Chapter 68: Thorn in the Moonlight
The days that followed grew quieter—but not calmer.
Cassandra's presence was sharper now, more watched than ever. Every hallway she passed through, every training field she stepped onto, every lecture seat she occupied—Mira was somewhere nearby.
Not always seen, but felt.
Even when Mira wasn't in sight, her aura trailed like perfume behind corners, brushed against Cassandra's soul like fingertips on glass. There was no doubt.
She was still watching.
Still waiting.
Still wanting.
And Cassandra? She had no intention of flinching.
—
"You know she left flowers," Jim muttered, walking beside Karen and Leslie one morning.
Karen blinked. "What?"
"Outside Cassandra's dorm. Nightshade. A whole bundle of it. Bound with violet soul thread."
Leslie's expression turned grim. "That's not a love token. That's a message."
"A possessive one," Karen added.
Marie, overhearing, shook her head. "She's not even trying to hide it anymore."
"Because she doesn't need to," Cassandra's voice cut in from behind, her usual icy poise unwavering. "No one will stop her. Not yet."
The group turned. Cassandra stood, dressed in the standard black-and-purple academy uniform, modified with her personal sigil at the sleeve—an abstract white flame coiled in a ring of silver.
"She's testing boundaries," she continued. "But she won't cross mine again."
"Are you sure about that?" Karen asked.
Cassandra's gaze flicked toward the sky. "She doesn't understand what she's playing with."
—
That night, Cassandra felt it again—the aura. Subtle at first, then firmer. Pressing like a soft hand against her chest.
She rose from her bed without a sound.
Dressed in a long black robe, she moved to the balcony. The garden below was swathed in moonlight and mist.
Mira was there again.
This time, standing in the center of a spiral drawn in soul-chalk.
Waiting.
"You're wasting your time," Cassandra said, voice sharp and calm from above.
Mira looked up, face unreadable. "You're the only one who's ever rejected me."
"You're the only one who's ever made me consider violence for a kiss."
A beat of silence passed.
Then Mira smiled—tired, tilted, almost broken.
"I don't want your love anymore," she said.
Cassandra tilted her head. "Then what?"
"Your attention."
"You already have it," Cassandra replied. "But not in the way you want."
Mira exhaled. "I'll get it anyway. Even if it's through hate."
Cassandra's domain flickered slightly behind her, a cold ripple of Null Field leaking through her controlled aura.
"Try anything else, Mira," she said, voice like sharpened wind, "and it won't be hate you'll feel. It'll be the void."
Mira stared for a moment longer… then turned, walking slowly into the night fog.
But Cassandra didn't leave the balcony.
She stayed until dawn.
Watching.
Because now the eye that followed… wasn't just Mira's anymore.