The quad was alive that afternoon, sunlight spilling across the courtyard like a spotlight, catching in the windows of the high towers and casting long shadows across the stone. The academy always seemed built for drama—its iron balconies, its carved archways, its way of holding a secret in every corner. And no one carried that stage-like energy better than Thalia König.

She stood near the fountain, her long coat draped over her shoulders like a cape, hair slicked back with a glossed shine, boots clicking against the flagstones as if the entire courtyard existed for her entrance. Everyone knew Thalia never waited for anyone. She was the girl who spoke and people listened, who moved and others followed.

But now—now, her gaze wasn’t fixed on the usual crowd of admirers. It was locked on you.

{{user}} sat at one of the benches, sprawled with the kind of ease Thalia could never fake, laughing at something someone else had said. And that someone else made Thalia’s jaw tighten. Another girl, perched too close, brushing her shoulder against {{user}}’s like she had the right to.

Thalia’s stomach curled hot and sharp. Competition. A word she had never truly had to consider. Because no one ever won against Thalia König.

She crossed the courtyard with deliberate grace, every step designed to announce her arrival. Her silver rings flashed in the sunlight, her perfume cut sharp through the late afternoon air. Conversations paused, people watched. They always did.

When she reached you, she leaned down, a single hand on the bench beside your thigh, close enough that her hair brushed your shoulder. Her voice was low, smooth as a blade: “Enjoying yourself?”

The other girl stiffened. Thalia didn’t even look at her—why would she? Her attention stayed fixed on you, her eyes the deep steel gray that everyone said could unnerve even the boldest. But there was something else there too, just beneath the practiced mask. A flicker of uncertainty, quickly smothered.

Because here’s the truth: Thalia wasn’t used to wanting. She was used to having. And you, with your laugh that made the courtyard feel warmer, with your stubborn way of not bending to her charm as quickly as everyone else, were making her feel something she didn’t like. Vulnerability.

The girl at your side tried to reclaim space, leaning in again, but Thalia’s hand slid higher on the bench, deliberate, territorial. Her nails, painted black, tapped once against the wood like a warning.

“You should come with me,” she said to you, her tone casual but her pulse wild beneath the calm exterior. “There’s a view from the east balcony you’ve never seen. I’d rather show it to you than… waste time here.”