The next few days passed in a blur. Kael attended lectures, trained when his body permitted, and exchanged a few obligatory words with his classmates. Yet, nothing felt the same.

  Zaros had been right.

  Students whispered his name and pointed at him as he crossed the courtyard. Some looked at him with admiration, while others looked at him with malice. A few even tried to ask him questions, but most simply stared at him the moment he entered a room as if he were a spectacle rather than a person.

  Kael joked about it with Zaros, pretending it didn’t bother him, but that wasn't the truth.

  Being watched from every corner felt like wearing chains.

  What unsettled him even more was the silence. Liam and his friends, who were normally the first to shove or mock him, now ignored him completely. There were no threats in the corridors. No ambushes in empty classrooms. Nothing.

  It was wrong. Too quiet. Too calculated.

  Kael avoided the dark hallways anyway, knowing that Liam’s pride would not easily forget the humiliation. The fact that nothing happened only made the tension worse.

  And in class?

  He might as well have been invisible.

  Before the evaluation, he’d felt his classmates' eyes on him, mocking, judging, and calculating.

  Now, there was nothing. No hostility. No curiosity. Just absence.

  Even Cassandra, who had shown a hint of concern during his fight, didn't look at him once. She laughed with her usual entourage, her mask perfectly back in place. If she had ever worried about him, her concern vanished with the applause.

  Only Zaros remained. He was the only person Kael still spoke to.

  And yet, even that felt different.

  Zaros acted the same, with his jokes and easy smile, but sometimes his eyes carried something else. Something Kael couldn't name. Something that made his stomach tighten.

  He didn't bring it up. He couldn’t. Losing Zaros would leave him with nothing.

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  The only thing that warmed him anymore was the slow, fragile thread of contact he had with Astra. Asuma delivered Kael’s letters every evening, and for days, Astra remained silent. Then, suddenly, a short reply arrived.

  Two words. A sloppy scribble.

  But it was enough. Enough to let him breathe again.

  That morning, the sun shone cold and gentle, its warmth mingling strangely with the winter air. Kael sat on the windowsill with Ausma perched on his arm. He reread Astra’s newest reply:

  A single, almost messy "yes."

  A smile tugged at his lips.

  Ausma shook his feathers and flew out the window. Kael carefully placed Astra’s letter in the drawer with the others—small, brief answers, but precious all the same.

  His mood dimmed when he looked outside.

  Time for class.

  It had only been a week since the evaluation, and everything had changed. My body is still a mess. My so-called popularity only built new walls between me and everyone else.

  Then came the worst thought of all:

  I still don't understand Nora's lesson.

  He slowly packed his things, the pain turning every motion into a small battle, and stepped out of the dormitory. He didn’t look at the pile of letters shoved under his door. He knew they were a mix of praise, jealousy, and hate.

  He walked slowly toward the lecture hall because he could barely move any faster.

  Then he saw her.

  A tiny figure wearing a wide-brimmed hat was ahead of him.

  His breath hitched. His chest tightened.

  Lia.

  Despite the pain, he walked faster; every step burned, but he didn’t care. He stepped in front of her, blocking her path—

  —and froze.

  The girl in front of him wasn’t Lia. Wide eyes. A scared expression. And the wrong hair color.

  Kael’s shoulders sagged. His voice came out flat.

  “...Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  He turned to leave.

  But then he noticed something:

  The hat.

  A wide-brimmed hat. Beige. Worn. On the side, it was stitched in neat red thread:

  L.

  Kael’s breath caught in his throat.

  Almost without thinking, he reached out and brushed a finger over the embroidered letter.

  “Where did you get this hat?”

  The girl blinked, still startled.

  "A redheaded girl gave it to me yesterday. "She said her usual look was too noticeable and that the hat looked better on me anyway. She said I could borrow it until she wants it back. Was she your friend?”

  Kael’s chest tightened painfully.

  “No,” he whispered. "I was wrong."

  He didn’t wait for her reply. He turned and walked away faster than before, despite the stabbing pain. His thoughts spun like shards.

  She even gave away her trademark just to avoid him. I thought I understood how she felt, but I didn’t understand anything at all.

  He stood in the hallway, tilting his head back to stare at the sky through a tall window.

  How broken am I that every choice I make tears another bond apart?

  He pressed a hand against his chest.

  And every time, another piece of me shatters with it.

  Silence.

  Then, unexpectedly, he laughed under his breath.

  Weakly. Bitterly. But with a strange hint of recognition.

  "So that's it," he murmured. "That's the lesson: The complexity of connections, how easily they shift, how deeply they cut..."

  He lowered his gaze, a quiet clarity settling in.

  "Nora wanted me to see this."

  Kael turned toward the end of the hallway.

  "I guess I need to pay him a visit."