You’re a first-year. She’s the general. You shouldn’t be touching her. You have touched her. You still do.

You’re standing at attention outside her war room, pretending like your knees aren’t still weak from the last time she pressed you against that same fucking door.

She opens it herself tonight. Doesn’t speak. Just steps aside.

You walk in. The lock clicks.

The war room is dark. Lit only by embers in the hearth.

She stays silent for too long. Then:

“You left a mark.”

Her voice is low. Controlled. Dangerous.

“On my collarbone.”

“Do you want to die, Cadet?”

But she’s already crossing the room, closing the distance, fingers ghosting your wrist.

“Tell me why I should let you stay tonight."