Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Havannah
The arrival terminal smelled like cinnamon pretzels, burnt coffee, and expensive regret. Everyone was either reuniting, breaking up, or dragging a suitcase that looked like it had seen war.
And then there was me—standing there with my backpack cutting into my shoulder, my hair doing whatever it wanted after a day of humidity and spite, and my heart basically doing cartwheels.
Because I spotted him.
I always did.
Leander didn’t blend into a crowd. He was too tall for that, too broad-shouldered, too… him. Platinum hair loose and wavy, falling past his shoulders like he’d never once struggled with a cheap conditioner in his life. Hands in his pockets. Posture calm. Face unreadable to everyone else.
But I knew his face.
The second his eyes met mine, it changed.
Not dramatically. Not like a movie. Just that tiny softening around his mouth. The micro-shift in his gaze that meant: There you are.
My feet moved before my brain finished forming a sentence.
I walked fast. Then faster. Then I gave up on dignity entirely.
“Baby!” I called, half laughing, half breathless, and I launched myself at him.
He caught me like he’d been waiting for it—arms around my waist, lifting me clean off the ground like I weighed nothing. My legs dangled for a second before he set me down carefully like I was something precious, like he was placing me back into the world exactly where he wanted me.
His hands stayed on my hips. His eyes dipped to my face, that blue so sharp it still didn’t feel real.
“There’s my girl,” he murmured, and he smiled—small, private, like he didn’t waste them on the public.
My whole chest went warm.
“I missed you,” I said, and I meant it in the embarrassing, full-body way. “I spent two months with my family and still somehow managed to miss you more than I missed air.”
His thumb brushed my hip through my clothes, affectionate and absent-minded, like he couldn’t help himself. “You breathe just fine without me.”
“That’s a lie and you know it.”
He leaned down and kissed me, not rushed, not showy—just a soft press that made my brain go quiet for a second. When he pulled back, his forehead touched mine.
“You look beautiful,” he said, like it was the easiest fact in the world.
I snorted. “I look like a confused raccoon. Be serious.”
His eyes flicked over my face with that focused attention that always made me feel seen. “You look like Havannah.”
“That wasn’t the compliment you think it was,” I told him, grinning.
He huffed a laugh under his breath. “It was exactly the compliment I think it was.”
And then, like the world was determined to test him, someone bumped into me with a rolling suitcase.
“Watch it,” the guy muttered, not even looking.
Leander’s entire demeanor shifted without him moving an inch.
He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t posture. He just turned his head slightly and looked at the guy like he’d just considered turning his luggage into kindling.
The man’s face changed instantly. “Sorry,” he said, suddenly very polite, and hurried off.
I blinked up at Leander.
He looked back at me like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t just chilled the air around us with a glance.
“You okay?” he asked, hand sliding up to my lower back.
I laughed, a little helpless. “You’re insane.”
His mouth twitched. “Only for you.”
There he was.
My Land. My Leander. The boy who treated me like I was his favorite thing on earth and everyone else like a background detail.
I relaxed into him, my hands going up around his neck automatically. “Okay,” I said, voice dropping into something sweet. “Carry my bag and tell me you missed me.”
He scooped up my backpack without complaint, slung it over his shoulder like it weighed nothing, and leaned in close to my ear.
“I missed you, too” he said, low and sincere. “I hated being away from you.”
I exhaled, smiling like an idiot. “Good. As you should.”
He kissed my temple. “Princess.”
My heart did that stupid little flip it always did when he said that word, because he didn’t say it like a joke. He said it like a promise. Like my comfort was his job and he took it seriously.
We started walking, his hand resting at my waist, guiding me through the crowd like it was instinct. I kept talking—because I talk when I’m happy and I was overflowing with it.
“I have to warn you,” I told him. “I am entering our final year in full menace mode. I plan to be insufferable. I plan to remind everyone we are top of our class. I plan to casually mention it in conversation like, ‘Oh, did you know I can draw a triple-bind lattice without lifting my chalk? Anyway, can you pass the salt?’”
He laughed, real and warm. “You already do that.”
“That is slander.”
“It’s not slander if it’s true.” His eyes dipped to my mouth again, like he was fighting the urge to kiss me in the middle of the terminal. He did anyway—quick, soft, like he couldn’t resist.
I was smiling when I reached for his arm.
Not his hand. Not his waist. Just his forearm—where his sleeve sat slightly pushed up from carrying my bag.
My fingertips barely brushed the fabric.
Leander jerked away like I’d shocked him.
Fast. Sharp. Immediate.
My hand fell back to my side in confusion.
His voice dropped low, rough with something that did not belong here.
“Don’t start.”
I froze.
For a full second, I just stared at him like my brain needed time to catch up.
“Don’t start what?” I asked, still smiling because I assumed—assumed—this was a weird joke.
But his eyes were hard. Not angry. Not annoyed.
Guarded.
The softness from two seconds ago was gone like he’d shut a door.
My stomach tightened.
“Leander,” I said quietly, my voice switching into that calm, careful tone I used when something didn’t add up. “What was that?”
He blinked once, like he realized how it sounded. His jaw tightened.
“Nothing,” he said.
“That’s not an answer.”
His gaze flicked around us, the crowd, the noise, the cameras, the security. Then back to me. “Van—”
“Don’t ‘Van’ me like that fixes it,” I cut in, not loud, but sharp enough that he heard it. “You were just kissing me and calling me princess, and now you’re acting like I tried to grab a live wire.”
A muscle in his cheek jumped.
“I’m tired,” he said.
“You’re always tired. That’s not new.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, warning. “Not here.”
I stared at him for a beat, my pulse thudding. Then I took a breath and forced my shoulders to relax.
Because I refused to fight in the middle of a human airport like we were some messy couple on a reality show.
“Fine,” I said, voice lightening on purpose. “Not here.”
His expression eased by half a fraction, like he’d been bracing for me to push harder.
I did push—just differently.
I stepped in close, sweetening my tone, letting my hand settle on his chest instead of his arm. “But you’re not allowed to get weird and mean, okay? You don’t get to snap at me and then pretend it’s fine.”
His gaze softened a little at the contact. He swallowed.
“It’s not you,” he said, quieter.
That didn’t help.
Because if it wasn’t me… then it was something else.
Something he didn’t want to tell me.
“Okay,” I said softly. “Then what is it?”
His eyes flicked away. “Family stuff.”
There it was.
The first excuse.
The one that sounded real enough that I couldn’t call it a lie without proof.
I stared at him. “You’ve never used ‘family stuff’ as a shield with me before.”
His mouth tightened. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I held his gaze. “You don’t want to talk about it here, or you don’t want to talk about it at all?”
His eyes darkened, and for a second I saw something behind them that looked like panic trying to get out.
He leaned closer, voice low. “Van. Drop it.”
It wasn’t cruel.
But it wasn’t kind either.
And it landed wrong.
I swallowed. “Okay.”
I watched his face, waited for the apology. For the softening. For the little touch that always came when he realized he’d stepped too hard.
He didn’t give it.
He just adjusted the strap of my backpack on his shoulder and started walking again, like momentum could drag us away from the moment.
I followed, because what else could I do?
We moved through the airport—through signs and lines and people who didn’t know the world had a hidden college tucked behind wards and old rules. Leander stayed close to me, guiding me, paying for my coffee without asking, sliding my suitcase out of someone’s way with a gentle hand.
He was still sweet in the small ways. Still attentive. Still taking care of me.
But there was tension in him now that didn’t fit.
Every few minutes, his gaze dropped to his forearm.
Like he was checking something.
Like he was making sure it stayed covered.
I tried to pretend I didn’t notice.
I even tried to talk him back into himself.
“So,” I said, forcing a smile as we passed a kiosk, “do you think if I accidentally set Professor Wren’s lectern on fire in the first week, she’ll respect me more or less?”
His lips twitched. “Less.”
“Wrong. She respects power.”
“She respects control.”
“Rude,” I muttered. “I am the picture of control.”
Leander huffed a quiet laugh, and for a split second his eyes softened again.
I clung to it.
But then his gaze dropped to his arm again.
And my patience—my sweet, careful patience—hit a limit.
I slowed just slightly, keeping my voice gentle. “Why do you keep looking at your arm?”
Leander stopped.
The air around him tightened like a cord.
He turned his head toward me slowly, and the look in his eyes made my skin go cold.
“What?” he said.
I lifted my brows, keeping my tone light like I wasn’t suddenly very aware of how fast my heart was beating. “Your arm. You’ve checked it like twelve times. Either you got a tattoo and you’re being dramatic about it, or you’re hiding something.”
His jaw flexed.
He tugged his sleeve down an extra inch.
My eyes tracked the movement automatically.
“Land,” I said, softer now, because the defensiveness in him was getting sharp. “Talk to me.”
His voice went low. “It’s nothing.”
“Then show me.”
“No.”
That single word—flat, final—hit me harder than I expected.
I blinked. “Why?”
His eyes flashed. “Because it’s not something you need to worry about.”
“I decide what I need to worry about,” I shot back, my sweetness thinning around the edges. “Not you.”
His gaze cut to the side, scanning the corridor like he hated that we were having this conversation here.
Then he looked back at me, and his voice dropped into something colder.
“It’s nothing that concerns you.”
I stared at him.
Actually stared.
Because that wasn’t just defensive. That was a line drawn in stone.
And Leander didn’t draw lines between us.
Not like that.
My throat tightened, but I refused to let my voice shake. “Excuse me?”
His nostrils flared. “Van—”
“No,” I said, stepping closer, the humor gone now, replaced by something sharper and very awake. “You don’t get to talk to me like that. Not after three and a half years of me trusting you with every part of me.”
His eyes flicked to my face, and I saw it again—fear.
I swallowed hard. “What is happening?”
He didn’t answer.
He just tugged his sleeve down again like it was a reflex.
My voice went quieter, but it was steady. “You’re acting like you’re afraid I’m going to find out something you don’t want me to know.”
His gaze locked on mine, and for a second I thought he might tell me.
He didn’t.
He took a slow breath and made his voice smooth, controlled—like he was rebuilding the wall brick by brick.
“We need to get to the entry corridor,” he said. “We’ll talk later.”
Later.
Always later.
I stared at him for a beat, then nodded once.
“Fine,” I said, forcing calm back into my tone. “Later.”
I turned and started walking again, because if I stayed still, I was going to start shaking from adrenaline and anger and the sudden, heavy realization that something in my life had shifted.
Leander fell into step beside me immediately, close enough that his shoulder brushed mine like he was trying to reassure himself I was still there.
He guided me through the last stretch of the airport without another word, his hand hovering at my lower back without touching.
Like he wanted to.
Like he couldn’t.
We reached the unmarked service doors—plain metal, nothing special, guarded by nothing a human could see. Just a quiet corridor that looked like it led to storage rooms and janitor closets.
The Veil entrance.
My skin prickled the closer we got, the ward-lattice recognizing me, welcoming me.
It should’ve felt like relief.
Instead, it felt like stepping toward a question with teeth.
Leander’s gaze dropped to his forearm again.
His sleeve shifted.
And under it—just once—his arm jerked like something inside him had twitched awake.
Like it recognized where we were.
Like it had been waiting for this.
I stopped breathing for a second.
Leander’s eyes snapped to mine, sharp and warning.
“Don’t start,” he said again, quieter this time—almost not anger at all.
Almost… a plea.
I held his gaze, my suspicion solidifying into something cold and precise.
“I’m not starting,” I whispered back, voice sweet on purpose, because I refused to give him panic when he was already drowning in it.
“But I am absolutely paying attention.”
And as we stepped into the corridor where the Veil began to thin and the wards started to hum, Leander’s forearm twitched again under his sleeve—harder this time—
like whatever was hiding there had just come home.
