Page 73 of Bound to the Dorm Elf
“I believe he will try,” I admit. “And I believe I will stop him.”
There’s a long pause. She nods once, decisive, like that’s enough for her. “Then we’ll stop him.”
I shouldn’t let that we settle in my chest the way it does. It’s dangerous, letting anyone share your battles like that. But I do.
The heater kicks off, leaving a soft, humming quiet in its wake. I lean back into the couch, my arm brushing hers, and let the moment breathe.
“I’ve spent my entire life,” I say after a beat, “fighting to prove I wasn’t a pawn. And now… I wonder if that’s all I’ll ever be to him. Even here.”
“You’re not to me,” she says, simple as fact.
And for some reason, that strikes deeper than any of his words did.
I turn my head, meeting her gaze. “That,” I murmur, “is the most dangerous thing you’ve ever said to me.”
She smiles faintly. “Then maybe you should get used to dangerous.”
The silence that follows isn’t empty. It’s full — of the sound of the wind outside, the faint creak of the building settling, the measured beat of her heart beside mine. And through it all, that splintered thought in my mind: Razarak will come again. And when he does, he won’t just be after me.
But maybe that’s exactly why I’ll win.
The late afternoon light spills across campus in a warm, low slant, painting the stone paths in gold and throwing long shadows from the bare winter trees. The air is cold enough to bite, but the sun softens it, a faint heat brushing over my skin in a way that feels almost… indulgent.
Skylar walks beside me, head bent over her phone, her breath puffing little clouds in the crisp air. She’s grinning at whatever nonsense Syndee’s just sent her, thumbs flying as she types something back. I watch her shoulders shake once in a short, unguarded laugh — not the polite chuckle she gives professors, not the cautious one she gives me when she’s unsure if I’m joking. This one is real. Easy.
And I realize… I like it.
I likethis— the quiet stretch of sidewalk between buildings, the soft hum of distant voices from other students, the faint rustle of wind through branches. No shouts, no clash of steel, no sudden flare of magic burning the air. Protheka feels far away, like another lifetime instead of just months ago.
She glances up at me when she notices I’ve gone silent. “What?”
“Nothing.”
She tilts her head, skeptical. “You’re staring.”
“Observing,” I correct, deadpan. “There’s a difference.”
Her lips twitch. “Uh-huh. And what exactly are you observing?”
“That you laugh differently when it’s genuine,” I say without thinking. “You crinkle your nose.”
She blinks at me, caught off guard. “Younoticedthat?”
I arch a brow. “I notice everything.”
For a second, she’s quiet — not the defensive kind of quiet, but that soft, startled sort, like she’s filing away my words somewhere.
We pass the quad, now just an ordinary stretch of frost-bitten grass and worn walkways. No scorch marks. No cracks in the earth from a blade driven deep. The city maintenance crews worked fast, erasing the signs of battle like they were just graffiti to scrub off.
It should bother me — the ease with which this world forgets what’s dangerous. But right now, I’m grateful for it. Let them keep their illusions. Let them believe their campus is safe.
“You’re in a mood,” Skylar says finally, falling into step a little closer than before.
“Am I?”
“Yeah. You’ve got that…” She searches for the word, making a vague gesture. “…settled look. Which is creepy, coming from you.”
I almost laugh. Almost. “Maybe I am settled.”
