The hallways smelled of late afternoon sunlight and dust, but Airn barely noticed. His attention was fixed, razor-sharp, on the green-eyed boy walking two steps ahead.

Nevan.

Alastor followed beside him, calm and deliberate, his gaze always assessing, always calculating. “He’s predictable,” Alastor murmured, voice low, almost pleased. “We only need to guide him.”

Airn’s lips curved into a sharp, dark smile. Guide him. The word sent a thrill through him. He imagined the songbird, so quiet, so composed, yet utterly pliable if touched in the right place.

“He has no idea,” Airn muttered, almost to himself. “How much he’s already… ours.”

Alastor’s eyes glinted. “Not ours yet. But close.”

Airn’s hand itched, not for force, not yet. For now, the game was subtle. Observation. Testing limits. Watching. That small flicker of green in his eyes the day he first begged—the tiniest crack in his calm—was enough to drive Airn to obsession.

They stepped around a corner and saw him. Nevan walking with Theo, calm, oblivious, fingers brushing against the notebook he held, small gestures betraying care, concern, and kindness.

Airn’s chest tightened. That tiny human warmth—the thing Nevan would kill to protect—was his weakness. And now, it was in their hands.

“Playtime,” Airn murmured, almost reverently. “He won’t run. Not really. Not from us.”

Alastor leaned closer, voice soft and precise. “He won’t. Not when we know what matters to him. And we do.”

Airn’s gaze narrowed as Nevan turned a corner. Theo beside him, laughing softly at something trivial, completely unaware of the predators walking just behind him. Airn pictured it so clearly—the green eyes locking on him, a small flicker of panic, the whispered please, the desperation for Theo’s safety—and he shivered.

“We’ll make him understand,” Airn said. His voice was low, deliberate, almost intimate. “He’ll learn what it means to be ours.”

Alastor’s smirk was calm, measured, but it held the same dark thrill. “Careful, brother. Patience. Let him feel the tension first. Make him notice. Make him want it without realizing it.”

Airn’s mind wandered to the image that had haunted him since that first day: Nevan, kneeling, soft, obedient, collar around his throat. The thought burned in his chest. He blinked, forcing it down, forcing it into something cold, something controlled. He couldn’t let Alastor see how much the image consumed him.

“We’ll need a push,” Alastor continued, voice low, dangerous. “Something subtle. Something that makes him choose. Let him bend without breaking entirely.”

Airn’s pulse quickened. “Theo,” he whispered, almost under his breath.

Alastor nodded, eyes glinting. “Exactly. That’s his lever. His little heart will tug, and we’ll be there, waiting. Always watching.”

Airn’s lips curved into a smirk, sharp and predatory. “I like that. Watching him unravel… slowly, carefully. Watching him understand his own limits…”

Alastor’s smirk deepened, approving. “And when he finally begs again… properly this time… we won’t forget. Not ever.”

Airn’s hand itched to reach out, to brush a strand of hair from Nevan’s face, to test boundaries, to see the subtle tremble in his hands. But he didn’t. Not yet. Patience was the game now.

The hallways were empty, the afternoon sun casting long shadows. And in those shadows, the twins walked side by side, predators, watching the songbird and his little human warmth, planning, waiting, obsessing.

Airn’s eyes followed him, green and calm, unaware.

Ours.

The word whispered in Airn’s mind, dark and possessive, and he shivered in anticipation.

The game had begun.

The library was nearly empty, save for a few lingering students buried in books. Airn and Alastor leaned against the far wall, watching. Nevan sat a few tables away, Theo beside him, oblivious, fingers brushing over the notebook, whispering quietly. Every small smile, every flick of his green eyes toward Theo, sent a thrill racing through Airn.

“He notices the smallest things,” Alastor murmured. “Every glance, every micro-expression. That’s his weakness.”

Airn’s gaze narrowed. And we’ll use it.

He stepped lightly, silent, across the room, eyes locked on the boy with the soft hair and calm hands. Nevan’s back was straight, posture careful, but his hands twitched slightly, gripping the edge of the table. It was subtle, but Airn saw it. And in that twitch, he saw the way Nevan’s calm faltered just a little—the tiny cracks in the armor he thought was impenetrable.

“You think he’ll notice if we sit closer?” Airn asked, voice low, careful.

Alastor tilted his head, smirk playing across his lips. “He will. And he won’t like it. That’s the point.”

Airn felt the familiar surge of excitement. The idea of Nevan, aware yet powerless, stirred something dark and possessive. He stepped closer, just a few tables down, leaning against the edge of a shelf so that Theo was trapped in view but Nevan could see them both.

Theo didn’t notice. He never did. That’s what made it worse, and what made it perfect.

Airn’s hand itched, fingers curling slightly as if he could reach through the space separating them and touch the green-eyed boy. He imagined the way Nevan’s chest would tighten, the way his throat might go dry, the way his hands could start to tremble ever so slightly.

Alastor’s voice broke the silence, low and deliberate. “Imagine it. One small push. A little whisper. He’d fold before he even realized it. That’s how we make him… ours.”

Airn swallowed, pulse hammering. “One day, I want him kneeling.”

Alastor’s smirk deepened. “Patience. For now, watch. Test. Observe. Make him nervous enough to notice he’s being watched. That’s all it takes.”

Across the room, Nevan shifted slightly in his seat. Airn noticed it immediately—the tiny hitch in his breath, the way his green eyes darted for a fraction of a second toward them. A smile tugged at Airn’s lips. The boy sensed them. The first flicker of fear.

“Perfect,” Airn whispered. “That little twitch… he knows we’re there.”

Alastor’s eyes glinted. “And once he feels it, he won’t be able to ignore it. Not for long. That’s when the real game begins.”

Airn’s hand clenched, hiding the small shiver of excitement that ran through him. Nevan’s calm, his patience, his enduring quiet—it all made the thrill sharper. To see the songbird aware, trembling under the pressure of observation, that was power. That was control.

The bell rang, sharp and intrusive, pulling students from their study nooks. Theo started packing his bag, chatting lightly to Nevan about meeting later. Airn and Alastor retreated into the shadows, just far enough to stay unseen, close enough to watch.

Airn let his eyes follow Nevan as he walked, soft steps careful, shoulders tense despite the calm face. The small, imperceptible movements, the subtle protectiveness toward Theo—every inch of it set fire to something dark and possessive inside him.

Alastor leaned closer, voice low, teasing. “Do you see it? He’s already thinking of how to keep Theo safe. And every thought is tugging at his… pride.”

Airn smiled, cruel and sharp. “We’ll see how long he can endure. Before he breaks, before he begs… we’ll own him.”

Outside the library, the afternoon sun fell across the empty courtyard. Inside, two sets of hazel eyes followed a green one, dark intent and obsession burning bright. The songbird had no idea what was coming, but the cage was already beginning to close.

And Airn liked it.

The courtyard was bustling, students moving between classes, laughing, shouting, voices blending into a chaotic hum. Nevan kept close to Theo, walking a step behind, hands tucked into his pockets, pretending casualness. But every step carried tension. Every glance around made his chest tighten.

He sensed them before he saw them.

Airn and Alastor, leaning casually against the fountain, hazel eyes sharp, predatory, tracking him. Neither of them moved, but the weight of their presence pressed on him like a physical force. He felt the tension coil inside him, a low, insistent hum of danger.

Theo, laughing at something trivial, was unaware. Nevan’s stomach twisted. Not him. Not Theo. Please, not him.

Airn’s smirk was slow, deliberate, as if he knew exactly the effect he had on the green-eyed boy. “Notice how he stiffens?” Alastor murmured, voice quiet but sharp enough for Airn to hear. “Every small twitch tells you exactly what he’s thinking.”

Airn’s gaze dropped to Theo, who was still talking, still laughing, still entirely vulnerable. His weakness. That’s all it takes.

A breeze blew, ruffling Nevan’s hair, but the sensation of Airn’s eyes on him made him shiver. His hands clenched in his pockets. Theo noticed the subtle change.

“Hey… are you okay?” Theo asked softly, glancing up at him. His voice, gentle, unaware of the storm watching from the fountain, stabbed at Nevan’s chest.

Nevan forced a smile. “Yeah… yeah, just… thinking.”

Airn straightened slightly, the predator in him sharpening. Thinking of Theo. Protecting him. That’s it. That’s the lever.

Alastor’s voice, low and calculated, reached him. “We won’t touch him. Not yet. Let him feel the tension. Make him aware that everything he cares about… is under our observation. That’s when the breaking begins.”

Nevan’s chest tightened, muscles coiling instinctively. He tried to slow his breathing, to anchor himself in calm. But the subtle thrill of fear, the silent threat hovering just outside, made it impossible.

Airn’s smirk deepened. He stepped just a little closer, moving so that Nevan could see him easily without being able to ignore him. The message was clear: we’re here. We’re watching. We know.

Nevan’s fingers twitched at his side, his stomach rolling. Theo’s hand brushed his accidentally, light, innocent, and Nevan’s control faltered. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to straighten, forcing his calm face back into place.

Alastor’s eyes glinted, calculating. “Watch him,” he whispered. “Watch the little falter. That’s all we need for now. He’s already aware. He’s already… nervous.”

Airn imagined the green eyes darting to Theo again, the way Nevan’s chest rose and fell a fraction too fast. A thrill coiled in him, sharp and dark. Soon, very soon, he thought, we’ll see how far the songbird will go to protect what he loves.

Nevan’s lips parted slightly, a quiet, almost inaudible please forming in his mind. Not for himself, not aloud, but desperate and real: Please… don’t hurt him.

Airn’s smirk sharpened. That little thought, the internal tug at Nevan’s calm, was exactly what they wanted. We’ll see how far you’ll bend, little songbird, he thought. And then… we’ll take it all.

Theo laughed again, oblivious. Nevan forced himself to mirror the small smile, but inside, his calm was cracking.

And for the first time, the cage felt closer than ever.