Page 156 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

The familiar aroma helps ground me in the present, reminding me that I'm here, I'm safe, even if everything else feels like it's falling apart.

My Queen of Spades…

That's what I need to remember.

The Queen of Spades is the most powerful card in many games, yet often the most dangerous to hold.

Just like me.

I lean back, seeking the depths of those crimson eyes that peer into me without judgment or remorse.

"How did you know where I was?" I ask quietly.

"I tracked your energy the moment I felt you were in trouble," he admits.

The question of how he's even free hovers on my tongue, but instead I ask, "How did you blend in without being caught?"

I've always known Atticus was brilliant beyond his years, talented in ways others overlooked. What I loved most was his ability to use magic like me – not with the same power or range, but dark magic that could be amplified through training and dedication.

He cradles my face as the shower stream stops on its own, leaving us naked and drenched while gazing at each other. Instead of answering, he leans down to place a tender kiss on my cheek. His lips linger there, the touch saying more than words ever could, before he pulls back to meet my eyes again.

I let the sensation sink in, feeling like it holds the key to this mystery. Then everything clicks – the action, the feeling, both different yet fundamentally the same.

"Grim," I whisper, eyes widening as I remember the oversized glasses he wore before the shower, matching the ones that had sat on Mini Grim's tiny frame. "How...when...but the Duskreaper pet?—"

"Can only be summoned, not controlled by its own will," he reveals, "unless one inhabits and taints its physical being to be something other than a manifestation of darkness."

I'm speechless, struggling to process this revelation while fighting fresh tears. He's been here all along, watching me fall for men who then treated me like garbage.

Who made me relive old traumas.

Shame floods me as I realize I've forced him to witness history repeating itself. He had healed from watching my torture at Darius's hands, and I just dragged him back into that nightmare.

My head drops in shame as I try to apologize, but his fingers guide my chin back up. Very gently, he presses his lips to mine.

The kiss is soft and brief, yet it carries affirmation and comfort I didn't know I still needed.

"No," is all he says, denying whatever dark thoughts he sees brewing in my mind.

I swallow hard past the lump in my throat before wrapping my arms around him. He returns the embrace without hesitation as I whisper, "Thank you."

We stay like that for a long time, letting the silence speak volumes neither of us can put into words. Finally, we separate, and Atticus leads me to the changeroom to help me dress.

The wet tile is cold beneath my feet, but his presence keeps the memories of other cold floors at bay. His transformation is even more evident now – the chubby boy who once struggled to lift me is gone, replaced by someone whose every movement speaks of lethal grace.

Yet his eyes remain the same – that perfect mix of protective fury and infinite tenderness that had made me trust him that first horrible night. The eyes that had promised vengeance and delivered it without hesitation.

The eyes that now watch me with the same dedication, even after everything that's changed.

Water drips from his hair, following the lines of runes that mark his transformation from victim to avenger. Each tattoo probably tells a story – of power gained, prices paid, and sacrifices made to become strong enough to protect what he values.

To protect me.

The realization that he's been here all along, watching over me in the guise of Grim, makes my heart ache. He must have seen everything – every moment of hope and heartbreak, every small victory and crushing defeat.

And still, he waited, letting me learn my own strength while standing ready to catch me if I fell.

The changeroom's fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows, but they can't dim the soft conviction in his gaze. Even now, after watching me make the same mistakes, and fall for the same pretty lies, he looks at me without judgment.

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