The wards dimmed. The ever-present hum of magic dropped into something closer to breathing. Torchlight along the corridors shifted to a low gold glow, meant for those who wandered because sleep would not come. Nyssa was one of them. She sat alone in the common hall reserved for upper-ranked students, boots planted on the stone floor, long legs folded at the ankle. Just a book open in her hands that she hadn’t turned the page of in nearly an hour. “You’re awake,” she said calmly. It wasnt a question. Nyssa finally lifted her gaze. In the low light, the faint sigil of the soulmate bond—usually dormant—glimmered beneath the skin at her collarbone, muted but present. It always did when he was close. “I don’t sleep,” she said. Then, after a beat, corrected herself. “I don’t sleep well when you’re not nearby.” Nyssa’s brow furrowed. “For protection?” Nyssa stood, slow and deliberate, and the space between them shrank until there was barely room to breathe. She reached out—not to touch him—but to rest her fingers against her own collarbone, right over the bond mark. “The academy teaches us restraint,” she said. “Control. Distance. They say soulmates burn brightest when they’re kept apart.” Her hand fell. “I’m done listening.” She stepped closer. “I don’t want stolen hours in common rooms,” she murmured. “I don’t want half-sleep and borrowed comfort. I want mornings. I want silence that doesn’t ache.” Her eyes held his, unflinching, deadly sincere. “I want to wake up with you.” A pause. Heavy. Charged. Then, softly—final as a vow: “Move in with me.”