Camille folded her arms, the picture of elegance and calm mischief, her lips curling as she leaned against the side table stacked with flower baskets and tiny glass bowls of whipped cream. "You have exactly thirty minutes to create something that delights both the eye and the tongue. You will be judged on creativity, taste, presentation… and how flustered you can make me."
I froze mid-step.
Claire's eyes gleamed. "So you're admitting bias?"
"Oh, absolutely," Camille said with a wink.
Tessa sighed, clearly questioning why she even showed up today, yet I noticed she was already scanning the materials and sorting flowers by color and type. Efficiency over enthusiasm.
I slowly approached the table marked "Sera's Team," trying to process the chaotic energy unfolding around me. Claire and Tessa were now arguing over which type of flower was the 'cutest.' Lillian was plucking petals like she was preparing for a royal banquet. Diana had already donned an apron so pristine and pressed it had to have been custom-tailored.
"What am I supposed to do?" I asked no one in particular, staring down at the array of sugar-glazed berries, piped creams, and delicate sugar flowers.
"I suggest survival," Diana said sweetly, stepping beside me and casually brushing a smudge of flour off my cheek. "Although I must admit, I do look forward to seeing how you'll try to impress our 'very partial' judge."
"That's not the goal."
"Isn't it?" Her voice dipped just a touch lower, teasing.
I rolled my eyes and turned toward the table. "We're just arranging flowers and making desserts. That's it."
"Tell yourself that when Lillian starts hand-feeding you strawberries again."
"Excuse me?!"
"I said what I said," Diana said with a smug smile and walked off, her golden hair catching the warm light from the windows like spun sunlight.
A breath hitched behind me. I turned just in time to see Lillian very much not feeding me strawberries—yet—but very much watching me with amused, half-lidded eyes, like she was considering it. She held a rose between her fingers, twirling it as if to test how deeply she could fluster me without saying a word.
"Why do I feel like I'm the only one actually treating this like a real contest?" I muttered, starting to plate a few flower-shaped cookies, trying to steady my hands.
"Because you're cute when you're serious," Lillian murmured, brushing by me on her way to the icing station.
My hands slipped, and a dollop of frosting hit the counter instead of the tray.
This wasn't fair.
Camille, true to her role, wove between us like a graceful shadow, peeking at trays and arrangements, offering no actual feedback, only the occasional hum or mysterious smile that made everyone increasingly paranoid.
Claire, in contrast, was taking her self-appointed position as Chef of the Year far too seriously.
"You can't just pour the glaze, Tessa! You have to drizzle it. With finesse!"
"Do you even know what finesse means?" Tessa asked flatly, but she tilted the glaze spoon with more care anyway.
I could feel the warmth at my cheeks rising again—there was too much happening at once. It wasn't just the competitive nonsense. It was the way they all felt so close. Familiar. Safe. And maybe that was the scariest part of all.
Because for someone like me, someone who had once fallen into a book and tried to distance herself from its story... I'd now become the protagonist of something that wasn't fiction anymore.
This was real.
Their voices. Their laughter. Their affection.
It wasn't something scripted. It wasn't even something I could push away anymore.
It was mine.
"I finished," I said, stepping back from my arrangement with a breath of relief.
It was simple—lavender blossoms wound through sugar-dusted fruit tarts, with delicate bluebells nestled against the edges. A touch too subtle compared to the dramatic flair of Camille's tastes, but it felt like me.
Camille walked over, gaze sliding across my tray like moonlight over a lake.
Then she plucked a tart with two fingers, took a slow bite, and raised one elegant brow.
"…You're lucky I like you."
"Did I win?" I asked, half-dreading the answer.
She looked at the other plates—Claire's sugar disaster, Diana's elegant but unoriginal roses, Tessa's carefully cut fruit in near-silent resignation, Lillian's stunning but painfully intricate work that looked like it belonged in a royal showcase.
"No," Camille said.
I blinked.
She leaned in slightly, brushing her shoulder against mine, her lips curving just so. "But you're my favorite."
The room erupted into groans.
"I demand a recount!" Claire shouted.
"You didn't even count anything!" Diana said.
Tessa sighed again, louder this time.
Lillian just smiled, serene as ever—though I caught the glint in her eyes as she leaned across the table, slipping a sugared flower onto my plate without saying a word.
I didn't know what kind of arc this was anymore.
But maybe, just maybe, it was the one where I finally stopped fighting against falling—and started letting it happen.
Later that evening, I found myself lingering in the garden.
It was quiet here. Peaceful in the way that made your thoughts come alive—like the silence was listening. The roses hadn't fully closed yet, their petals lazily catching the last golden light of the sunset. Somewhere in the distance, laughter from the common room drifted faintly through the trees. I should've been there. Should've joined them. But something kept me rooted here, like my body needed the pause.
"Should've guessed I'd find you here."
I didn't need to turn. That voice—calm, honey-smooth, with the hint of amusement always hiding underneath—it was Camille.
"You followed me," I said quietly.
"Observant as always," she replied, stepping up beside me, her pale hair catching the glow like frost bathed in sunlight. "You left the room a little fast after dessert. Thought maybe I'd made the teasing too much."
"You? Never," I deadpanned, and she chuckled.
For a while, we just stood there, side by side in the stillness, the world exhaling around us.
"You're good at it, you know," she said eventually.
I blinked. "At what?"
"At caring." Her voice was softer now, threaded with something more real than usual. "Even when you're trying not to. You carry everyone's weight like it's natural. Like you were meant to be at the center of all this."
"I wasn't," I said before I could stop myself. "None of this was supposed to be mine."
She glanced at me. "You think that changes how we feel?"
I didn't answer. Couldn't. Because the words scraped against the parts of me I still didn't want to look at.
Camille shifted, turning to face me fully, and I felt her fingers brush mine—light, tentative, but intentional.
"You don't have to keep proving yourself, Sera. Not to me. Not to anyone."
My throat tightened. "I'm not—"
"You are," she said gently. "And it's okay. I just want you to know that you don't have to be anything else for us. For me."
Her hand slipped into mine, not asking permission, just offering warmth. A quiet kind of comfort. The kind you didn't realize you were starved for until it was already there.
I squeezed her hand back, just a little.
"Camille?"
"Mm?"
"Thank you."
She smiled. "Anytime."
We didn't move for a long while.
Eventually, we heard footsteps approaching—delicate, measured. Lillian, of course. Her presence was unmistakable, like sunlight filtered through silk.
"I thought I'd find you both here," she said with a graceful tilt of her head.
Camille raised a brow but didn't let go of my hand.
Lillian's eyes flicked to our intertwined fingers, and for just a breath, something fierce and unreadable flickered behind that smile.
But then, with a quiet step forward, she moved to my other side, linking her arm through mine.
"You could've invited me," she murmured.
"I didn't think I needed to," I said, barely hiding the fond exasperation.
She leaned her head against my shoulder, her voice low and velvety. "You don't. But I still like being chosen."
Camille chuckled. "We'll have to fight for time slots at this rate."
"I'll win," Lillian said sweetly, but the edge in her tone was all too real.
I sighed, resting my head against Lillian while Camille leaned closer on the other side.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered.
"This," Camille said, "is your life now."
I didn't know what to make of it—all this affection, attention, these moments stitched between battles and trials and uncertainty.
It was quiet. The kind of quiet you didn't often get at the academy. No laughter echoing down the halls. No footsteps in a hurry. No voices calling my name from behind just to make me flustered.
Just the three of us, nestled between twilight and silence.
Camille's shoulder brushed mine again. Her fingers still lingered where they held mine—soft, firm, and patient. She hadn't said anything more. She didn't need to. Her presence was steady, like the cold bite of early frost that settled on skin and warmed over time.
Lillian, meanwhile, had let her head rest on my shoulder like it belonged there. Her hair smelled faintly of rose water and parchment. Elegant, as always. Regal in a way that should have made her feel far away—but didn't. Not when she sighed softly, content like the world had given her this moment and she intended to savor it.
And I?
I wasn't saying anything either.
I didn't need to.
Because this—this rare peace—wasn't something I wanted to disturb. Not with questions. Not with doubts. Not even with my own racing thoughts.
Eventually, Lillian spoke again. "Do you ever wonder what it would've been like if none of this had happened?"
I tilted my head. "What part?"
"All of it," she whispered. "The trials, the invasion, the monster attacks, the chaos… the tangled mess of our hearts."
Camille chuckled softly. "You're being dramatic."
Lillian didn't rise to it. She lifted her head, met Camille's gaze across me, and for a second, I saw the truth behind her smile.
"I'm serious," she said, more gently this time. "Would we have ever… felt the way we do now?"
Camille was quiet for a moment, then sighed through her nose. "I think I would've liked her regardless. I think I did."
And somehow, that answer made my chest ache in a way I didn't know how to name.
Lillian nodded faintly. "Same."
I looked down at my hands—at their hands, holding mine—and whispered, "I wouldn't have gotten to know any of you if things stayed the same."
"You say that like we wouldn't have tried," Camille said, nudging me lightly.
"We would've," Lillian agreed. "But you wouldn't have let us in. Not like this."
I hesitated, my throat tightening. "Maybe I was afraid."
"Of what?" Lillian asked, her tone soft.
"Of ruining things," I admitted. "Of becoming her."
They knew who I meant.
Camille gave my hand a gentle squeeze. "You're not."
"You never were," Lillian added.
The way they said it… it felt real. Heavier than anything they had ever teased before. No flirting. No banter.
Just truth.
I blinked back the prickle behind my eyes and looked up at the stars beginning to peek through the velvet sky.
"I think," I said slowly, "I'm really glad I met you all."
"Even me?" Camille asked, trying to lighten the moment.
I smirked. "Especially you. You've made my life so peaceful."
She laughed.
Lillian shook her head fondly, her arm still looped around mine. "We're not letting you go, Sera. You know that, right?"
"I never said I wanted to be let go," I said before I could stop myself.
And just like that—Camille's teasing smile softened, and Lillian's eyes glimmered with something dangerously close to awe.
I covered my face with my hands. "Forget I said that."
"Nope," Camille said.
"Absolutely not," Lillian chimed in.
"You're both the worst."
They each leaned in, one to either side of me, and spoke at the same time.
"But you like us."
And gods help me—
I did.