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The halls of Eden Academy had always felt imposing, but for Anya Forger, the golden arches and pristine marble floors now felt like the walls of a closing trap.
"Anya, please, breathe. You’re going to hyperventilate," Becky Blackbell pleaded, her voice thick with worry. She had her arms wrapped tightly around her best friend, pulling Anya into the shadows of a stone alcove near the main courtyard.
Anya couldn’t breathe. Her chest felt like it was being crushed by an invisible weight. In her trembling hand, she clutched a slip of paper, a formal notification from the disciplinary committee.
Tonitrus Bolt: 7.
One more. Just one more, and it was over. Operation Strix, her father’s mission, her life at Eden, her friendship with Becky, it would all vanish. The pressure of being sixteen, maintaining the "ordinary student" facade while her telepathy grew more volatile with puberty, had finally pushed her to the edge.
She had been caught sleeping in a high level Ethics seminar, her mind fried from a night of "reading" the entire neighborhood to help Loid find a mole.
"I’m going to be expelled," Anya sobbed, her pink hair disheveled, her signature hair cones slightly askew.
"Papa is going to... he’s going to look at me with that 'I’m not mad, just disappointed' face, and I’ll have to go back to being just Anya."
"You won't! You have seven Stellas, too!" Becky countered, though her voice wavered.
"You’re the most chaotic student in the history of the school, Anya! You’re a legend! We just need to get you that eighth Stella before you get the eighth Bolt."
"It’s impossible," Anya wailed.
A shadow fell over them.
Anya didn't need to look up to know who it was. The air around him always felt different, crisp, pressurized, and smelling faintly of expensive cologne and old library books.
Damian Desmond stood there, his Imperial Scholar cape fluttering slightly in the breeze. He looked taller than ever, his jawline sharper, his gaze intense. Behind him, Ewen and Emile hovered like loyal satellites, but they went silent the moment they saw Anya’s face.
Damian’s heart did that annoying, painful stutter step it always did when he saw her. But seeing her cry? That was his ultimate weakness. It made his stomach twist into knots he couldn't untie.
"What’s going on, Blackbell?" Damian asked, his voice lower than usual, stripped of its usual mocking bite. "Why is she making that pathetic noise?"
Becky glared at him, shielding Anya. "Back off, Desmond. She’s had a rough day."
"I can see that. Did she lose her favorite peanut shaped keychain or something?"
"She got her seventh Tonitrus Bolt," Becky snapped.
The silence that followed was deafening. Even Ewen and Emile looked stunned. In the history of Eden, no one sat on such a razor's edge. Seven Stellas, the mark of a genius. Seven Tonitrus Bolts, the mark of a delinquent. Anya Forger was a walking contradiction.
Damian felt a cold chill run down his spine. Seven. That meant she was one mistake away from being erased from his daily life. No more "Shorty" in the hallways. No more of her strange expressions. No more of the girl who had occupied every corner of his mind since he was six years old.
"Seven?" Damian whispered, his eyes fixed on the top of her pink head. "How can someone be so brilliant and so utterly stupid at the same time?"
Anya let out a fresh burst of tears, hiding her face in Becky’s shoulder. Damian wanted to reach out, to pull her away, to tell her he wouldn’t let them expel her, but he was a Desmond. He didn't know how to be soft.
"Let's go," Damian muttered to his friends, his voice tight. "She’s a lost cause."
But as he walked away, his mind was racing.
___
That night, the boy’s dorm was silent, but Damian was wide awake. He stared at his phone, the screen illuminating his face in the dark. He had typed and deleted a dozen messages.
Are you okay? (Too soft.)
Don't get expelled, I still need to beat you in exams. (Too competitive.)
You’re a total moron. (Too mean.)
Finally, he settled on the meanest one, because it was the only mask he knew how to wear.
[22:14] Damian: You’re an actual idiot. How do you manage to get seven bolts? No one has ever been this close to expulsion and graduation at the same time.
He hit send. Then he stared at the screen. Minutes ticked by. Five. Ten. Thirty.
Anya didn't reply.
Usually, she’d send back a weird sticker of a spy or a "heh" face. The silence started to gnaw at him. Was she still crying? Was she packing her bags? His chest ached. He realized he had messed up.
[23:05] Damian: Look.
[23:06] Damian: I heard the History department is giving out a Stella for the term project. If you score an A on the final essay and the oral exam, you get your 8th Stella. You’d be an Imperial Scholar. They can’t expel a Scholar easily, even with seven bolts. It’s an easy win if you just focus.
He waited. Another twenty minutes. Finally, his phone buzzed.
It wasn't a text. It was a photo.
It was a picture of Anya’s desk. It was buried under a mountain of textbooks, crumpled papers, and half eaten snack wrappers. In the center of the frame was a notebook, and Damian’s heart broke when he saw it. There were several dark, circular spots on the paper, dried tears.
[23:30] Anya: I’m trying. But the dates don't stay in my head. I can’t remember who started the war or why. Everything is a mess. It’s too hard.
Damian stared at the tear-stained paper. He could almost hear her voice, small, defeated, and exhausted. He thought about his own pressure, the weight of the Desmond name. But Anya... she was carrying something else. Something he couldn't quite see.
[23:35] Damian: Meet me at the West Library tomorrow at 4 PM. In the private carrels.
[23:36] Damian: Don't be late, Shorty. I’m only doing this because I don't want a vacancy in the Scholar ranks.
[23:37] Anya: ...Okay.
___
The West Library was a cathedral of silence. High vaulted ceilings, the smell of mahogany, and the oppressive weight of centuries of knowledge.
Damian sat at a large oak table, his own notes perfectly organized. When Anya arrived, she looked like a ghost. Dark circles under her eyes, her uniform slightly wrinkled. She slumped into the chair opposite him.
"Let's start with the Westalis Ostania peace treaty of 1955," Damian said, sliding a sheet toward her. "Just memorize the three main clauses."
For two hours, it was a battle.
"No, Anya! That’s the trade agreement! The peace treaty was signed in Berlint, not Ostan!" Damian hissed, his voice rising despite the 'quiet' signs.
"It’s all the same!" Anya groaned, slamming her head onto the table. "They were all angry, and then they weren't, and then they were again! Why do I have to know the specific day?"
"Because precision is what separates a leader from a peasant!"
"Then I’m a peasant! Let me go be a peasant in the woods!"
Damian's temper flared. He was tired, too. He was staying up late to maintain his own rank, and here he was, wasting his time on a girl who seemed to have the retention span of a goldfish.
"Do you even care?" Damian snapped. "Do you realize how serious this is? If you fail this, you’re gone! Your father will be disappointed, you’ll be out on the street, and I won’t..." He bit back the words, I won't see you anymore.
Anya looked up, her green eyes shimmering with frustration. "I do care! I care more than you know! I have to do this for Papa! But it’s not easy for me!"
"It’s just reading, Anya! Just read the words and keep them there!"
"I CAN'T!" Anya shrieked, her voice echoing off the high ceilings.
"Shhh!" the librarian hissed from three aisles away.
"What is so hard about this part?" Damian whispered harshly, leaning over the table, his eyes blazing. "It’s basic chronology! Are you really this stupid?"
Anya’s face went from red to a deathly, pale white. The "noise" in the library, the thoughts of the librarian thinking about her lunch, the student three tables over worrying about his hair, the janitor’s boredom, it all started to swell.
And then there was Damian’s mind, a chaotic roar of Don't leave, please learn this, why am I so mean to her, she looks so pretty when she’s angry, shut up shut up shut up.
It was too much. The dam finally broke.
"It’s not easy for me!" Anya sobbed, not a quiet cry this time, but a full, jagged breakdown. "It’s not easy when your mind is a complete chaos! It’s not easy when you’re listening to voices twenty four hours a day, seven days a week! Everyone’s thoughts, everyone’s lies, everyone’s screaming heads! I can't hear my own brain over all of you!"
The library went silent. Damian froze.
"Out! Both of you! OUT!" The librarian appeared, pointing a trembling finger at the door.
___
They walked in silence through the twilight of the campus. The air was cooling, the orange glow of the sunset casting long, dramatic shadows across the grass.
Anya was walking a few paces ahead, wiping her face with her sleeve. Her shoulders were shaking. Damian followed, his mind a complete blank for the first time in his life.
Listening to voices? He thought. What did she mean? Is she... is she losing her mind?
"Anya," he called out softly.
"I’ll take care of it myself," she said, her voice hollow. She didn't turn around. "You don't have to do this. You're an Imperial Scholar. You have a reputation. You shouldn't be seen with the girl who’s about to be kicked out."
Damian stopped walking. "Anya, wait."
She kept going. "I’ll just study in my room. I’ll figure it out. You’ll be happy anyway. One less 'idiot' on your radar, right? You can finally have the top of the class all to yourself without me 'making the Scholars look bad.'"
"Stop it," Damian said, his voice cracking.
Anya finally turned around, her eyes red and puffy. "Why? It’s what you want! You’ve been calling me a nuisance since we were six! Well, the nuisance is going away! You won!"
"I DON'T WANT YOU TO DISAPPEAR!"
The shout echoed across the empty quad.
Anya froze. Her breath hitched.
She looked at him, and for a moment, the world went quiet. The "voices" she had complained about seemed to fade into a dull murmur, leaving only one frequency clear.
She looked into Damian’s mind.
Usually, Damian’s thoughts were a tangled mess of pride, insecurity, and repressed affection. He was the master of thinking one thing and saying another. But right now, there was a total, terrifying alignment.
I don't want you to go, his mind screamed.
"I don't want you to go," his mouth said.
I need you here, his mind pleaded.
"I need you here," his mouth whispered.
I love you, his heart thundered.
Anya’s eyes widened. She had spent years navigating the gap between people’s words and their truths. She had survived by knowing the secrets people hid. But she had never, not once, experienced someone whose entire being, soul, mind, and voice, was focused on a single, honest truth directed entirely at her.
The resonance was overwhelming. It was the loudest thing she had ever heard, but it wasn't a "noise." It was a melody.
Damian took a step forward, his face flushed, looking more vulnerable than she had ever seen him. He looked like the little boy who had cried over his father’s neglect, but with the strength of a man who had decided what he wanted.
"Anya..." Damian said, his voice trembling. "If you leave... if you're not here to annoy me, or beat me at cards, or make those stupid faces..."
He looked down at his shoes, then back at her, his eyes shining with a desperate honesty.
"The world would be too quiet," he said. "I can't let you disappear."
Anya stood still. The wind ruffled her hair. For the first time, the "voices" didn't feel like a burden. They felt like a map that had finally led her to the right place.
She took a step toward him. Then another.
"Damian," she whispered.
"I’m going to help you," he said, regaining some of his stubborn resolve. "We’re going to sit in the dorm common room. I don't care if we stay up until sunrise. You’re getting that eighth Stella. You’re becoming an Imperial Scholar. And then, you’re going to stay right where I can see you."
Anya looked at him, and saw the boy who had defended her in his own twisted way for a decade.
She smiled. It wasn't a "heh" face. It was a real, soft, tired smile.
"Okay," she said. "But you have to bring peanuts. Brain food."
Damian let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for years. A small, smug smirk played on his lips, though his eyes remained soft. "Fine. But if you fall asleep on the Treaty of Berlint again, I’m drawing on your face with permanent marker."
"You wouldn't dare, Sy-on boy."
"Try me, Forger."
As they walked back toward the dorms, side by side, the gap between them had finally closed. Anya didn't need to read his mind to know that, for the first time in their lives, they were exactly on the same page.