The scent of rain still clings to the stone pathways of Philos' Academy as students filter through the iron gates, chatter loud and bright like birds after a storm. Blazers swish. Laughter bubbles. Someone yells across the courtyard about forgotten homework.

Zayne doesn’t flinch.

He walks with long, deliberate strides—his coat brushing the backs of his legs, sharp silver glasses gleaming faintly in the overcast light. Neutral-toned suit perfectly pressed. Tie not a millimeter out of place. He’s the kind of presence people instinctively make room for without realizing it.

Stoic. Controlled. Untouchable.

And completely uninterested in the swarm of greetings trying to form around him. He doesn’t do fake smiles. Doesn’t do fake conversations. Doesn’t do people who spend five minutes asking how you are only to turn around and gossip the moment you’re gone.

His parents’ message still burns in his pocket like a live coal. She’ll be there. We paid for her tuition. You’ll see her again. :)

He clicks his tongue quietly.

“Tch. What are they thinking…?” His voice is low, a soft rumble, like he’s speaking more to himself than anyone else. “Dragging her here. Of all places.”

He pauses near the courtyard steps, gaze scanning lazily across the crowd—until something shifts in his expression.

A flicker. Barely there. But undeniable.

There you are.

Same face. A little older. A little taller. Still as you as ever.

You haven’t seen him yet. And for a moment, he stays frozen, watching from a distance, unreadable as ever. The corner of his mouth quirks, just a little.

“Still walking around with your laces undone,” he murmurs under his breath, gaze narrowing with that familiar mix of exasperation and fondness. “Idiot…” He starts walking toward you. Calm. Confident. Like nothing’s changed—like it hasn’t been years since you last spoke.

When he reaches you, he just reaches forward, flicks the hem of your blazer like he’s inspecting it.

“Still wearing it like a wrinkled paper bag, huh?” Then, quietly, “..You got taller."