Ezra moved swiftly across the rooftop, leaping effortlessly from building to building, the cool night air rushing past his skin. His movements were instinctive, practiced—silent as a shadow against the dim glow of the academy lights.
Finding an unlocked window, he slipped inside.
The room was dimly lit, bathed in a soft, golden glow from a single lamp on the far desk. Everything was arranged with meticulous precision—nothing out of place.
The bed was neatly made, the desk organized to perfection, books stacked at exact angles, and even the floor mat positioned with deliberate care.
It was immaculate. Almost unnervingly so.
Ezra's gaze swept across the space, taking in the details. The room was large, more spacious than he had expected, with high ceilings and an air of quiet sophistication. Against the far wall stood a sleek, black piano, its surface polished to perfection.
For a moment, it seemed as if the room was empty.
But then—
The soft sound of approaching footsteps.
Ezra barely had time to react before the door handle turned, the hinges whispering as it opened.
Without thinking, he dropped low, slipping under the bed in one fluid motion. His breath came shallow, controlled, as he pressed himself against the cool floorboards, heart hammering in his chest.
The door clicked shut.
A pair of footsteps moved across the room—deliberate, unhurried. The weight of them was different. One heavier, slow and firm. The other light, graceful, yet somehow carrying an undercurrent of tension.
Ezra kept his breathing steady, ears straining.
Then—a voice.
"Oh, my dear brother," it purred. "Stirring up trouble in Blackspire already?"
It was like silk draped over a knife. Smooth, refined, and unnervingly pleasant.
Ezra tensed.
The owner of the voice continued with mock sweetness. "Getting into an altercation with a child of Vale, no less. Did you think I wouldn't hear? I have eyes, little brother. Everywhere."
The words dripped with mock sweetness, a delicate veneer stretched over something far more sinister. Amusement—yes—but also control. Possession.
Ezra barely dared to shift as he caught the faint rustle of fabric. A chair scraped softly against the floor as one of them—the one who had spoken—took a seat.
"You disappoint me," the voice continued smoothly, still light, still playful. "I thought you'd learned by now."
A second voice, quieter, barely above a breath. "I haven't done anything."
Ezra knew that voice.
A sigh.
A slow, disappointed sigh.
"Lying? Really, Cassian?"
Ezra stiffened.
A faint clink of metal.
Silence.
Then—
Crack.
A sharp, clean sound. Ezra flinched. It echoed across the room like a gunshot.
Cassian didn't react. Not a flinch. Not a word.
Another strike.
Still nothing.
Ezra's heart pounded. He could hear every breath in the room—Cassian's even, Alistair's slower… like he was savoring the moment.
"You never learn, do you?" Alistair whispered. "When you step out of line, I remind you where you belong. You should thank me."
Another hit—harder this time. Ezra had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from reacting.
Ezra's stomach churned.
"I told you before," the first voice murmured. "Your actions reflect on the family. On me. What will dear Father say when he hears you've been acting out of line?"
A pause. A subtle change in tone, still playful, but now razor-sharp.
"And when you step out of line, dear brother, you know how this goes."
Silence.
Then—the sharp crack of something striking flesh.
Ezra flinched before he could stop himself, fingers digging into the floor. But the reaction didn't come from Cassian. No sound. No flinch. Nothing.
Another strike.
Still, no reaction.
"Always so stubborn."
The voice was almost affectionate, but beneath it lay something colder—ownership. Like a master and his hound.
"But I have all night, little brother. Didn't I tell you to stay away from the Duskborn?"
Another crack.
This time, Cassian exhaled, just barely.
Still, he hadn't made a sound.
Ezra could only hear his breathing—calm, measured, controlled, like someone who had practiced this for years.
The first voice let out a small, satisfied sigh.
"That wasn't so difficult, was it, little brother? I'm doing this because I love you. I want the best for you. Family comes first, understand?"
"Yes," Cassian murmured.
"Good boy," the voice praised, the teasing lilt returning, but Ezra could hear the warning beneath it. "Now fix this mess you've made. And remember, little brother… you belong to me before anything else."
A long silence.
Then—Cassian's voice. Low. Quiet.
"Yes, Alistair."
Ezra's heartbeat roared in his ears as Alistair moved. The chair scraped against the floor as he stood, the soft click of polished shoes approaching the door. A gloved hand rested briefly on Cassian's shoulder.
"The Ember Games are a day away, brother. We will all be watching. Do not disappoint us."
He stopped, as if considering something, then added, almost lazily,
"You should be grateful, after all out of all our siblings… I'm the kindest."