The sun was barely a suggestion on the horizon.

The sky was a bruised purple that faded into gray.

The Royal Academy was silent. Even the magical wards hummed at a low frequency.

Iris Silvermoon walked the perimeter of the stone walls.

She walked with perfect, elven balance. Her feet made no sound on the dew-covered grass.

Inside her mind, however, there was chaos.

For five hundred years, Iris had been a creature of logic.

She observed. She calculated. She reported.

Her life was a straight line stretching from the past into the future.

Duty was the gravity that held her existence together.

But now, the gravity was gone. She was floating in a void of terrifying emotion.

She stopped near the old bell tower.

She leaned against the cold stone and closed her eyes.

Her mission parameters were clear.

Objective: Secure alliance with the Child of Destiny.

Method: Induce romantic attachment.

Target: Theodore Aldridge.

It should have been simple.

She had the data. She had the techniques Marcus had taught her.

She knew how to touch an arm to increase heart rate. She knew how to compliment a skeletal structure.

But the thought of using those techniques on Theodore made her physically ill.

It wasn't just that Theodore was boring.

It wasn't just that his conversation revolved entirely around steel grades.

It was that every time she imagined the "seduction," she imagined the wrong face.

She pictured Marcus.

She saw his messy hair. She heard his laugh.

She felt the ghost of his hand on her shoulder when he corrected her posture.

"This is inefficient," she whispered to the dawn.

She opened her notebook.

She looked at the data she had collected over the last week.

Subject B (Marcus):

Kindness rating - Optimal.

Intelligence - High.

Emotional resonance - Critical levels.

She looked at the entry for Theo.

Subject A (Theodore):

Hit a wooden post for four hours.

Ate a raw onion.

The comparison was laughable.

But the Elven Conclave did not care about laughter. They cared about survival.

If she failed this mission, she would be recalled.

She would be stripped of her rank. She would be sent to the Archives for reconditioning.

She would spend the next century cataloging moss varieties.

Or worse, she would be assigned a new partner. An elf who didn't ask questions.

But if she succeeded...

If she seduced Theo, she would have to live a lie.

She would have to pretend to love a boy she barely tolerated.

She would have to watch Marcus from a distance. She would be his "sister-in-law."

The thought sent a sharp pain through her chest.

It felt like a cracked rib.

Iris touched her face. Her fingers came away wet.

She stared at the moisture on her fingertips.

"Tears," she stated.

She hadn't cried since the Fall of the Sapphire Spire three centuries ago.

Even then, it had been a single, dignified tear for the loss of historical texts.

This was different. This was messy.

This was... human.

She wiped her face with her sleeve. It was an undignified gesture.

She looked at the rising sun.

"I cannot do it," she said.

The words hung in the cold air.

She couldn't manipulate Theo. It was cruel.

And she couldn't leave Marcus. It was impossible.

She was trapped between an ancient duty and a new, fragile desire.

She needed to calculate the variables. She needed a risk assessment.

But her processor was broken.

All she felt was a profound, aching loneliness.

She slid down the wall until she was sitting on the damp grass.

She pulled her knees to her chest. And waited for the sun to judge her.

✧✧✧

Marcus Aldridge was an early riser.

It was a habit from his previous life. The most successful CEOs woke up at 4 AM, or so the books said.

He usually used this time to plan.

He would review his strategies for Theo. He would map out potential romantic encounters.

Today, he just wanted fresh air.

His mind was cluttered.

The "practice sessions" with Iris had left him feeling strange.

He felt guilty. He felt excited. He felt like a fraud.

He walked through the Academy gardens. The mist was still clinging to the hedges.

He rounded a corner near the bell tower and stopped.

Someone was sitting at the base of the tower.

It was a small figure wrapped in a silver cloak.

"Iris?" Marcus called out softly.

The figure stiffened.

She stood up quickly. She turned away from him, wiping her face.

"Marcus," she said. Her voice was tight. "You are awake early."

"Couldn't sleep," Marcus said.

He walked closer.

He saw the red rims of her eyes. He saw the tension in her shoulders.

He had seen that look on a hundred clients before.

It was the look of someone whose foundation had just cracked.

"You've been crying," Marcus said gently.

"Elves do not cry," Iris said. She kept her face turned away. "My eyes are merely flushing toxins."

"Right," Marcus said. "Toxins."

He took off his coat. He placed it on the damp grass near the wall.

"Sit down, Iris."

She hesitated. Then, she sat.

Marcus sat next to her. He didn't look at her. He looked at the horizon.

"Do you want to talk about the toxins?" he asked.

Iris was silent for a long time.

"I have a... philosophical query," she said finally.

"I love philosophy," Marcus lied. He actually preferred practical advice, but he knew the game.

"Hypothetically," Iris started. "If an agent had a directive. A very important directive."

"Okay," Marcus said.

"And completing this directive ensured the safety of their people," she continued. "But the agent found the directive... repugnant."

She picked at a blade of grass.

"If the agent's heart rejected the mission, what is the correct course of action?"

Marcus frowned.

He thought about the prophecy. He thought about his own mission to save the world.

He thought about how much he hated manipulating people, even for a good cause.

"That's the heavy stuff," Marcus said.

"It is a binary choice," Iris said. "Duty or treason. Logic or emotion."

"It's never just binary," Marcus corrected.

He turned to look at her.

"Duty is important, Iris. It gives us structure. It gives us a path."

Iris nodded. "Exactly."

"But duty is external," Marcus said. "It's someone else's voice in your head."

He tapped his own chest.

"Your heart? That's you. That's the only voice that actually has to live with your choices."

Iris looked at him. Her violet eyes were wide and searching.

"But if the choice is selfish?" she whispered. "If it serves only the self?"

"Is it selfish to want to be happy?" Marcus asked.

He leaned back against the stone wall.

"I spent a long time doing what I was supposed to do," he said. He was thinking of his old life. The endless clients. The burnout.

"I followed the script. I did the job. And I died miserable."

Iris flinched. "Died?"

"Metaphorically," Marcus covered quickly. "I was dead inside."

He looked at her intensely.

"Following orders is easy, Iris. You just shut off your brain and walk the line. But it makes you hollow."

He reached out and lightly touched her hand.

"Choosing for yourself is hard. It's terrifying. You might make a mistake."

He squeezed her fingers.

"But the mistakes will be yours. And the happiness will be yours, too."

Iris looked at his hand covering hers.

It was warm. It was grounding.

"What if the choice leads to... exile?" she asked. "What if it means losing your place in the world?"

"Then you find a new place," Marcus said simply.

He smiled at her. It was a sad, gentle smile.

"The world is big, Iris. And you have a lot of time."

Iris felt something shift inside her.

The cold knot of duty loosened.

The fear of the Conclave seemed smaller suddenly. It was distant, like a storm on the horizon.

Marcus was right here. He was solid. He was present.

"Choices made for ourselves," she repeated.

"Are the only ones we can truly commit to," Marcus finished.

He stood up and brushed the grass off his pants.

"Whatever you're facing," he said, "whatever this directive is... trust your gut. It's been keeping you alive for five hundred years."

He offered her a hand up.

Iris looked at his hand.

She took it.

He pulled her up effortlessly.

"Thank you, Marcus," she said.

"Anytime," he replied. "Now, I'm going to find coffee. Toxins require caffeine."

He waved and walked away toward the dining hall.

Iris watched him go.

She watched the way the morning light caught his hair.

She took a deep breath. The air tasted sweet.

She knew what she had to do.

It was terrifying.

It was illogical.

It was perfect.

.

.

.

A/N:

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