Chapter 323: Packing Up is Hard to Do, Especially When Your Bodyguard Has a Crush on the Stray Dog

Celeste Vance had never realized how little she owned until she tried to pack it.

The room that had been assigned to her in the Argent Sentinels’ dormitory was immaculate. The sheets on her bed were crisp white, hospital corners perfect enough to bounce a coin off. The desk held nothing but a datapad and a single pen, aligned parallel to each other. The closet contained her uniforms, arranged by function: combat, academic, formal. No photographs decorated the walls. No trinkets cluttered the surfaces. No evidence that a person had lived here for nearly two months.

Celeste stood in the center of this sterile space and felt nothing at all.

This is what Seraphina wanted,

she thought.

A controlled environment. No distractions. No attachments. Nothing that couldn’t be packed in fifteen minutes and relocated to wherever the VHC needed me next.

She had succeeded beyond her sister’s wildest dreams. She had become as empty as her room.

"I can’t do this."

Monica Von Astrom sat on the edge of Celeste’s bed, arms wrapped around a pillow, knees drawn up to her chest. Her blonde hair, usually styled to perfection, hung lank and unwashed around her face. Dark circles carved hollows beneath her eyes. She hadn’t slept properly since the dungeon.

"Can’t do what?" Celeste asked, her voice soft.

"Any of it. Packing. Moving. Meeting new people." Monica’s grip on the pillow tightened. "What if they’re just like him? What if they look at me and see... see what he saw?"

Disposable. Expendable. A shield.

The words went unspoken, but they hung in the air between them like poison.

Celeste crossed the room and sat beside Monica on the bed. She didn’t touch her. Monica flinched at unexpected contact now, a reflex she’d developed in the three days since Julian Valerius had shoved her toward death.

"They’re not like him," Celeste said.

"How do you know?"

"Because Satori Nakano saved us."

Monica looked up, confusion clouding her red-rimmed eyes. "He saved you. I was just... there."

"No." Celeste shook her head. "When he made the deal with Julian, he could have taken anyone. Kenjiro would have been more useful. Aaron is a stronger fighter. But he specifically asked for you."

"Maybe he just wanted—"

"He said talent shouldn’t be wasted on cowards."

Monica went still.

"Noah told me." Celeste allowed a small smile to touch her lips. "Nakano said you deserve a guild that won’t throw you to the wolves. Those were his exact words."

For a long moment, Monica didn’t respond. Then her shoulders shook, once, twice, and tears spilled down her cheeks in silent streams.

"I thought I was going to die," she whispered. "I saw that thing coming for me, and Julian just... he just pushed me. Like I was nothing."

"You’re not nothing."

"Then why did he—"

"Because he’s a coward." The voice came from the doorway, sharp and certain.

Noah Gray stood with an empty box in her arms, her blonde hair pulled back in its usual severe ponytail, her professional mask firmly in place. But something was different about her today. The tension that usually lived in her shoulders had loosened. Her movements, as she crossed to Celeste’s closet and began transferring uniforms into the box, were lighter than Celeste had ever seen them.

Almost... happy.

"You knew him better than anyone here," Noah continued, folding clothes with aggressive speed. "You know what kind of person he is. What happened in that dungeon was just... him. His true self. The mask finally slipped."

Monica wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "But he was always so..."

"Charming? Confident? Perfect?" Noah snorted. "That’s the problem with people like Julian. They’re great at performing strength. But the first time real danger shows up, you find out what they’re actually made of."

She closed the box and reached for another, moving to Celeste’s desk.

"Are you... alright?" Celeste asked, watching Noah’s almost frantic energy with growing curiosity. "You seem different today."

Noah’s hands paused on the datapad. A faint blush crept across her cheeks, so slight that anyone else would have missed it.

"I’m fine, Lady Vance."

"Celeste."

"What?"

"We’re not in the Sentinel dorms anymore. We’re going somewhere new. Somewhere—" Celeste searched for the right word. "Somewhere I want to try being just Celeste."

Noah stared at her for a long moment. Something softened in her expression, something warm and almost vulnerable.

"Celeste," she repeated, as if testing the word on her tongue. "I’m... fine. Better than fine, actually."

"Why?"

The blush deepened. Noah suddenly became very interested in arranging the contents of the box.

"No reason."

"Noah."

"It’s nothing important."

"Your face is the color of a tomato."

Noah’s jaw clenched. She set down the box with more force than necessary and turned to face Celeste directly.

"He said it was inefficient."

Celeste blinked. "What?"

"Nakano. When he made the deal. Professor Petrova asked him why he wanted you transferred, and he said..." Noah’s voice dropped, almost mumbling. "He said it was inefficient for me to sneak out every night. He said having us all in the same building would improve ’camaraderie.’"

The words hung in the air.

Monica looked up from her pillow, tear tracks still wet on her cheeks. "Wait. He... he did it for you?"

"No!" Noah’s blush had spread to her ears now. "He did it for tactical reasons. For the team. For—"

"He did it for you," Celeste said, and she felt her lips curve into the first genuine smile she’d worn in weeks. "That boy negotiated with Julian Valerius, blackmailed the heir of one of Valoria’s great families, and demanded the President’s sister as part of the deal... because he wanted you to get more sleep."

Noah opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"That’s... that’s not..."

"It’s kind of romantic, actually," Monica said quietly.

"It’s not romantic! It’s practical! He’s just—" Noah made a strangled noise of frustration. "He’s impossible. He’s reckless and arrogant and he nearly got himself killed taking a hit for his healer and he has that stupid smug grin and those stupid sharp eyes and—"

She stopped abruptly, seeming to realize what she was saying.

The silence that followed was deafening.

"Oh," Celeste said softly. "Oh, I see."

"You don’t see anything."

"You like him."

"I do NOT—"

"Your denial is very convincing," Monica offered, a ghost of her old humor flickering across her face. "Truly. Oscar-worthy performance."

Noah’s expression cycled through indignation, embarrassment, and something that might have been panic before settling into resignation.

"I don’t like him," she said firmly. "I am... professionally intrigued by his tactical capabilities. That’s all."

"Of course."

"And I respect his willingness to sacrifice himself for his teammates."

"Naturally."

"And his hands are very nice."

Both Celeste and Monica stared at her.

Noah’s face went crimson. "I’m going to pack the bathroom supplies."

She fled the room before either of them could respond.