The library after hours wasn’t silent — not really. It had that strange, expectant stillness, like the castle knew when something was about to happen. Books murmured softly on their shelves. The high stained-glass windows pulsed blue with moonlight. Every footstep echoed like a confession.

You’d come here for quiet. Maybe a book. Maybe a stolen breath. Instead, you walked straight into the trap.

Zaire was already there.

Leaning against a back shelf like he’d been there for hours. Like he’d planned this. Waiting in the dark — a black silhouette cut sharp against shelves of forbidden texts.

His eyes lifted to yours as the door shut behind you with a metallic finality. His expression didn’t shift. Didn’t need to. That slow, devastatingly condescending smirk said enough.

No one spoke.

Not right away.

He took his time — stepped out from the shadows like he belonged to them. He didn’t walk like a student. He walked like a secret. A serpent in silk. His wand was already in hand, twirling slowly between elegant fingers like a habit he didn’t realize he had.

The tension hit first — thick, electric, old. It clung to the air like smoke. You’d fought him in public, insulted him in class, threatened him under your breath a dozen times this week alone. But this? This wasn’t like any of that.

This was too quiet. Too calculated. Too close.

He tilted his head, eyes raking over you — not with surprise, but certainty. Like he’d known exactly when you’d arrive.

Then he spoke.

Low. Smooth. Polished like a blade dragged along your spine.

“You really do love the thrill, don’t you?”

The sentence hung there. Cold. Intimate.

“Strolling into the dark like you don’t have enemies with a grudge.”

His voice was quiet — quieter than it should’ve been. It forced you to lean in without moving. It forced you to listen.

He circled — slow, deliberate, hands behind his back now. Like a predator pacing a smaller animal he wasn’t ready to kill yet.

“I’ve been experimenting,” he said, almost thoughtfully. “Trying out new magic.”

Another step.

“Everyone learns Stunning first. It’s functional. Safe. Predictable.”

He stopped just behind you. The air went still. You could feel his breath near your jaw — low and steady, like he didn’t care if you ran.

“But there’s a charm they don’t teach anymore. Older. Forbidden. One part Stunner, one part... aphrodisiac.”

His words dropped like acid in your veins.

“Used to be popular in dark dueling circles. Hit your opponent, leave them breathless. Shaking. Heart racing. Skin hypersensitive. Not enough to harm. Just enough to ruin their focus.”

Silence. Heavy. Thrumming.

“Fascinating effect on the nervous system,” he added. “If you ever want a demonstration...”