Nevan felt it before he understood it.

Not words. Not threats.
Pressure.

The next morning at school looked the same as every other—students moving in clusters, laughter echoing too loud in the halls, lockers slamming shut. But something underneath it all had shifted, like the air before a storm.

He knew better than to think the twins would let things stay where they were.

Airn didn’t speak to him right away.

That was the first rule.

Nevan noticed it in the smallest ways: Airn’s shoulder brushing past him without contact lingering, hazel eyes sliding over him as if he were furniture. Alastor, too, stayed just far enough away to feel intentional. No taunts. No hands. No smirks meant for him.

It was worse.

Nevan’s chest felt tight, breath shallow. He hated that part of himself—the way silence made room for imagination. The way his body waited even when his mind tried to stay cold.

Theo caught up to him near the stairs.

“Hey,” Theo said, smiling, but the smile faltered almost immediately. “You okay? You’ve been… weird.”

Nevan tilted his head slightly. “Define weird.”

Theo snorted. “You look like you’re bracing for impact.”

That almost made Nevan laugh.

Almost.

“I’m fine,” he said instead.

Theo hesitated. “You know, if they’re bothering you again—”

“They’re not,” Nevan cut in.

The words came too fast.

Theo blinked. “Nevan—”

“I said they’re not,” Nevan repeated, quieter now.

Theo frowned but nodded, backing off. The moment passed. But Nevan felt it anyway—the invisible thread pulling tight.

By lunch, the rules became clearer.

He sat where he always did. Ate little. Watched too much.

Then Alastor sat across from him.

No warning. No announcement. Just presence.

“You’re early,” Alastor said mildly, as if they were acquaintances.

Nevan didn’t look up. “I sit here every day.”

“Mm,” Alastor hummed. “Then today I noticed.”

Nevan’s fingers tightened around his fork.

Airn joined them a moment later, standing—not sitting. He leaned one hand on the table, close enough that Nevan could feel the warmth of him. Still no touch.

Rule two.

“You don’t leave,” Airn said calmly. “Until we’re done.”

Nevan lifted his eyes.

Airn’s gaze was locked on him, intense and focused, like Nevan was the only thing in the room worth seeing.

“With what?” Nevan asked.

Alastor smiled faintly. “With watching.”

Nevan swallowed.

They didn’t tell him to kneel.
They didn’t tell him to beg.
They didn’t even tell him to answer.

They simply stayed.

People passed by. Glanced. Looked away. No one intervened. No one ever did.

Nevan’s heartbeat thudded in his ears, faster now. He hated that his body reacted before his mind could shut it down. Hated that part of him leaned toward structure when chaos pressed too close.

Airn straightened at last. “Rule three,” he said. “You don’t talk about us.”

Nevan’s mouth felt dry. “I don’t.”

“Good,” Airn replied. “Then this will be easy.”

Alastor stood. “We’ll tell you the rest later.”

And just like that, they left.

Nevan sat there long after they were gone.

His hands were shaking.

Not with fear.

With something else. Something worse.

That night, in his room, Nevan knelt on the floor in front of Star’s enclosure, resting his forehead lightly against the glass. The leopard gecko blinked slowly at him, unbothered, warm and alive beneath the soft glow of the heat lamp.

“I’m okay,” Nevan whispered.

He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince.

What terrified him most wasn’t the twins’ control.

It was the way part of him felt calmer knowing there were rules now.

They found him after last class.

Not cornered. Not chased.

Summoned.

Nevan felt it the moment the hallway thinned and the noise dulled. His steps slowed on instinct. His spine straightened. When he stopped, it wasn’t because they blocked his path.

It was because they didn’t have to.

“Little saint.”

Airn’s voice came from behind him—low, almost fond.

Nevan closed his eyes for half a second.

He turned.

Airn stood too close. Alastor leaned against the wall, relaxed, watching him like a piece of art only he understood.

“You don’t answer when called,” Airn said mildly. “That’s rude.”

Nevan met his gaze. Calm. Flat. Empty.

“I wasn’t sure you meant me,” he replied.

Airn smiled.

“That’s strike one,” he said. “Mouse.”

The word slid under Nevan’s skin.

Alastor pushed off the wall and circled slowly. “Songbird,” he murmured. “You’ve been very quiet today.”

Nevan’s jaw tightened.

Students nearby slowed. Not close enough to intervene. Close enough to watch. Whispers rippled outward like water disturbed by a stone.

This was how it always started.

“This is where you apologize,” Airn said softly. “For ignoring us.”

Nevan exhaled.

“No,” he said.

The word landed wrong.

Airn’s smile faded—not into anger, but into focus.

Around them, the air changed. Conversations died. Someone dropped a book. No one laughed.

Alastor tilted his head. “Angel,” he said lightly, “do you know why people are afraid of us?”

Nevan didn’t answer.

Alastor gestured toward a first-year frozen near the lockers. “Because when someone pushes too far…” His gaze flicked back to Nevan. “…we remind them where they stand.”

Airn stepped closer.

Too close.

“Rule four,” Airn said. “When we speak, you listen.”

Something in Nevan snapped—not loudly. Not dramatically.

Cold flooded in.

His heartbeat slowed. His vision sharpened.

“No,” Nevan said again. Louder this time.

Airn reached for him.

Nevan moved.

Fast. Clean. Deliberate.

His hand connected with Airn’s jaw—not a wild swing, but a precise strike born of restraint breaking. The sound cracked through the hall like a gunshot.

Airn staggered back a step.

Silence exploded.

Nevan stood there, breathing steady, eyes empty in a way that made the watching students recoil.

Alastor didn’t move.

Slowly, deliberately, he smiled.

“Oh,” Alastor said softly. “There you are.”

Airn touched his jaw, testing it. Then he laughed—low, exhilarated.

“So the mouse bites,” he said. “Good.”

Nevan didn’t run.

Didn’t apologize.

Didn’t explain.

He simply looked at them, really looked—no fear, no pleading, no softness left to take.

“You don’t own me,” Nevan said quietly.

The words rippled outward, electric.

Airn stepped forward again—but this time, carefully.

“No,” he agreed. “Not yet.”

Alastor’s eyes gleamed. “But now,” he added, “everyone knows what happens when we’re bored.”

Students scattered. The hall emptied in seconds.

Nevan stood alone with them.

His hands trembled only after.

And that terrified him more than anything else.