She smiled, and it transformed her entire face from serious student to the girl who laughed at Jordan’s terrible jokes and made sure everyone ate proper meals and somehow made tactical analysis sound like poetry.

"What did you want to be?" I asked. "Before the academy. Before you decided to become a professional monster fighter. What was the plan?"

"Marine biologist," she said without hesitation. "I wanted to study deep-ocean ecosystems. The places where sunlight never reaches and pressure creates environments completely alien to surface life. There are creatures down there that exist in conditions that should be impossible, using energy sources we barely understand."

"That actually sounds a lot like gate exploration."

"Except the creatures in the deep ocean don’t actively try to kill you for existing. They’re just living their lives in impossible places, adapted to conditions that would destroy most other forms of life." She took a sip of her elaborate coffee creation. "I suppose there are similarities though. Hostile environments, unknown variables, the need for careful preparation and adaptive thinking."

"So you’re still doing what you wanted, just with more violence and less water."

"And you? What was the plan before you decided to become a lottery winner turned academy prodigy?"

The question hit me like a physical impact. Because the real answer was that I died in a car accident in another world and woke up in this body with memories that didn’t belong here and a supernatural parasite that kept me alive by encouraging me to drink milk from attractive women.

The safe answer was that I’d never had a plan beyond survival.

The honest answer was somewhere in between.

"I wanted to matter," I said finally. "In my old life, I was nobody. Background character in other people’s stories. The kind of person who dies off-screen while the main characters are busy having adventures and saving the world."

"And now?"

"Now I’m dating three different women who could probably conquer small countries if they felt like it, training under a professor who treats physics as a mild suggestion, and Friday I’m walking into another dimension to fight monsters alongside people who want me dead." I squeezed her hands gently. "So I guess I’m mattering pretty aggressively at this point."

"Three different women?"

Right. That was the part she focused on.

"It’s complicated."

"I imagine it would be."

I studied her face, looking for signs of jealousy or hurt or anger. Instead I found something that looked like curiosity mixed with a resignation that made my chest ache.

"Are you okay with it? The complicated part?"

She was quiet for a long moment, watching steam rise from her mug in patterns that probably followed some mathematical principle she could identify and explain.

"I don’t know," she said finally. "I’ve never been in a situation like this before. There aren’t exactly relationship protocols for sharing someone with Aurora Fitzgerald and Addison Baxter."

"Belle told you about Addison?"

"Belle tells everyone everything eventually. It’s her way of processing information." Naomi’s fingers traced the rim of her mug in small, precise circles. "She also mentioned that you seem different with each of us. More reckless with Aurora, more intense with Addison. More..."

"More what?"

"Gentle. With me. Like you think I might break if you’re not careful enough."

The observation hit too close to home. Because she was right, and because I hadn’t realized I was doing it until she pointed it out.

"You’re not fragile," I said. "You’re the strongest person I know. I’ve seen you stare down third-year students and make them apologize for existing. You organize our entire squad’s tactical planning and somehow make Jordan follow orders he doesn’t want to follow. You’re terrifying when you want to be."

"But you still treat me like I’m made of glass."

"I treat you like you’re precious. There’s a difference."

The words came out before I could stop them, more honest than I’d intended to be in a public coffee shop on a Wednesday afternoon. Naomi went very still, her dark eyes searching my face for something I wasn’t sure I could give her.

"Jace..."

"You chose me," I said, my voice lower now, meant for her ears only. "When I was nothing. When I was last place and failing and had no prospects and no future worth mentioning. Aurora saw potential she wanted to cultivate. Addison saw someone who wouldn’t be afraid of what she needed. But you looked at me when I was nobody and decided I was worth your time anyway."

"That’s not—"

"That’s exactly what happened. First day of combat class, when Vale was making examples of people and I was about to get my ass kicked in front of everyone, you stepped in. Not because you saw some hidden strength or future potential. Because you thought it was the right thing to do."

She was blushing now, color rising in her cheeks in a way that made her even more beautiful. "I would have done that for anyone."

"Maybe. But you kept doing it. You kept choosing me, over and over, even when I was making questionable decisions and getting into trouble and generally being more liability than asset." I leaned forward, closing the distance between us across the small table. "You want to know why I’m gentle with you? Because you’re the one who chose me when I was nothing, and I’m never going to stop being grateful for that."

"You’re not nothing," she whispered. "You were never nothing."

"I was. But then you decided I wasn’t, and that changed everything."

I kissed her then, leaning across the table in a coffee shop that smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, with afternoon sunlight making everything warm and golden and perfect. She tasted like her complicated drink and something sweeter underneath, something that was just her.

When we broke apart, she was smiling in a way that made my chest feel too full.

"We should probably head back," she said, but she didn’t move to stand up. "Belle will want to review formation strategies before training, and Jordan needs help with his equipment loadout selection."

"Five more minutes," I said. "The squad can survive without us for five more minutes."

"Five minutes," she agreed.

Five minutes stretched into ten, then fifteen. Neither of us minded.