Chapter 32: Chapter 33: What if I can’t?
Nyx
Mr. Asher didn’t even let me finish the sentence.
A single dismissive flick of his wrist...casual, almost bored...cut me off mid-breath.
"Enough," he said. "Return to the Red dorm. Immediately."
Just like that.
No discussion. No negotiation. No pretense of consideration.
When I opened my mouth to argue, because of course I opened my mouth, he lifted one finger in warning.
"Continue this," he said, voice low and final, "and you will earn punishment... and still... you will return to the Red dorm. The outcome does not change."
I stared at him.
The logic refused to compute.
Punish me for asking, still force me to live with my enemy.
Don’t punish me, still force me to live with my enemy.
What kind of Kafkaesque nonsense was this academy running on?
I felt heat crawl up my throat. My hands curled into fists so tight my nails bit half-moons into my palms.
He really thought I would just... nod?
Turn around?
Accept this?
He clearly had no idea who he was dealing with.
Mr. Asher might be stone. But I was wildfire.
So instead of walking back to the Red dorm like an obedient little student, I strode out of his office, spun on my heel, and planted myself directly outside his door, back flat against the opposite wall, arms crossed, chin high.
If he wanted to play immovable object, fine. I’d be the even more immovable disaster.
But the moment I settled in, my gaze snagged on something that turned irritation into full-blown, skin-crawling rage.
Thorne.
Already there.
Leaning against the wall few feet away like he’d been carved from the shadows and placed there on purpose.
Arms folded. Expression unreadable. Posture relaxed in that infuriating way that made it look like the entire hallway belonged to him.
My brows slammed together so hard I felt the ache in my forehead.
Was he following me now?
Was this his new hobby, stalking me through administrative hallways like some brooding, oversized guard dog?
I deliberately crossed to the farthest possible point from him. If the corridor had been twice as wide I would have backed into the opposite wall entirely.
As it was, I settled for maximum legal distance and glared at the peeling paint like it had personally offended me.
Thorne didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
He just... watched.
Minutes dragged.
The silence between us thickened until it felt like breathing through wet cloth.
I tried, genuinely tried, to ignore him.
I counted cracks in the floor tiles. I traced water stains on the ceiling..I recited every curse word I knew in three languages.
But the weight of his stare never lifted.
Finally...inevitably... my patience cracked like dry ice.
"Why are you following me?" I snapped, whipping my head toward him.
Thorne didn’t flinch.
He simply lifted one dark brow in that maddeningly slow way of his.
"Do you own this hallway?" he asked, voice cool and edged. "Do I need a written invitation to stand in it?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
I was speechless. Flabbergasted
Utterly, humiliatingly speechless.
I had braced for a dozen possibilities
An apology... unlikely
An explanation... even less likely
A smirk. A taunt. A cruel joke.
But this...this casual, dismissive deflection, as though I was the unreasonable one for questioning his presence, lit something vicious inside my chest.
Right then I decided, with the kind of cold, irrevocable clarity usually reserved for blood oaths:
There was no way in universe.... none.... in which I would share oxygen, let alone a dorm room, with this arrogant, self-righteous, human-wolf-blooded ass.
I turned my face away and mentally added three new creative insults to the list already running on loop while pretending to ignore his existence.
Useless idiot.
Minutes passed.
Then more minutes
Time crawled.
The hallway lights buzzed faintly overhead, the only sound besides my own angry heartbeat.
Still, neither of us moved.
Nearly two hours later, By that time, I had given up standing. My legs had officially decided they were no longer interested in cooperating with me.
My thighs burning, I finally gave up standing and slid down the wall until I sat on the cold tile, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them like armor.
When Mr. Asher’s door finally creaked open, I scrambled to my feet so fast black spots danced across my vision.
He stepped into the hallway and froze.
His gaze dropped to me, disheveled, clearly not where I was supposed to be.
Mr. Asher’s brows drew into a deep, irritated V.
"Why," he asked with dangerous calm, "are you still here?"
I spoke before Thorne could.
"I’m not going back to that dorm," I said. My voice shook... not from fear, but from the sheer force of everything I was holding back. "I won’t share a room with him."
I jabbed a finger toward Thorne without looking at him.
Only then did Mr. Asher seem to fully register that Thorne had been standing vigil the entire time.
I almost admired Thorne’s patience.
He had been standing for nearly two hours.
Sure, his back had been resting against the wall, but still. That kind of endurance was probably thanks to his wolf.
Yeah it can be said I was jealous of that and truly I was
Mr Asher studied Thorne for a long moment.
"And you are?"
"Thorne Corvin," came the quiet, even answer.
Mr. Asher exhaled through his nose.
"Thorne. Why are you still here?"
A beat of silence.
Then Thorne spoke, carefully, almost reluctantly.
"I came to ask if there was any way to change dorms." He inclined his head toward me without quite meeting my eyes. "She can have the Red room. I’ll go wherever you put me."
The words landed like a slap.
I didn’t need his pity. I didn’t need his sacrifice. I didn’t need him playing martyr after everything he’d already done.
"I’ll leave," I cut in before Mr. Asher could respond. "Give him the room. I don’t care where I go."
Mr. Asher’s expression flattened into something dangerously close to exhaustion.
"I don’t know what blood feud or childhood trauma or gods-forsaken drama exists between the two of you," he said, folding his arms, "and frankly, I have no interest in learning."
His voice hardened.
"But neither of you is changing dorms."
"What?" I protested. "Why? I’m sure someone else would gladly switch dorms with me!"
I tried to say it confidently, like I had already made the decision.
But even to my own ears, it sounded more like a stubborn tantrum than a logical argument.
"Nyx!."
One word.
Sharp enough to slice through every protest I had left.
He waited until I met his eyes.
"Do you have any idea why I placed you in Red?" he asked.
I shook my head, slow, numb.
"Because I saw something in you," he said quietly. "Potential. Raw. Unpolished. Dangerous, maybe. But real."
His gaze never wavered.
"I believe, if you can learn discipline, if you can learn to master yourself instead of letting yourself be mastered by anger, you could become extraordinary."
Then his voice dropped, edged with something heavier.
"I do not believe that extraordinary future includes holding onto childish grudges against the man who took ten lashes across his back to keep you alive."
My lungs forgot how to work.
Ten lashes.
Of course I remembered but it isn’t enough to settle the feud between Thorne and Me
The hallway seemed to tilt.
I flicked my eyes toward Thorne, really looked at him, for the first time since we’d been standing here.
He hadn’t reacted.
Hadn’t moved.
But now that I was paying attention, I saw it: the faint tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders sat just a fraction too rigid, the careful way he held himself like something still hurt.
Mr. Asher wasn’t finished.
"I don’t know what he did to you before today," he continued. "I don’t need to know. What I do know is what he did on that field."
His tone turned to iron.
"So you will learn to coexist with him."
My throat closed.
"What if I can’t?" The words came out small. Broken. Barely audible.
And then...to my everlasting horror... hot tears spilled over without permission.
I don’t like cry.
Not in public.
Not in front of strangers.
Especially not in front of Thorne.
But the pressure behind my ribs had finally ruptured.
Because everyone kept looking at me like I was the villain here. Like I was cruel, ungrateful, small.
They didn’t understand.
They didn’t know what it felt like to be torn open by someone, stitched back together with barbed wire, and then told to smile and share a bedroom with the same pair of hands that had done both.
Thorne bit first.
And only offered the salve after he saw you bleeding.
Mr. Asher stepped forward and pressed a folded handkerchief into my shaking fingers.
His voice dropped, almost gentle.
"I can see he wounded you deeply," he said. "Deeply enough to make you weep."
He let the silence sit for a heartbeat.
"But the rules exist for a reason. You cannot change dorms for one full year." He paused then continue
"Assuming either of you survives that long."
My heart stuttered.
"So if you truly want out of the Red dorm," he finished, "survive the year first."
I pressed the cloth to my eyes.
Swallowed once. Twice.
"So there’s nothing I can do?" I whispered.
"Nothing."
One syllable.
Final.
I lowered the handkerchief.
"Okay," I said softly.
Then I turned.
And walked away.
No dramatic exit.
No parting shot.
Just the sound of my boots echoing down the corridor and the knowledge burning behind my ribs:
The only way out of this cage was through twelve months of hell with Thorne Corvin five feet away.
A lot could happen in one year.
People could break.
People could change.
People could die.
But one thing was certain.
No matter what it cost me, no matter how much blood, pride, or tears it took
I would survive.
I would walk out of the Red dorm.
And I would never look back.
