Chapter 69
We walked further into the forest, where I walked him through the attack-explaining how the woman had used illusion magic to twist the alleyway before we reached the clearing where Lucien had taken the hit.
Once there, we inspected the clearings.
Or rather, Rhaevan inspected while I wandered around trying to look useful and intellectually involved in the investigation-despite contributing absolutely nothing beyond emotional support and occasional dramatic staring.
Which, in my opinion, should still count as active participation.
Honestly, I had always wanted to say the phrase crime scene investigation at least once in my life, so technically this entire ordeal was fulfilling a very specific personal goal. Unfortunately, reality was significantly less glamorous than I had envisioned.
Rhaevan inspected everything. He crouched near the disturbed soil with absolute focus, one hand hovering inches above the dirt while faint threads of silver magic wove through his fingers, searching the air like invisible strands.
It was annoyingly impressive.
And because I apparently possessed zero self-preservation instincts around attractive men using magic professionally, I found myself crouching nearby, pretending to examine a pinecone while stealing glances at him every few seconds.
Which-in hindsight-may have been slightly obvious.
Looking at him now-calm, focused, and frustratingly composed-I realized we had barely spoken since the rescue. He seemed... different. Quieter. Distant, almost.
The last time I had nearly gotten myself killed by making terrible decisions, he had practically exploded-yelling at me, lashing out, acting as though my recklessness was personally shortening his lifespan.
But this time? Nothing. No anger. No scolding. No banter at all.
Naturally, my brain immediately launched into a full emotional overanalysis.
Was he becoming indifferent? Was he relieved it had been me kidnapped instead of Lysenne?
Was he angry I nearly got Lucien killed?
Did he regret bringing me here? Did he think I was too unstable to help?
Was he planning to give up on training me altogether because my magic behaved less like an elegant power and more like an emotionally compromised natural disaster?
Why did he hide everything from me? Why did he try to protect me? Was it just sheer obligation?
"Cassie?"
I blinked. "...Hm?"
"Cassiane?"
Oh no.
I looked up properly, only to realize Rhaevan was staring directly at me, one eyebrow raised in mild concern.
"You've been staring," he said calmly. "I was beginning to get concerned."
My soul nearly left my body.
During my deeply unnecessary internal crisis, I had forgotten to stop visibly gawking at him like a sleep-deprived woodland creature. Worse-I felt a horrifyingly suspicious trace of drool at the corner of my mouth.
Shit. No. No, no, no.
This could not be how I died. Think, Cassiane. Quickly.
"Did you find something?" I asked immediately, aggressively pretending I hadn't just been daydreaming about his character flaws.
Rhaevan held my gaze for one long, excruciating second with an expression that clearly said he did not believe me in the slightest. Then, mercifully, he let it go.
"No," he said, straightening up. "We've swept the clearing several times since the attack. Whoever organized this scrubbed the lingering mana traces carefully. They were thorough."
"Aah." I stood up, dusting off my hands. "Right. Professional criminals. How inconveniently competent."
We made our way back toward the Magic Tower after that, teleportation unfortunately included. Once again, I experienced the spiritual suffering that came with having one's physical existence folded violently through space.
When we landed back inside the cool stone corridors of the Tower, I staggered sideways, immediately slapping a hand against the wall to steady myself.
"I would like to file a formal complaint against spatial magic," I announced weakly.
"You survived," Rhaevan noted, walking past me.
"Barely."
"You say that every time."
"Because every time feels medically concerning."
Rhaevan shook his head, a faint breath escaping him as he continued down the quiet hallway.
"Rhaevan," I called out softly.
He stopped, turning back to look at me over his shoulder. "Yes?"
I opened my mouth to ask him-about the lies, about the balcony conversation with Theo, about why he kept taking the blame for things that weren't his fault.
"I..." The words caught in my throat, heavy and useless.
He waited, his dark eyes watching me quietly in the dim torchlight of the corridor.
"...Nothing," I finally managed, forcing a small, dry smile. "Just... don't walk too fast. My organs are still catching up."