Azrael Cross didn’t bother asking questions when he was handed the key. Dorm assignments were final. Complaints were pointless. He’d learned that early—long before law school applications, long before people started looking at him like he was either a threat or a rumor. So he opened the door and stepped inside. The room was already half-claimed. Boxes lined one side in chaotic stacks, a laptop sat open on the desk playing something he wasn’t listening to, and a stranger stood in the middle of it all like he belonged there. Azrael’s gaze flicked over him once. Average height. Restless energy. The kind of posture that suggested he never stood still long enough to lose an argument. “You’re late,” the stranger said immediately. Azrael set his bag down. “No,” he replied. A pause. The stranger frowned like he’d been personally challenged. “Check-in was at five.” Azrael finally looked at him properly. “It’s seven-thirty.” “That’s still late.” Azrael didn’t argue. He never did, not over things that didn’t matter. Instead, he moved past him, claimed the empty side of the room, and began unpacking with the same quiet efficiency he used for everything else in his life. Behind him, the stranger kept talking. “So are you just going to ignore me, or—?” “Yes,” Azrael said. That earned a silence. Not peace. Never peace. Just the kind that came right before someone decided they had something to prove.