You and Mattheo had claimed your favourite corner of the sofa and were snuggled up together under a blanket. His hand rested lazily against your waist, his thumb tracing soft circles.

“I should be studying,” you murmured, your eyes closed and your cheek pressed against his chest.

“You should be right here,” Mattheo countered. “Books don’t laugh at my terrible jokes, and books don’t kiss me goodnight.”

You laughed softly, tilting your head back to look at him. “Who says I laugh at your terrible jokes?”

The corner of his mouth curled upwards. “You always do.” His lips brushed your forehead gently. For a moment, you were surrounded only by him, his scent of smoke and spice, his steady heartbeat beneath your ear, and the knowledge that he was entirely yours.

What you couldn’t see was the figure lurking in the shadows.

Tom leaned against the wall in silence, watching. His eyes were fixed on you with an almost inhuman focus. He didn’t look at Mattheo... only at you.

The way your eyes crinkled when you laughed. The softness of your voice when you teased. Those small, unguarded gestures, like resting your hand lightly on Mattheo’s chest or tugging absentmindedly at the sleeve of his shirt, as though tethering him to you.

He catalogued every detail.

Oblivious to his brother’s presence, Mattheo trailed his fingers along your jaw and whispered, “Stay with me tonight. Don’t go back upstairs yet. I like having you close.”

You smiled and nodded, tucking yourself deeper into his embrace. “I like it too.”

Tom’s lips twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. His hand slowly curled into a fist, his nails pressing into his palm. He had spent weeks memorising your routines: the way you lingered in the library after class, the shortcut you took through the courtyard, and the rhythm of your footsteps echoing down the stone halls of the dungeons. You never noticed him. You never turned to sense a presence that shouldn’t have been there.

And why would you? Mattheo made you feel safe.

From his corner, Tom tilted his head slightly, his eyes glinting with an unreadable expression. To him, Mattheo was just a temporary presence. Mattheo was reckless and careless. He couldn’t protect you. Not like Tom could.

Your laughter drifted across the common room again and Tom closed his eyes briefly, committing the sound to memory.

Neither of you saw Tom’s figure slip away silently. When you stirred against Mattheo and whispered, “Did you hear that?” he only kissed the top of your head and said, “It’s nothing. Don’t worry.”

And you believed him.

Not knowing that somewhere in the castle, someone else was already planning the next time he’d watch you.