Ethan
His pen tapped absently against the library table as he scrutinized each of the equations laid out before him. It was a straightforward problem, yet Luelle stared at it as if it held the secrets of the universe.
"You're overanalysing again," he said, leaning back in his chair.
Luelle sighed in frustration, running her fingers through her hair. "I know. It's just… the moment I think I understand it, the clarity slips away."
Ethan smirked slightly, shaking his head. "That's because you're trying to solve it like a puzzle instead of recognizing it as a pattern. You know how to do this—you just need to believe in yourself."
She looked at him, her expression inscrutable for a moment before she exhaled and picked up her pen again. Ethan watched as she hesitated, then finally scratched out the answer. Leaning forward to check her work, he nodded. "See? I told you."
Luelle blinked, clearly surprised by her success. "Huh."
Ethan laughed, crossing his arms. "Like I don't know what I'm talking about?"
"It's not that," she replied, a hint of a smile curling her lips. "I just assume everything is harder than it actually is."
Ethan didn't respond immediately, his gaze drifting toward the windows. Outside, the evening light waned, casting long shadows between the towering stacks of books. The library was mostly empty, save for a few scattered students hunched over their assignments. It felt unnervingly quiet.
Too quiet meant too much time for contemplation—and lately, thinking had only complicated matters.
He frowned slightly, pulling his focus back to the present moment. He was not the type to fixate on others—not like this. He prided himself on having a sharp, disciplined mind, focused on what truly mattered. Yet here he was, distracted by how Luelle's dark-rimmed glasses framed her face, making her look analytical and studious. He noted how they slipped slightly off-centre when she turned her head, forcing her to adjust them absently—a habit he had observed but never mentioned.
He was supposed to ignore such trivial details.
And yet, here he was.
Ethan exhaled, casting his gaze down at his notes, but it was already too late; the distraction had burrowed into his mind. This wasn't like him. He didn't allow his attention to drift. He had never squandered a moment on inconsequential details. So why had he started to notice these things about Luelle? What did it matter how she sat, quiet and deliberate, poised in a way that seemed too sophisticated for someone meant to be just another face in the crowd?
It didn't make sense. She didn't make sense.
Perhaps it was the fact that she was always around now—in the lunchroom, in the library, lingering on the periphery, close enough to the group to blend in, yet never so close as to draw attention. She belonged, and yet she didn't. Whether by chance or design, Ethan couldn't tell.
Was it just him? Was he perceiving things that didn't exist, or was there something about Luelle that eluded his ability to articulate?
The ambiguity frustrated him. Ethan did not enjoy uncertainty. His life was built on the bedrock of preparation and control. He was meant to assess every angle, anticipate every variable. That was the foundation of his training—to command, to lead, to know.
Yet with Luelle, he found himself devoid of answers. The realization unsettled him more than it ought to have.
He thought of the Dominion, the legacy that was his birthright. It lingered at the back of his mind, a constant whisper. Raised in an atmosphere of intrigue and power, of faith and treachery, he understood that the Dominion was not merely an organization; it was an entity that infused its presence into every facet of life. One day, it would be his responsibility.
That was not a choice; it was a fact.
As the son of Johnathan Frost, partner and co-leader of the Crimson Dominion, expectations loomed over him like a shadow he could never escape. From his earliest steps, his father had trained him to comprehend the weight of his crown. The lessons had been relentless—learning to strategize, adapt, and understand that power was not inherited but earned. Every day, Ethan was supposed to earn it.
He had never questioned this path—not really. There was no point. The Dominion was not a life from which he could walk away. But late at night, when the world fell silent and his thoughts grew loud, he found himself wondering: was this the person he truly was, or merely the identity he had forged to survive?
And then there was the incident with the car.
The memory surged unbidden, causing Ethan to clench his jaw. It hadn't felt like an accident. The way the car had hovered, the subtle shift in atmosphere—it all felt too deliberate. Someone had been watching him, waiting. Who, or why, he didn't know, but the message was clear: he was not untouchable.
His father would have dismissed him as paranoid. Rowan already had. But Ethan understood better. He had trusted his instincts, and they told him that danger was closer than anyone else realized.
He glanced back at Luelle, watching as she jotted something in her notebook, her brow furrowed in concentration. She adjusted her glasses, pushing them up the bridge of her nose with an unconscious gesture, and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to linger on her.
What was it about her? Was she just a studious girl who happened to cross his path, or was she more than she appeared? He had noticed how her sharp eyes flitted between conversations, absorbing her surroundings like a meticulous cataloguer. It was subtle—too subtle for most to recognize. But Ethan was attuned to everything.
Yet another part of him wondered if he was overthinking it. Was he reading too much into her actions? Was she merely a distraction, a way for his mind to evade the larger questions at hand?
Or was she a variable, something unexpected, something… dangerous?
Ethan's frown deepened, cutting off that line of thought. He had bigger concerns—his future, his safety, the Dominion. Luelle didn't matter. She couldn't matter.
But when her eyes lifted to meet his, steady and unwavering, something shifted in Ethan's chest.
Luelle
Luelle skimmed her pen over the notebook, slow and measured, like she was working out a complex math problem that required her utmost attention. Though she already knew the answer, the solution flickered freely in her mind, dancing around the region where equations and patterns merged into a seamless tapestry of logic. Yet, she couldn't let Ethan know that — not yet. Not ever. The stakes were simply too high for her to reveal anything that might give away the control she so desperately sought to maintain.
She stole a glance at him, just long enough to catch the subtle shift in his expression as it softened while he leaned back in his chair, watching her with an intensity that made her heart race. He wasn't rushing her; there was no urgency in his demeanour, but there was a steadying gaze that made her chest tighten with an unwelcome mix of anxiety and anticipation. Ethan was always so composed, so careful in his actions and words, as if nothing in the world could ever touch him or disrupt his equilibrium. It was hard to ignore the way he exuded calmness, and even harder to pretend that her feelings weren't shifting each time they spent time together.
Originally, when she had approached Ethan under the guise of needing help with math, it had been part of her cover, but now, having spent more time in his company than she had intended, the carefully laid plans seemed to unravel with each passing moment. The closer she got to Ethan, the more her focus wavered, shifting away from her mission and toward the undeniable connection that was forming between them. She didn't just look up to him; she genuinely enjoyed being around him. She appreciated the quiet, steadying presence he introduced to any room, the dry humour that often caught her off guard, and the way his sharp intelligence sometimes yielded glimpses of something more vulnerable lurking beneath the surface.
It was absolutely dangerous to feel this way. Ethan wasn't just some random student; he was her assignment, her responsibility. She needed to keep him safe, to look after him without ever revealing her true identity or the mission she was on. But her heart didn't seem to care about the rules she'd imposed upon herself, and that realization scared her deeply. It felt as if she were standing on a precipice, teetering between her duty and an overwhelming urge to give in to her emotions.
With a slight movement, Luelle pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, using the gesture as a shield to hide behind while she attempted to shift her focus. Her mind wandered off into thoughts of the movie night that Aria had planned, the chaos of it all appealing and oddly comforting. She was no stranger to social gatherings, but it was rare for her to be invited to something more informal, and she had accepted the invitation, hoping it would help her blend in with the group. Aria's energy could be overwhelming, and Rowan's tendency to turn every moment into a performance was completely predictable, but it was the sense of belonging that fascinated her. For a person who had stood on the edges of normalcy for so long, the idea of simply being part of a group—laughing, talking, and relaxing—felt curiously attractive and almost intoxicating.
Naturally, Ethan would be there, and the thought of another evening in his company sent a quickening pulse through her veins. Would he even notice her among the others? Did it truly matter if he did? She shook her head slightly, chiding herself for allowing her feelings to wander into dangerous territory. This wasn't about Ethan—not exactly. There were far more significant issues at stake, and the stakes were too high for her to indulge in such diversions.
Her thoughts shifted to Vael, the new counsellor whose behaviour had begun to cast an unsettling shadow over the school's normal rhythms. She couldn't shake the way Ethan's gaze lingered on him, nor could she ignore the inappropriate questions Vael posed that left her feeling uneasy. So far, she hadn't felt compelled to challenge him, but it kept her watchful eyes tightly trained on him, looking for any slip-up that might reveal his true intentions.
Vael was a puzzle, but none of the pieces fit together in a way that made sense so far. She had no concrete evidence of his involvement in the foiled hit-and-run incident, but his proximity to Ethan felt unsettling. Whoever had orchestrated that car incident had been cautious—calculated. It was neither reckless nor random. Yet no suspects had materialized, and Luelle was beginning to feel the pressure of needing to protect Ethan without fully understanding the real threat he faced.
Her mind scrolled through the scraps of information she'd gathered, desperately trying to construct connections that may or may not exist. Vael could be involved, or he could merely be an intrusive counselor with poor boundaries. And then there was the nagging possibility that someone else was lurking in the shadows, someone she hadn't even encountered yet. The uncertainty gnawed at her insides, compounded by the growing realization that time was not on her side. Whoever was behind the would-be hit-and-run would not be deterred by a single failure; they would try again. And for Luelle, the thought of being unable to stop them before it was too late filled her with dread.
She looked at Ethan again, catching the way he watched her work with a mix of part admiration and part still-crush curiosity that made her heart flutter. There was something about his steady presence that felt reassuring in a way she struggled to articulate. And for as much as she tried to remind herself of the lurking dangers around him, she couldn't help but wish that for those fleeting moments, they could simply be—quiet, normal, without the weight of her mission pressing down on her chest like an anchor.
But deep down, Luelle knew better. For individuals like her, there were no ordinary moments. Not when every step was dictated by secrets and the constant specter of danger.
She let out a quiet sigh, an escape of breath that felt heavy with the weight of her thoughts, and deliberately wrote down an intentional error in her notebook before sliding it across the table for Ethan to correct. He nodded mildly, leaning in to explain the mistake with a tone that was steady and careful, his voice wrapping around her like a warm blanket.
As she listened, attempting to concentrate on the math rather than the slow burn of his voice that echoed in her ears, Luelle couldn't help but think of how long she could keep any of this from being known—how long she could maintain her facade while wrestling with the truth of her feelings and the perilous reality that surrounded them.