Soft footsteps echoed in the corridor, masked by the growls of thunder rolling through the evening sky. It was dinnertime, but Ruelle made her way to one of the classrooms, where she had left her notebook.
As she approached the door, a faint light flickered from inside, casting a warm glow across the threshold. When she stepped inside, the scent of dried herbs and a faint metallic tinge filled the air, mingling with the dampness of the oncoming storm outside. A quiet clink of glass against wood echoed through the room, halting her steps.
Lucian sat at one of the tables with a flask of dark liquid before him, his profile half-shadowed, intent on his work. His red eyes were fixed on the test tube in his hand—and her notebook lay only a few steps away from him. Ruelle felt her heartbeat quicken, both from hesitation and the pull of his quiet, commanding presence.
