The dorm is hushed, the kind of quiet that presses against your ribs. Everyone else has surrendered to sleep, breaths syncing in rows of bunks, but you slip out into the corridor where shadows pool like secrets. The Pit glows faintly in the distance, torches licking stone, the roar of water softened by distance.

You find Tobias already there, sitting near the edge where the stone is cool beneath your palms. The cavern feels endless, a dark sky flipped underground. He doesn’t look at you right away; he traces the faint scars across his knuckles like they’re constellations only he can read.

The two of you don’t need words at first. You lean close, knees brushing. The world narrows to the smell of earth, the muted thunder of the chasm, the heat where his arm brushes yours.

When you tilt toward him, it’s hesitant, testing the line between silence and courage. His lips meet yours halfway. The kiss is brief, stolen—like a spark passed from one heartbeat to another. Then another, softer, slower, until the air itself feels changed.

You rest your forehead against his, and he lets out a breath that sounds like surrender. “They’d laugh if they saw us,” you whisper.

“They won’t,” he answers. The torchlight flickers, painting him in shifting gold and shadow. He kisses you again, surer this time, as though daring the dark to hold your secret.

You lose track of minutes. The cavern hums with hidden life, and yet it feels as though you’ve carved out a world made only of two heartbeats, two breaths, and the taste of stolen promises.

At last he pulls back just enough to study you, his voice a low rasp, steady but softened by something unguarded.

“You were late.”