Airn noticed it before Alastor said a word.

Nevan walked differently now.

Not slower—no, that would’ve been too obvious. It was subtler than that. His shoulders were tighter. His gaze flicked instinctively to corners, doorways, reflections. He anticipated shadows before they moved.

Good, Airn thought.

Fear was easy. Anticipation was better.

He leaned against the second-floor railing, watching Nevan cross the courtyard below. The boy didn’t look up, but his steps faltered for half a second anyway. Airn smiled. He liked that part—the way Nevan reacted even without seeing him.

“You’re staring again,” Alastor murmured beside him.

Airn didn’t deny it. “He’s adapting.”

Alastor followed his gaze, hazel eyes sharpening. “No. He’s orbiting.”

That earned a quiet laugh from Airn. “Same thing.”

They’d pushed him gently yesterday. Today, they would push harder—not with hands, not with threats that left marks. No. They would use the thing people feared most about the Blackwood twins.

Their reach.

Airn descended the stairs slowly, deliberately letting Nevan see him this time. The reaction was immediate. Nevan stiffened, fingers curling into his sleeves like he could disappear inside himself.

Airn stopped a few feet away. Too close for comfort. Too far to touch.

“Rule change,” Airn said casually.

Nevan’s throat bobbed. “I—what?”

Airn tilted his head, studying him like a puzzle that had started answering back. “You speak when spoken to. You already know that.”

Nevan nodded quickly.

Airn’s smile sharpened. “New rule. You don’t sit with Theo anymore.”

Nevan froze.

That was the sound Airn liked—the silent snap of something pulled too tight.

“I—I sit there every day,” Nevan said quietly.

Airn leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Exactly.”

Across the courtyard, Alastor shifted, deliberately stepping into Theo’s line of sight. Not touching. Just there. Watching. Letting the boy feel seen.

Nevan followed Airn’s gaze and went pale.

“This isn’t about hurting him,” Airn said softly. “Don’t confuse yourself. It’s about access.”

He straightened, hands slipping into his pockets like this was a normal conversation. “You don’t like the rumors about us, do you?”

Nevan swallowed. “People say things.”

“They say we’re unstable.” Airn chuckled. “That we don’t stop once we start.”

Nevan didn’t answer.

Airn leaned in again, voice barely above a breath. “They’re wrong.”

Nevan looked up, hope flickering for just a second.

“We stop,” Airn continued, eyes darkening, “when we’re satisfied.”

The hope died instantly. That was better.

Later, in class, Airn didn’t touch Nevan once. He didn’t need to. He let the pressure build instead—Alastor dropping a pen near Nevan’s desk and not picking it up, forcing Nevan to freeze. A chair scraping too close behind him. A whispered good when Nevan followed a direction no one had spoken aloud.

By the end of the hour, Nevan looked wrecked.

Airn felt something hot and unpleasant twist in his chest.

Obsession, maybe.

He caught Alastor’s eye across the room.

“He’s holding,” Alastor murmured. “Barely.”

Airn exhaled slowly. “Tomorrow, we test how much.”

Alastor smiled, sharp and knowing. “And if he breaks?”

Airn watched Nevan gather his things with shaking hands, careful not to meet anyone’s gaze.

“Then the rumors,” Airn said quietly, “will finally have something real to feed on.”

Theo noticed first because Theo still looked.

Most people at Blackwood learned quickly not to. Eyes down. Steps fast. Don’t linger near the twins’ gravity. But Theo hadn’t learned that lesson yet—or maybe he had and chose to ignore it.

Airn saw it from across the corridor: Theo slowing to match Nevan’s pace, leaning in too close, his mouth moving too much. Asking questions.

Idiot, Airn thought.

Nevan’s shoulders tensed instantly. Not in fear—no, Airn recognized the difference now. This was containment. Like something dangerous being forced into a smaller shape.

Theo touched Nevan’s arm.

Just a light thing. Friendly. Meaningless.

Airn’s jaw clenched.

The irritation surprised him with its intensity. It wasn’t jealousy—not the childish kind. It was something sharper, more territorial. Like watching someone step into a space that had already been measured and claimed.

Alastor felt it too. Airn didn’t need to look to know. His brother’s presence shifted beside him, attention snapping tight and focused.

Theo laughed nervously. “You’ve been quiet all day,” he said. “Did something happen yesterday?”

Airn watched Nevan carefully then.

For a second—just one—Nevan’s face went blank.

Not scared. Not sad.

Empty.

It was terrifying how complete the switch was. His eyes dulled, green turning flat and unreadable, like glass reflecting nothing back. The softness drained out of him, replaced by something cold and distant, something that did not care.

Airn’s breath hitched.

Nevan gently removed Theo’s hand from his arm.

“Don’t,” Nevan said.

His voice was calm. Too calm.

Theo blinked. “Don’t what?”

“Ask,” Nevan replied. “And don’t stand this close.”

There was no anger in it. No emotion at all. Just a statement of fact.

Theo stepped back instinctively, unsettled despite himself. “Nevan…?”

Airn smiled slowly.

There you are.

Alastor leaned in, murmuring, “Did you see that?”

“I did,” Airn whispered back. “He doesn’t break. He disappears.”

That was worse. That was far more interesting.

Theo tried again, because Theo didn’t understand danger when it looked polite. “If someone’s messing with you, you can tell me. I mean—we’re friends, right?”

The word landed wrong.

Nevan turned fully toward him then, eyes lifting at last. Theo flinched.

There was nothing human in that gaze. No warmth. No fear. Just a vast, quiet distance, like staring across frozen water and realizing too late how deep it went.

“We’re classmates,” Nevan said. “Don’t mistake that.”

Theo went pale. “I—I was just worried.”

Airn chose that moment to step forward.

“Worried?” Airn echoed pleasantly.

Theo jumped. “I—sir—Airn, I didn’t see you there.”

“That’s usually how it goes,” Airn said. He looked Theo up and down, dismissive, bored. “You should be careful who you worry about.”

Theo glanced at Nevan again, confused. “I was just talking—”

Alastor appeared at Airn’s side like a shadow resolving into shape. “And you were doing it very loudly.”

Theo swallowed. “Sorry.”

Airn tilted his head. “You care about him?”

Theo hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. He’s my friend.”

Airn’s irritation sharpened into something almost painful. He stepped closer—not threatening, not touching, just there. “Then do him a favor.”

Theo stiffened.

“Stop,” Airn said softly. “Interfering.”

Theo opened his mouth. Closed it again. Finally nodded, backing away. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Airn replied. “That’s what makes it worse.”

Theo left quickly after that, shoulders hunched, glancing back once at Nevan with an expression that bordered on fear.

Nevan hadn’t moved.

He stood perfectly still, face unreadable, eyes unfocused like he was looking through walls instead of at them. When Airn spoke his name, there was no immediate reaction.

“Nevan.”

Nothing.

Airn stepped closer. Lowered his voice. “You’re slipping.”

Nevan blinked once.

The world rushed back into his eyes. Color returned. Emotion followed—but buried deep, locked tight.

“I’m fine,” Nevan said.

Airn smiled. “No. You’re efficient.”

That earned a flicker of something dangerous behind Nevan’s gaze.

Alastor chuckled quietly. “Careful, brother. You might be the one who ends up reacting.”

Airn didn’t answer. He was too busy watching Nevan—watching the way the boy stood between softness and something utterly merciless, choosing which one to show.

And realizing, with a slow, sinking certainty, that if Nevan ever turned that coldness on them—

It wouldn’t be loud.

It wouldn’t be messy.

It would be final.