

  Another figure emerged from the dark, then another. Their movements were precise, practiced. They did not speak. They did not hesitate.

  They advanced.

  Ardion backed away instinctively, pulse roaring in his ears. His mind raced, grasping for understanding, for command, for something, anything, that would reassert control.

  Nothing came.

  For the first time in his life, being prince meant nothing.

  The attack had been timed with precision.

  No one intervened.