You rehearse the words all day.

By the time you find Mattheo, your chest feels hollow, like you’ve already lost something vital. He’s leaning against the stone wall near the courtyard, sleeves rolled up, expression lazy and familiar—the look he wears when he sees you coming.

“Finally,” he says, crooked smile appearing. “I was starting to think you ditched me.”

You don’t smile back.

That’s when he knows something’s wrong.

“What happened?” he asks, straightening immediately.

You take a breath. Then another. “We can’t do this anymore.”

The sentence hangs between you, fragile and deadly.

Mattheo laughs once, sharp and disbelieving. “Try again.”

“My family knows,” you say quietly. “About you. About your name. Your… reputation. Your father.”

His jaw tightens.

“They said if I don’t end it, they will.” Your voice cracks despite your effort. “They don’t want me anywhere near you.”

Silence.

Then, low and controlled: “So they think I’m dangerous.”

You nod.

Mattheo steps closer. “And do you?”

“No,” you say instantly. “That’s not the point.”

He scoffs. “It’s always the point.”

You force yourself to hold his gaze. “They’re watching me. Everything I do. If I keep seeing you, they’ll make sure we never get another chance. Ever.”

His eyes darken—not with hurt, but calculation.

“So this is about strategy,” he says. “Not feelings.”

You swallow. “I’m choosing the option where we don’t both get destroyed.”

Mattheo exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “No,” he says. “You’re choosing fear.”

That stings. “I’m choosing survival.”

“For who?” he snaps. Then softer, dangerous: “Because I can fix this.”

You shake your head. “Mattheo—”

“I’ll talk to them,” he interrupts. “I’ll prove I’m not what they think.”

“That would make it worse.”

“Then I’ll change their minds another way,” he says, eyes sharp. “I can get my name cleared. I can—”

“You can’t rewrite your blood,” you say gently. “And I won’t let you ruin yourself trying.”

That’s when something in him fractures.

His voice drops. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

“I do,” you whisper, “if it keeps you alive.”

For a moment, he looks like he might yell. Instead, he goes terrifyingly still.

“So this is it,” he says. “You’re walking away.”

“Yes.”

He stares at you like he’s memorizing your face. Then he nods once.

“Fine,” he says flatly. “If that’s what you think you have to do.”

Relief mixes with heartbreak—until he adds, quietly, “But don’t mistake my silence for acceptance.”

Your breath catches.

“I won’t chase you,” Mattheo continues. “I won’t beg. But I will fix this. And when I do—” His eyes meet yours, burning. “You won’t get to tell me it’s over.”

You step back, shaken. “Mattheo, please don’t—”

“Go,” he says gently, already closing himself off. “Before I say something that makes this harder for you.”

You leave before you can change your mind.

That night, Mattheo sits alone, knuckles white around his wand, replaying every word. He doesn’t blame you. He blames the world that decided who he was before he ever got a choice.

And if the world is the problem—

Then he’ll burn it down quietly.

For you.