The unease in my chest wouldn’t settle.

  One thought kept circling, sharp and persistent.

  “…Connor,” I said at last. “How did you know my name? I never told you.”

  He tilted his head, mildly entertained.

  “Every mentor knows their student’s name. Mentorships are one-on-one. That’s standard.”

  I almost nodded until he continued.

  “But mentorship isn’t just data,” he said, voice lowering. “It’s compatibility. Some pairs work. Some don’t.”

  A faint smile curved his lips.

  “You and I? We’re a good match.”

  My heart dropped.

  Heat rushed to my face so fast I panicked.

  I turned away, pressing my palms to my cheeks.

  “D-don’t say things like that so casually!”

  Connor blinked, genuinely confused.

  “Like what?”

  “So… like that!” My voice cracked. “Like we’re—”

  “Oh?”

  For half a second, I was sure he knew exactly what he was doing.

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  Then he leaned back, calm as ever.

  “I meant compatibility in training,” he said. “Did you think I meant something else?”

  My face burned.

  “N-no! Of course not!”

  I hated him. I hated myself.

  I hated how he could throw words like that and sit there untouched while my thoughts unraveled.

  “Anyway,” Connor continued, smoothly shifting gears, “Exvertia is balance. Everyone has codes—traits that shape how we think, act, feel. Extraction brings them forward. Lose control, and they spiral.”

  His tone steadied.

  “That’s why mentors exist. To keep you from being consumed.”

  “I won’t let you fail, Ria.”

  The sincerity hit harder than his teasing.

  Why did it feel like I was already losing control just listening to him?

  “Exvertia isn’t raw strength,” he went on. “It’s precision. Refinement. Shape your traits—or they shape you. Without balance, you burn out. Without trust, you break.”

  I nodded, forcing myself to focus.

  He explained categories, failures, safeguards—

  Facts laced with dry humor. Ordinary instruction.

  Yet my pulse betrayed me whenever his gaze lingered.

  It wasn’t the knowledge that left me breathless.

  It was him.

  A chime rang overhead.

  “That’s enough for today,” Connor said. “Tomorrow, we start real training.”

  Tomorrow.

  The word lodged in my chest.

  The days blurred after that.

  School stopped mattering.

  Father told me to focus on Exvertia and drove me himself, like this was more important than everything else.

  One session stood out.

  The first time Connor explained soul leaks and voidfalls.

  Failures so severe they tore reality open and spilled nightmares into the world.

  Terrifying.

  And yet, the thought kept returning, quiet and stupid:

  "As long as Connor is here, I’ll be fine."

  We always trained separated by glass.

  I knew it was protocol.

  Stability first.

  Still, it frustrated me.

  His voice echoed slightly.

  His face distorted just enough to remind me of the distance.

  I wanted to hear him clearly. See him without barriers.

  Dangerous thoughts.

  When the session ended, Connor stood, unbothered as ever.

  “Later, we’ll push further.”

  He left.

  The lights dimmed. The glass remained.

  I pressed my palm against its cold surface, knowing it meant nothing.

  Tomorrow would bring ordinary things... school, classmates, maybe even the festival.

  But tonight, one truth clung to me harder than all his warnings about disasters.

  I wasn’t afraid of Exvertia or become Exvertia.

  I was afraid of how safe I felt with him on the other side of the glass.