CHAPTER 166: FLINCH

Nellie didn’t flinch.

She’d seen him like this before, had bared her own vulnerabilities to him in return.

Her fingers tightened briefly on her skirt, a small tell of nerves, but her gray eyes held his, steady and unflinching behind her glasses.

"I need help with spell theory," she said, her voice clear, measured, as if addressing both a mentor and a friend. "And also with mathematics to score better in the inter class Academic tournament."

The silver coin spun lazily, a silver moon caught in an invisible tide.

Lor’s gaze—altered, otherworldly—remained locked on hers, unblinking, as if peering into something beyond her words.

The silence stretched, heavy with intent, each second a pulse that seemed to sync with the room’s quiet heartbeat.

One breath. Two. Three...

His eyes slid shut, the silver glow fading like a candle snuffed out.

The coin dropped, striking the rug with a soft chink, wobbling in a tight circle before collapsing flat.

Lor’s shoulders sagged, as if an unseen weight had settled and then released.

He exhaled sharply, a rough sound, and rubbed two fingers against his brow, easing a faint ache that lingered like the echo of a song played too long.

When he looked up, his eyes were hazel again—warm, human, tinged with a trace of strain.

His voice, too, was his own, rough around the edges from the shift.

"The Light heard you," he said, leaning back slightly, his gaze steady.

"Two pillars. Theory and numbers. The light usually does only one guidance at a time, but for you, and your kind hearted meal, it had agreed to guide you to your new best self. But like always..." He paused, letting the words settle, his eyes searching hers for a moment. "It asks a price."

Nellie’s shoulders relaxed, a subtle shift, as if the ritual’s rhythm was a familiar path she’d walked before.

"What price?" she asked, her voice soft but unflinching, her gray eyes meeting his with a quiet courage.

Lor held her gaze, letting the moment stretch, the weight of his next words arriving before he spoke them. "Because the request is larger—two domains, and not simple ones—the Light demands something more intimate this time."

The room didn’t shift, but the air did, growing thicker, warmer, as if the sunlight itself had leaned closer.

Nellie’s chin lifted slightly, a barely perceptible motion, her freckles catching the light like scattered embers.

She didn’t startle, didn’t shrink. Her lips parted, her breath catching softly.

"What does it want?" she asked, her voice steady but laced with a faint tremor of curiosity.

Lor’s voice softened, a low murmur that seemed to curl around her like a caress. "It wants you," he said, each word measured, deliberate, "to offer your body to me for thirty minutes. To let me do as I wish within that time."

He let the truth sit between them, unadorned, as stark and undeniable as the coin on the rug.

No explanations, no softening platitudes—just the raw ask, laid bare.

The room seemed to hold its breath, the distant clock’s tick slowing, the bird outside falling silent.

Nellie’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, a faint flush blooming across her cheeks, delicate as rose petals against her freckled skin.

Her gray eyes didn’t waver, though, holding his with a mix of calculation and something softer—trust, woven through with memories of their shared moments, the quiet understanding they’d built.

She knew the Light’s game, knew Lor’s role in it, and somewhere beneath her shyness was a spark of willingness, a choice she’d made long before this moment.

She liked him—trusted him, even—and that truth melted into her resolve like honey into tea, sweetening the edges.

"Alright," she said, her voice wavering only on the final syllable, a tremble so faint it was almost lost.

Her cheeks flushed deeper, but her gaze stayed steady, her glasses glinting as she pushed them up her nose with a nervous flick of her finger. "I accept."

The silence that followed was soft, warm, almost reverent, like the hush before a storm.

Nellie’s fingers moved to the first button of her blouse, pausing not for doubt but to steady her breath.

Then, with a slow, careful motion, she worked it loose, the tiny pop loud in the room’s stillness.

The next button followed, then the next, each one a small act of surrender, not to him but to the ritual, to the trust she’d placed in it.

Her movements were gentle, not performative, her hands steady despite the flush creeping down her neck.

Lor watched, unmoving, his breath shallow, letting the moment unfold.

Her braids stayed neat, framing her face, but as the blouse loosened, more of her freckled skin came into view, like stars emerging at twilight.

Her glasses slipped slightly, and she pushed them up again, the gesture endearingly clumsy, her knuckles brushing her cheek.

The fabric parted, revealing the soft curve of her collarbone, the gentle swell of her petite breasts beneath a simple lace bra, the green-leaf skirt still hugging her thick thighs.

When the last button came undone, she slipped the blouse from her shoulders, folding it with the same care she gave her spell notes, setting it beside her on the rug like a quiet offering.

Her gray eyes met his again, soft but resolute, the flush on her cheeks now a warm glow that spread to her chest.

The vulnerability in her posture—the way her shoulders curved slightly inward, the way her fingers lingered on the folded blouse—wasn’t fear but trust, laid bare.

"I’m ready," she said, her voice low, steady now, the tremor gone.

Her glasses caught the light, her freckles a constellation across her skin, her lips parted just enough to show the faintest curve of a nervous smile.

Lor nodded, a slow, reverent gesture, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Then," he said, his voice a low, warm braid of authority and care, "Let’s begin."

He leaned forward slightly, the coin glinting between them, the air thick with the promise of what was to come.