Meanwhile, Ash…
Ash slipped behind the café, into a quiet garden path where rosebushes brushed against pale stone arches. The noise of the academy faded behind him, and the air here felt different. Softer. Like the world knew he needed a break.
His hands were shaking.
He clenched them. Released. Again. And again. A reflex on repeat—like his body was stuck buffering a feeling it couldn't name.
To his right, the surface of the small fountain rippled, distorting the image of the boy staring back—blank face, dull eyes.
He looked away.
He hated seeing himself like that.
Why does this feel so wrong…?
His hand rose over his heart. There was no pain. But it felt heavy, like something was sitting there, pushing down.
It was the weight of staying silent. Of walking away when everything in him wanted to stay.
The way she questioned me... it wasn't just suspicion—it felt like she was looking for answers.
And that's what scared him more than the slap or the confrontation.
