Airn leaned back against the cold metal of the locker, arms crossed, still replaying the scene in his head. The way Nevan had stood there, calm, unflinching... almost polite, even when Alastor had pulled him into the corner.

He rubbed his jaw. Why can't I stop thinking about him?

Alastor's voice broke through, low and teasing. "You're thinking too much about him, brother."

Airn shot him a look. "I am not. I'm... assessing."

Alastor smirked, leaning against the opposite locker, fingers tracing the edge lazily. "Assessing," he repeated, voice soft, amused. "You've been thinking about that first-year since we saw him, haven't you?"

Airn bristled but didn't deny it. He glanced down the hall, as if Nevan could appear out of nowhere. "He's... interesting," he admitted reluctantly. "Calm. Unshakable. And for some reason... I want to see him react. I want to see him break, just a little. Just to know if he can."

Alastor's hazel eyes glinted in the dim hall light. "You don't know if you're testing him... or yourself," he said softly. "He's different, Airn. He doesn't act like anyone else. He doesn't fear us, not the way everyone else does. And I... like that."

Airn frowned, a strange heat rising in his chest. Like that? He didn't want to admit it — not yet — but his pulse betrayed him. Every glance, every movement of Nevan's that day had been a puzzle, a challenge he couldn't stop thinking about.

"He's fragile, though," Alastor continued, voice lowering. "Quiet. Polite. But there's a weight there. A sharpness beneath it. I can't decide if it's dangerous... or irresistible."

Airn's smirk returned, darker this time. "Both," he muttered. "I like dangerous."

A brief silence hung between them, broken only by the faint hum of students moving in distant classrooms. The hall felt colder than usual, sharper. He thought about Nevan's green eyes, the way they had met his — unafraid, unyielding. That calmness, that small defiance, had dug under his skin in a way he couldn't explain.

Alastor leaned closer, voice just above a whisper. "We should see how long he lasts. Test him. Push him. Not too far... not yet. But enough to see what he's made of."

Airn's smirk widened, his fingers flexing. "Agreed. I want to see how he reacts when I close the space, when I force him to look at me. That calm... it unnerves me more than anyone else."

Alastor's smile was faint, dangerous. "And I'll watch. Subtle. Quiet. Let him think he's in control. See how he responds when I touch the rules he doesn't even know exist."

Airn tilted his head, a slow thrill crawling up his spine. So this is it. The game begins.

And for the first time, Airn realized — he didn't just want to break him. He wanted more. He wanted to unravel the quiet, polite boy, layer by layer, see what lay beneath that calm exterior.

Nevan had no idea what he was walking into.

And that... made it all the more thrilling.

Airn shot his arm out, gripping Nevan's chin, tilting his head up so their eyes locked.

"How brave of you," he murmured, voice low and dangerous, "talking so openly to us."

Nevan's green eyes met his without a flicker of fear. That lack of reaction made Airn's blood boil with excitement — a heat he hadn't expected, and couldn't control.

Leaning closer, Airn continued, his words sharp, teasing. "Don't you know the rules, pretty face?" His grip on Nevan's jaw tightened just enough to make the boy's head immobile.

Alastor lingered behind him, smirking faintly, curious to see if this boy — this calm, unnerving boy — would finally break.

Moving closer like a predator circling its prey, Alastor pressed a finger lightly over Nevan's chest, right over the heart. "Here," he said softly, "we are the kings... and you... you are nothing but a toy. A funny little thing we saw on the side of the road... a commoner."

Nevan's heart leapt, pulse spiking beneath their touch, but he forced it down, steadying himself. Airn could feel it through the fingertips gripping his jaw, the subtle hitch in Nevan's breath stirring something dangerous and possessive within him.

Airn's free hand moved to Nevan's throat, tightening just enough to make breathing slightly difficult. He leaned closer, heat pressing in, reveling in the struggle, in the control. The boy's quiet resistance — his calm composure under physical pressure — made the thrill spike higher, sharper, intoxicating.

Nevan, finally, grabbed Airn's arm, trying to push him away, to force some space, and that small act of defiance made Airn's control slip — the sharp, obsessive heat of desire and anger colliding inside him.

"Maybe," Airn breathed, voice low, lips curling into a smirk, "if you call us kings, I might let you go." His hand remained tight, unyielding, a grip that was both punishment and test.

Before Airn could react further, Alastor stepped in, his presence suddenly overwhelming. He pulled Airn back, a firm but calm force, keeping him from crushing too much. He smirked faintly, eyes glinting as he noticed Airn's trembling control — the way his brother's obsession had already begun to overtake him.

"Careful," Alastor whispered, almost playfully. "Don't show him too much... not yet. Let him wonder."

Airn's chest heaved, adrenaline and frustration coiling tight inside him. He let go of Nevan's throat reluctantly, though the tension in the hall didn't break — the boy remained calm, unnervingly steady.

Nevan's green eyes flicked between them, voice soft, almost a whisper: "That's enough."

The command wasn't loud, it wasn't aggressive — but there was something in its stillness that made Airn hesitate. The boy had not screamed, begged, or flinched, yet somehow, the small command landed like a weight in the air, a challenge in itself.

Alastor's smirk widened. "Interesting," he muttered. "Very interesting indeed."

Airn stepped back fully, chest heaving, aware of the pull Nevan had over him already — a pull he couldn't explain, and didn't entirely want to. The game had started in earnest, and already, it was clear: this boy was no ordinary prey.

And for Airn, that made the hunt all the more intoxicating.

The moment they stepped around the corner and the hallway emptied behind them, Airn's pulse was still hammering in his throat. He pressed a hand to the wall, inhaling sharply through his teeth. The echo of his own loss of control throbbed beneath his skin — that tight grip on Nevan's throat, the way the boy's breath hitched, the way his pulse jumped even though his eyes stayed calm.

Calm.
Calm under him.

Airn curled his fingers into a fist so tight his knuckles cracked.

Alastor leaned against the opposite wall with the lazy confidence of someone who had watched a fire burn and enjoyed every second of it. "You lost it," he said mildly, a slow grin spreading over his lips. "Again."

Airn shot him a glare. "I didn't lose anything."

"You did." Alastor stepped forward, crowding slightly into Airn's space. He tapped a finger against Airn's chest — mocking, smug, older-brother superior. "You squeezed too hard. If I hadn't pulled you back, you would've crushed his windpipe."

Airn growled under his breath. Shame and anger collided in his chest — but not the kind of shame he was used to. This wasn't disgust at himself. This wasn't regret.

It was frustration.

Frustration that he hadn't gotten the reaction he wanted.
Frustration that Nevan's eyes hadn't widened.
Frustration that the boy had breathed through it, steadying himself.

"That kid," Airn muttered, jaw clenched. "He didn't even flinch."

Alastor's grin sharpened. "You liked that."

Airn shoved him lightly, but Alastor didn't budge. The older twin tilted his head, watching his brother with a predator's curiosity.

"Admit it," he murmured. "You liked the way he stayed calm, even when you had him by the throat."

Airn didn't answer. He didn't have to — his silence was the answer.

Alastor stepped back, crossing his arms. "He's interesting."

"He's infuriating," Airn snapped.

"Same thing."

Airn paced a few steps down the corridor, fingers twitching, unable to shake the image of those green eyes — soft, steady, and completely wrong in the face of fear.

Most people cried.
Most begged.
Most trembled.

Nevan had looked... disappointed. Like he expected worse. Like their threats were nothing new.

Airn stopped walking, breath catching.

"He didn't fight," Airn said slowly. "Not really. He only grabbed me at the end. Like he was used to it. Like he knew that's the point where people usually break."

Alastor's expression shifted — the lazy amusement dimming, replaced by a colder, quieter interest. "So he's been handled before."

"Roughly," Airn finished.

The twins stared at each other for a long moment. It wasn't pity — Blackwood twins didn't feel pity.
It was curiosity. A darker, sharper kind.

Alastor finally pushed away from the wall. "We need to figure out what his deal is."

Airn scoffed. "I'm not doing homework."

"I didn't say we'd study him." Alastor smirked. "I said we'd watch him."

Airn's stomach tightened. "Watch him how?"

A slow smirk spread across Alastor's lips. "We don't need to push right away. Not anymore. Now we know what he does when cornered."

Airn hated that his brother was right.

Nevan didn't break.

He bent.
Shifted.
Endured.

And Airn didn't know if he wanted to force a crack, or find out what was behind that silence.

Alastor walked past him, and Airn fell into step beside him without thinking. They always moved in sync; it was instinct, blood-deep.

"He's not like the others," Airn muttered.

"No," Alastor agreed. "He isn't."

"He's quiet."

"Dangerously quiet."

"He didn't look scared."

"He looked..." Alastor searched for the right word. "...like he'd seen worse."

Airn swallowed hard. That was it. That was the piece that had lodged itself under his skin, irritating, impossible to ignore. The boy had looked at them like someone who had faced monsters and decided these two weren't the worst ones in the room.

Alastor shoved his hands in his pockets. "He called us 'enough.'"

Airn felt another spike in his pulse. "Yeah."

"People don't do that."

"No."

"People don't tell us to stop."

"No."

"They scream."

"Usually."

Alastor laughed. "Not him. He said it like he was tired."

Airn didn't laugh. He couldn't. The memory was lodged too deeply, the way Nevan's voice — soft, steady — had cut through the chaos in Airn's head like a blade.

That wasn't fear.

That was control.

Alastor nudged him lightly. "He's going to be fun."

Airn glared at the floor. "I don't want him to be fun."

"Sure you do."

"I want him to react."

"He will."

Airn clenched his fists again. "If he doesn't—"

"Oh, he will," Alastor interrupted smoothly. "Everyone reacts to us eventually. We just need to find the thing that breaks him."

Airn hesitated. "What if there is no thing?"

Alastor stopped walking. His hazel eyes sharpened.

"Everyone breaks," he said softly. "Everyone."

Airn wasn't sure if he was reassured or unsettled.

But one thing twisted warm and burning in his chest:

He wanted to see what Nevan would look like broken.
And he hated that he wanted it so much.

Alastor slung an arm around his shoulders, dragging him forward. "Come on. Let's go figure out where he sits at lunch."

Airn didn't resist.
He matched his brother's pace.
But he couldn't shake the truth that clung to him like smoke:

Nevan wasn't prey.
Not yet.

But he could be.

Or worse — he could be something far more dangerous than prey.