Chapter 39: Fractured glass of the past
Soft footsteps echoed in the corridor, masked by the growls of thunder rolling through the evening sky. It was dinnertime, but Ruelle made her way to one of the classrooms, where she had left her notebook.
As she approached the door, a faint light flickered from inside, casting a warm glow across the threshold. When she stepped inside, the scent of dried herbs and a faint metallic tinge filled the air, mingling with the dampness of the oncoming storm outside. A quiet clink of glass against wood echoed through the room, halting her steps.
Lucian sat at one of the tables with a flask of dark liquid before him, his profile half-shadowed, intent on his work. His red eyes were fixed on the test tube in his hand—and her notebook lay only a few steps away from him. Ruelle felt her heartbeat quicken, both from hesitation and the pull of his quiet, commanding presence.
"I thought the room would be empty," Ruelle murmured, half to herself. But her words drew Lucian’s gaze, his brooding eyes narrowing as they locked onto her. "I just... I left my notes behind," she added, in a softer tone.
Lucian offered her only a brief, dismissive glance before returning his attention to his work, his demeanour cool and detached, as though her presence held no more significance than the stray gust of air. She stepped farther in to retrieve her notebook, clutching it tightly to her chest. She should leave—every instinct told her to leave—but her gaze drifted once more to the flask and test tubes he held with such practiced precision, curiosity pinning her to the spot.
Clearing her throat, she managed, "Thank you for letting me use your books. They have... they’ve helped me a lot." The words, timid yet genuine, lingered in the charged silence between them.
"I didn’t do it for you," Lucian replied, his tone curt, his gaze still on his work.
Ruelle nodded, a faint smile appearing briefly, only to vanish as quickly. She turned to go when a sharp crack filled the room—the test tube in Lucian’s hand shattered with a sudden pop, sending volatile liquid splattering across the stone floor. A faint, sizzling hiss rose as the droplets hit, filling the air with a sharp, acrid scent. But what held Ruelle’s attention was the small spray of liquid that landed across Lucian’s hand, leaving angry red splotches in its wake.
"Your hand!" she gasped, instinctively moving towards him. Her fingers brushed against his skin, a light, concerned touch that seemed to spark a response more acidic than the liquid itself.