Orphaned Seed
Copyright© 2026 by Fantasylover11
Chapter 30: Reboot Timer
Snow made the campus quieter without making it kinder.
Noah walked the main path with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a cardboard drink carrier in his hand like he was just another freshman doing end-of-term logistics. Around him, people laughed about finals and winter break and the kind of tired that had a finish line.
Noah kept his head down.
Masking held.
It cost him more every week.
Not because he was worse at it.
Because he was louder.
He felt it in the way strangers’ eyes snagged on him and then slid away too fast. He felt it in the way the Veil’s pushback had stopped being subtle and started being petty.
A light on the dorm facade flickered as he passed.
Not blown.
Timed.
Like the building was watching him walk.
Noah’s left hand trembled as he shifted the drink carrier.
He adjusted his grip and forced his fingers still.
Normal, he told himself.
He’d spent his whole life learning how to look normal.
Now normal felt like a technique.
A mask.
He made it up the stairs without dropping anything.
In the lobby, a TV played a news segment about holiday travel delays.
Somebody had put a cheap paper snowflake on the window.
Noah watched the snowflake’s shadow jitter on the glass.
The Veil liked shadows; it hid in them.
Noah looked away before his headache sharpened.
Sienna waited on the chapel steps.
The stone was dusted with snow, the edges of each step softened by white. The campus lamps cast halos that made the falling flakes look slower than they were.
Noah saw her before she saw him.
She was sitting with her hands in her pockets, shoulders braced against the cold, braid tucked into her coat. She looked like she was waiting on purpose.
Noah’s chest tightened.
He walked up and stopped a step away.
Sienna looked up.
“You made it,” she said.
“Yeah,” Noah replied.
He sat beside her, leaving a careful inch of space between their coats.
The snow kept falling.
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
It wasn’t awkward.
It was the first quiet they’d had in weeks that wasn’t borrowed from exhaustion.
“How’s your head?” Sienna asked.
Noah exhaled.
“Better than it was,” he said.
Sienna’s gaze stayed on him.
Noah added, because she would hear the omission.
“Not good,” he said.
Sienna nodded once.
“Okay,” she replied.
Noah glanced down at his hands.
The tremor was faint tonight.
There.
Like a reminder.
“Everyone’s acting like it’s over,” Noah said.
Sienna’s mouth curved, small.
“On the surface,” she said.
Noah stared out at the quad.
Students hauled boxes to cars.
Parents waved.
Somebody threw a snowball at a friend and missed.
Normal.
“Mara hasn’t answered,” Noah said.
Sienna didn’t react.
“Because she can’t,” she said.
Noah swallowed.
“And Sommers?” he asked.
“Also can’t,” Sienna replied.
Noah nodded.
Meridian fracture.
A second enemy.
He felt the urge to say something like: We should run.
He didn’t.
Sienna shifted beside him.
“Term ends,” she said. “People scatter. Stories go quiet.”
Noah huffed a breath.
“Stories don’t go quiet,” he said.
Sienna’s eyes flicked to him.
“No,” she agreed. “They go private.”
Noah stared at the snow collecting on the edge of the step.
“I don’t know what happens next,” he said.
Sienna’s voice stayed low.
“Neither do I,” she replied. “That’s not the same as nothing.”
The words landed.
He turned his head.
Sienna’s eyes held his.
No flinch.
No demand.
Just that steady look that meant: say it clean.
Noah swallowed.
“I’m not promising you safety,” he said.
Sienna’s mouth tightened.
“Good,” she said. “Don’t insult me.”