The Invitation

The first time Aelys saw Professor Evander Wolfe, he was breaking a student apart with nothing but his voice.

It wasn't the volume that did it—he never raised his voice. It was the precision. The way each syllable was a scalpel, peeling back layers of pretense until the boy before him, some overconfident philosophy major, was left floundering in the silence of his own inadequacy.

Aelys watched from the back of the hall, where the shadows pooled near the antique bookshelves. There were no windows in Ravensgate University's lecture halls. The only light came from the golden glow of the chandeliers, glinting against the polished mahogany desks, throwing half the room into darkness.

"Pathetic," Evander murmured, tapping his fingers once against the desk before rising to his full height. He was tall, broad-shouldered beneath the dark fabric of his waistcoat, his hair a storm-black mess of ink and silver. His gray eyes, sharp as a blade, scanned the students with an almost lazy disinterest.

"Let this be a lesson," he continued. "You are not here to impress me. You are here to prove you deserve to be here at all."

The boy—she hadn't bothered to learn his name—stammered something incoherent before retreating to his seat. Aelys smirked. Weak.

Evander's gaze flickered to her then. Just for a second.

The air in the room shifted.

It was nothing, really. A glance, a moment of nothing more than detached curiosity, and yet, Aelys felt the weight of it like a brand against her skin. He had noticed her.

The moment passed. He turned away.

She exhaled slowly, rolling her pen between her fingers, pulse thrumming just a little too fast. Interesting.

The next time she saw him, it wasn't in the lecture hall.

It was in the library. Past midnight.

She wasn't supposed to be there, but Ravensgate had a way of bending rules for those who didn't care about them.

The university's restricted archives were housed beneath the main library, locked behind wrought-iron gates and surveillance cameras. The kind of place that whispered secrets. The kind of place that drew her like gravity.

Aelys had slipped inside, quiet as breath, fingers skimming the spines of old tomes, searching for something she wasn't sure existed. A name. A reference. Anything to prove that the rumors were true. That there was more to The Ivory Pact than drunken speculation and elitist initiation games.

She found the book on the highest shelf, bound in cracked leather.

"Step away from that."

She froze.

That voice.

Low. Smooth. Sharpened with amusement.

She turned, pulse spiking, to find Evander Wolfe leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. His waistcoat was unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to his forearms.

He looked wholly unimpressed.

"You're not supposed to be here," she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

His lips curled. "And yet, here I am. Just like you."

Aelys swallowed. Fuck.

Evander stepped forward, slow and deliberate, the soft click of his shoes against the marble floor filling the silence between them. The way he moved—fluid, effortless—felt more like a predator closing in than a professor reprimanding a student.

He stopped just short of her, gaze dropping to the book still clutched between her fingers. "Do you even know what you're holding?"

Aelys tightened her grip on the leather-bound volume. "Should I?"

His expression darkened with something unreadable. "Not yet."

The way he said it sent a thrill through her—an unspoken promise, or maybe a warning. Her heart pounded against her ribs.

Evander reached out, brushing the tip of one finger against the spine of the book. His touch didn't quite meet hers, but it was close enough that she felt the heat of it, close enough that it sent a sharp pulse of awareness through her veins.

He smirked. "Curiosity can be dangerous, Miss Aelys."

She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with unwavering defiance. "Then I suppose I'm in the right place."

Something flickered in his eyes. Amusement. Approval. A challenge.

Then, just as quickly, he stepped back. "Put the book back," he said, turning toward the door. "And if you're going to break the rules, at least learn how to do it properly."

And with that, he was gone.

The door had barely clicked shut when she heard it.

Footsteps. Heavy. Not his.

A flashlight beam swept through the space she had occupied moments ago. Security.

Her breath caught, fingers pressing the book shut. Shit.

Without thinking, she turned toward the shadows at the far end of the library, slipping between the shelves just as the guard's boots echoed closer. She pressed herself against the bookcase, heart hammering against her ribs.

The footsteps paused.

Then—another sound. Soft, just beside her. A whisper of breath against her ear.

She barely had time to react before a hand closed around her wrist, pulling her deeper into the dark.

The grip was firm, but not forceful. A familiar scent—cedarwood and ink.

Evander.

Her body tensed as his fingers pressed against her wrist, not restraining, but testing.

His breath was warm at her ear. "Still think you're in the right place?" His voice was quieter now, laced with something dangerous.

Her pulse thundered. She should pull away. She should run.

But she didn't.

His hand loosened just slightly, giving her the chance to move. She stayed.

Evander's smirk was all shadow. "Good girl."