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I lean back against the kitchenette countertop, idly watching as Arius stalks over to the fridge and wrenches open the door with more force than strictly necessary. The muscles in his shoulders bunch and flex beneath the thin fabric of his shirt with each jerky movement, broadcasting the barely restrained tension thrumming through that powerful frame like live electrical cables.

He snags a tupperware container from one of the shelves, popping the lid with a flick of his thumb before shoving it unceremoniously into the microwave. The whole display is so uncharacteristically… inelegant from a bloke who normally prides himself on culinary flair. Like seeing him slap together a sandwich from stale bread and expired deli meat rather than craft one of his signature gourmet panini creations or sumptuous curries from scratch.

The dissonance isn’t lost on Hayes either, if his pensive frown is any indication as he props a hip against the countertop opposite me. “We’ve got a meeting with Hansley at noon tomorrow,” he rumbles out, throwing a weighted look in Arius’ direction.

Arius hauls in a deep inhale and exhales it on a sigh. “I’m not going,” he states, words bitten off with a crisp finality that leaves zero room for ambiguity or debate.

Granted, the curt declaration really shouldn’t come as much surprise from our resident black sheep. Still, the brazen lack of fucks to give is enough to elicit a incredulous scoff from Hayes—not that Arius seems to notice or care, occupied as he is with jabbing the requisite buttons on the microwave’s control panel.

“And just how the bloody fuck do you reckon you’ll manage that neat trick?” Hayes challenges, a hint of genuine curiosity creeping into his tone beneath the exasperation. “Hansley won’t take too kindly to you skiving off a mandatory summons without express purpose, mate.”

The microwave whirs to life with a low buzz, plastic container rotating steadily inside as it nukes whatever leftovers Arius tossed in there. Without bothering to glance over his shoulder, the towering wanker rakes his fingers back through the dishevelled strands of his dark mop.

“She can go fuck herself until I’m good and ready to indulge her twisted fascinations,” he growls, though the typical bite has drained from his tone—replaced by nothing more than bone-deep weariness. “Let the withered harpy stew in her impatience until I decide the time’s right to let her pry into this fresh trauma, yeah? Not like she doesn’t already get off on it all anyway…”

That parting snarl of derision finally chips through the brittle shell of my restraint, a harsh bark of laughter escaping before I can clamp down on the reaction. And just like that, I’m pinned beneath the full weight of Arius’ scathing glare, twin pools of molten mercury searing straight through me.

I arch a brow, refusing to wither beneath the heat of that stare even as my lips twitch with the ghost of a smirk. “Something funny I’m missing out on, wanker?” I can’t resist prodding, playing up the casual indifference with a nonchalant shrug. “Did you forget Hansley’s not the forgiving sort to let you go skiving off her sadistic little playdates? She’ll tan all our bloody hides if even one of us shows up short to the party.”

Arius’ jaw ticks in a barely perceptible tic, the muscle tensing incrementally as he clenches his teeth until the grinding is practically audible. Until, at last, he seems to master whatever simmering impulse threatens to rip free—only to replace it with an expression so devoid of any readable emotion, the bloke may as well be carved from bloody stone.

“What gave you the impression any of us were going, mate?”

My brow furrows in confusion at the oblique response—or, rather, question posed as a retort. Because as much as I might relish baiting Arius into one of his legendary furies, there’s no mistaking the crystalline sincerity in his toneless delivery. A fact which only serves to send a niggling thread of unease prickling along my nape with dread-laced premonition.

“Come again?” I blink in Arius’ direction, tracking his movements with thinly veiled suspicion as the microwave chimes and he retrieves the container. Rather than elaborate immediately, he hunches over the steaming tupperware with marked indifference to the growing tension—acting for all the world as if we’re not currently debating the merits of blatantly defying Hansley’s authority.

When Arius does finally glance up from prodding the contents with his fork, his expression remains carefully schooled into Sphinx-like detachment. “I said none of us are attending the crone’s tea party tomorrow,” he states, each word enunciated with crisp precision despite the nonchalant drawl to his tone. “And she’ll go ahead and have her little pity party without us because there’s fuck all she can actually do about it.”

It’s like the ambient temperature in the kitchen plummets about twenty degrees, every hair along my forearms stiffening into rigid points while my spine instinctively stiffens. Because that casual dismissal, as innocuous as it might’ve initially sounded, carries the weight of blasphemous heresy from a man who’s dedicated his entire existence to upholding these twisted teachings.

And by proxy, his outright defiance drags Rhys, Hayes and myself directly into the crosshairs of disobedience alongside him.

“She’ll just have the whole lot of us dragged in by force if we try dodging attendance,” I point out after swallowing the leaden knot that’s formed in my gullet. My gaze flicks towards Hayes, silently imploring him to back me on this, to restore some semblance of sanity before this spirals any further out of control. “You know Hansley won’t risk the Academy being seen as anything less than unwavering in its doctrine by anyone, staff or students alike.”

Hayes’ head bobs in a shallow nod of agreement before Arius can so much as part his lips to retort. That steely, uncompromising look settles over the big bastard’s rugged features, the same one I’ve witnessed in those rare instances when he digs his heels in—no matter the personal cost.

“The second she sends her fascist goons to round us up like common criminals, she risks the whispers and rumblings about losing control of her kennel spreading like a bloody wildfire,” Arius states, tone dripping with such contemptuous certainty that I can’t help the flare of indignation blazing to scorching life in my chest.

“The fuck are you on about, mate?” I bite out, hackles raised as my restraint slips another couple notches.

Arius scoffs, shaking his head with an air of weary condescension radiating from his entire demeanour. “You lot are so blinded by fealty to this festering pit of depravity, you can’t even comprehend how quickly it could all burn to ash around our ears,” he rasps, the words scraped raw and bleeding from somewhere deep within his fractured psyche. “So go ahead, keep carrying on with deluded fantasies about courting Hansley’s favour. Just don’t be surprised when she turns the whole kennel upon you without a second thought the moment it suits her warped machinations.”

The silence that falls in the wake of his bitter pronouncement is so heavy it’s damned near suffocating. I steal a sidelong glance towards Hayes, but the unflappable wanker remains impassive—simply studying Arius as if witnessing some rare animal’s primal defense mechanism being triggered. Like he’s utterly unfazed by the vitriol being lobbed at sacred cows we’ve been indoctrinated since infancy to revere without question.

“That’s rich, mate, coming from her prize fucking show pony,” I manage at length, the words emerging in a harsh rasp of their own. “You telling me the poster boy for Hansley’s personal cult is suddenly getting cold feet about upholding the principles this institution was founded upon? What’s next, gonna burn your togs and shite on the courtyard in some grand act of—”

Arius whirls on me with such blinding speed, I instinctively brace for the impact sure to follow the explosive fury blazing in his eyes. His hand whips out, palm flattening against the cabinets just centimetres from the side of my head with a thud that makes me flinch.

“Careful how far you take pushing those deluded notions, ,” he rumbles, voice gone dangerously soft with scarcely leashed menace. The muscles in his bicep strain, rippling as he leans in, until every ragged exhale ghosts hot and damp across my face. “You wankers might still be content licking the old hag’s heels while she strings you along like empty-headed cronies, but that pathetic charade ends today.”

Arius holds my gaze a protracted beat longer, jaw ticking spasmodically until we’re practically chest-to-chest in our unwavering stalemate. Then, almost imperceptibly, he eases back an infinitesimal degree—just enough to ease the tension thrumming between us.

“Starting tomorrow, the game is officially changing,” he grits out, the words little more than a harsh rasp that nonetheless carries every ounce of conviction behind them. “So you’d best decide quickly which side of the firing line you cunts want to be standing on before it’s too late.”