It wasn’t the first time he did it, but still, it moved me.
No man had ever casually carried my things before.
Certainly not someone who looked like Sten.
Men, or even Monsters, who looked like Sten usually wanted women who were elegant and impossible.
Tiny waists. Effortless confidence.
Witches who floated through rooms wrapped in power and beauty.
Not Witches with no power who had spent most of their adult lives feeling too loud in the wrong places and invisible everywhere else.
And yet, there he was.
Holding my bag without hesitation like it belonged there in his hand.
Like helping me was natural.
Like I was something other than a freak.
“I can’t sleep at night either,” I admitted quietly as we stepped outside.
The night air of Asgarheim wrapped around us immediately—cool, damp, heavy with magic.
Above the Institute, the skies shimmered with shifting auroras where ley lines crossed through the multiverse itself, ribbons of silver-green light threading between stars.
Beautiful.
Lonely.
The kind of beauty that made you ache a little when you looked at it too long.
“I was actually thinking about asking Professor Kenna if I could switch to more nocturnal classes next semester.”
Sten glanced at me.
“Why?”
Such a simple question.
With such an ugly answer.
Because anxiety kept me awake.
Because failure kept me awake.
Because every time I closed my eyes, I heard my mother’s voice asking what exactly I planned to do with my life.
As if I hadn’t been asking myself the same question for years.
I shrugged instead.
“My brain doesn’t shut off.”
His gaze flicked toward me briefly.
Something understanding flashed there.
