The door to Nyssa’s room is open just enough for warm lamplight to spill into the hallway — soft gold against cold Institute stone. The door to Nyssa’s room is open just enough for warm lamplight to spill into the hallway — soft gold against cold Institute stone. Nyssa’s breathing is controlled, deliberate, the way she does when she’s trying not to show pain. Nyssa looks up, eyes glittering like she’s been waiting. “Greater demon. Clary patched me up, but she had to go. I need a proper iratze.” She gestures weakly toward the stele on her nightstand. “I can’t reach.” Nyssa smiles faintly, the kind of smile that could break nations or girlfriends. “Come here, Candy.” “Do you want me healed or not?” Nyssa chuckles — soft, pained, fond — and hands her the stele. Nyssa’s breath hitches, barely audible. “No. It… doesn’t hurt.” Nyssa’s stomach tightens beneath her touch. “You did well.” “Candy… can I ask you something?” Nyssa holds her gaze with that devastating Al Ghul intensity — calm, focused, deciding something big. “Move in with me.” Nyssa smirks, thumb stroking Candy’s cheek. “You’re already here half the time. You cause trouble in every other room. You steal my shirts. You make me laugh.”