The morning light crept through the narrow blinds of Garren’s room, casting stripes across the floorboards like bars. He sat on the edge of his bed, hoodie pulled over his head, elbows on his knees.

The steady throb in his knuckles reminded him of every hit he’d thrown the night before, and every one he hadn’t dodged. His body ached, but it wasn’t the bruises that kept him awake. It was the way Lydia’s hands had lingered a second too long on his skin, the way Aria’s eyes had followed him across the quad, sharp and questioning. The way he’d felt caught between them both, even when he wasn’t in the same room.

The campus felt quiet as he stepped outside, the chill of autumn sharp in his lungs. Leaves littered the walkways, brittle underfoot. Students drifted past him in small groups, heads down, voices low. Garren moved like a ghost among them, unnoticed but watchful. Every step felt deliberate, like he was trying to ground himself in the simple act of moving forward.

He spent the morning in class, scribbling notes he wouldn’t read later, barely hearing the lectures. The faces of his classmates blurred together. Only Aria’s stood out when he caught sight of her across the hall, her gaze as unreadable as ever. She didn’t look away when their eyes met, but she didn’t approach either. It was a game neither of them wanted to name.

After lunch he didn’t touch, he made his way to the gym. The old place smelled of sweat and dust, the faint tang of metal from the weight racks. He wrapped his hands and hit the heavy bag until his arms burned, until his breath came ragged and sweat dripped from his brow. Each strike echoed in the empty room, a rhythm that drowned out thought. But when he finally stopped, chest heaving, the quiet rushed back in. And with it, the weight he’d been trying to outrun.

Evening found him outside the infirmary, though he told himself he hadn’t planned to go. The lights inside were dim, the hour late. But Lydia was there, as always, paperwork spread across her desk, a mug of tea gone cold beside her. She looked up when he stepped in, and for a heartbeat, something unguarded flickered across her face—relief, maybe, or worry.

“You’re back,” she said softly.

“Just passing by.”

But he wasn’t. They both knew it.

Lydia rose, moving toward the cabinet, pulling out the first aid kit without asking. “Let me see.”

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that.”

“And I’m always right.”

She gave him a look that was equal parts exasperation and something gentler. “Sit down, Garren.”

He obeyed, more out of habit than anything else. She cleaned his knuckles, her touch firm but careful, the scent of antiseptic filling the space between them. The quiet stretched long, the only sound the soft scrape of gauze against skin.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” she said finally.

He met her gaze, and for a moment the mask slipped. Just a moment. “I do.”

Lydia didn’t argue. She just finished bandaging his hand, fingers brushing his palm as she tied it off. The contact sent a jolt through him—small, but impossible to ignore. When he stood, the air between them felt charged, heavy with everything neither of them said.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Get some sleep,” she said, though they both knew he wouldn’t.

The night had deepened by the time Garren reached the quad. The wind had picked up, scattering leaves across the stone paths. He found Aria sitting on the steps of the administration building, tablet in hand, though she wasn’t looking at it. She glanced up as he approached, eyes catching his in the dark.

“Out late,” she said.

“So are you.”

She set the tablet beside her, motioned to the step. After a moment, he sat. The stone was cold, but her presence wasn’t. Not tonight.

“You look like hell,” she said, not unkindly.

“Feel worse.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at her mouth. “That’s what happens when you pick fights with the world.”

“Better than waiting for it to hit first.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the campus quiet around them. Lights glowed faint in distant windows, the world reduced to shadows and wind and the sound of their breathing.

“I saw you at the gym,” she said at last. “You’re going to break yourself one of these days.”

“Not before I’m done.”

“And when’s that?”

He didn’t have an answer. She didn’t press.

When he finally stood, she didn’t stop him. Just watched him go, as if memorizing the shape of him against the dark.

In his room, sleep came late. And when it did, it brought no rest. Only dreams of fists and fire, of voices he couldn’t quiet, of hands that touched and didn’t let go.