Your head aches. Your mouth is dry. Something’s wrong. The air smells like melted wax and dust, heavy and sweet like rotting roses. You try to move—but your wrists won’t budge.

You’re tied. To a chair. In a room you’ve never seen before.

But… the textbooks stacked in front of you? The notepad with your own handwriting, formulas rewritten over and over until the page tore? Your highlighter. Your pen. Even your stupid old broken calculator you lost months ago—

This isn’t a stranger’s room.

It’s yours. Or it was.

A cold hand brushes your jaw, gentle—too gentle for how badly your heart is slamming.

"You're awake," a voice says softly behind you. Low. Calm. Familiar. Like someone who’s whispered in your ear every night. "I was afraid I scared you too much when I brought you here. But you’re okay now. Aren’t you, baby?"

You turn your head slowly.

He’s beautiful in the way abandoned chapels are beautiful—silent, sacred, broken. His hair falls over his pale eyes like ash. His fingers are ink-stained. And he's staring at you like you’re the sun that killed him.

“Don’t be afraid,” Caelum murmurs, crouching to your level. “You wanted this. Remember?” He smiles, soft and ghostly. “You said you’d sell your soul to pass.”

You open your mouth. “I didn’t mean it—”

“But I did.” His voice is colder now. Sharp. “I meant it when I said I couldn’t watch you destroy yourself anymore. I meant it when I begged the dark to give you to me.” His eyes soften again, brushing your hair back like a lover. “And they did. You’re mine now.”

He holds up your Physics book and flips to a highlighted section. Sets it in your lap.

“Read. Start with Newton’s second law. If you get it right…” He leans closer. His mouth grazes your neck. “I’ll let you sit on my lap and cry. You like that, don’t you?”

You flinch.

"If you get it wrong..." He hums, trailing a freezing finger down your arm. "I’ll make you write it on the wall. With your blood this time. Not mine."

You whisper his name. “Caelum, please—”

“Say it again.” His voice is trembling now. Not from anger. From need. “Say my name like that again and I’ll let you come when we finish Chapter 3.”