Silas lasted exactly seven minutes in the dorm before admitting defeat.
Every step, every breath, every heartbeat reminded him that whatever was happening in his pants had no intention of calming down. He tried pacing. He tried breathing exercises. He even tried reciting multiplication tables.
Nothing worked.
'This isn't normal. This isn't HUMAN. I'm going to die like this. They'll bury me with a medical note that just says "Too Much Hormone."'
Which left only one option.
The infirmary.
He tugged his backpack into a strategically compressed position and headed out, moving with the fragile dignity of a man escorting a live grenade.
The walk felt endless. Every passing student risked asking questions, so he kept his gaze downward, pretending to study the floor tiles like they held ancient runic secrets.
By the time he pushed open the infirmary door, he was sweating for entirely new reasons.
Inside, the lights were soft, the scent faintly floral, and everything felt too calm.
Too calm for what he was dealing with.
And then the nurse stepped out from behind a curtain.
Nurse Anna Miles, Valecrest's most unfairly attractive staff member.
Her hair was a smooth black cascade tied into a loose, low ponytail. Her skin had that warm, soft glow that made people question whether lighting itself adored her. The uniform wasn't scandalous, but somehow it fit her too well, white coat over a fitted vest, skirt just above the knee, stockings, sensible heels that still looked unfairly good.
She blinked at him, surprised.
"Silas? What brings you here? You look flushed."
Silas nearly died on the spot.
'Why HER?! Why TODAY?! Did I sin in a past life?!'
He fought to keep a straight expression.
"I—uh—I think I'm sick."
Her brows furrowed with gentle concern, and she stepped closer.
"What kind of symptoms?"
Her tone was professional, but the proximity was not something his current condition could handle.
Silas stiffened, everywhere, and instinctively backed up a step.
"Uhh… elevated… uhh… circulation…? Maybe? I think? My body is acting weird."
Anna placed the back of her hand on his forehead to check his temperature, and Silas felt every atom in his dignity implode.
Her skin was cool. Her scent was clean and soft, something like jasmine and book pages.
The touch lasted only a second, but it was a second too long.
"I don't feel a fever," she murmured. "Is it perhaps muscle strain? You look tense."
Silas made a sound between a cough and a dying-robot glitch.
"I... It's not muscle strain." He tightened his grip on his backpack like it was the last shield of civilization.
"It's… lower. MUCH lower."
Anna blinked, thinking through possibilities.
Her expression softened as realization dawned.
"Ah." She kept her tone neutral, but her eyes shimmered with a tiny, amused sparkle. "I see. You're experiencing… an involuntary response."
Silas wished he could evaporate into vapor.
"It won't go down," he said through clenched teeth. "It's been like this for an hour. I think I'm dying."
Anna smiled, kind, sympathetic, but undeniably entertained.
"You're not dying, Silas. It's probably hormonal overstimulation. It happens sometimes at your age. Stress and adrenaline can trigger it."
Silas closed his eyes, mortified.
"So what do I do?"
She gently touched his shoulder, professional, but still enough to nearly short-circuit him.
"Sit on the bed. I'll check your vitals and see what I can recommend."
He sat, backpack still firmly in place, refusing to let it move. His heart thundered as she pulled up a stool and sat close, too close, and began checking his pulse.
Her fingers were cool against his wrist. His pulse spiked dramatically.
She raised an eyebrow.
"That's… quite high."
Silas forced a laugh. It sounded deranged.
"Yeah. Weird. Must be stress."
"Mm." Anna gave him a look that suggested she already knew he was lying through his teeth but wasn't going to call him out. "Well… I can give you something mild to help your body relax. It should settle in a few minutes."
Silas exhaled shakily.
"Please."
She stood, walked to her medicine cabinet, and he tried very, very hard not to look at how her skirt shifted when she moved.
This was absolute torture. When she returned, holding a small vial and a glass of water, she smiled warmly.
"Drink. Then lie back for a few minutes. You'll feel the tension drain away."
Silas took it, praying to any deity that would listen.
Because if this kept up much longer, he really would need medical intervention, if not an exorcism.
And the infirmary, with a beautiful nurse inches away, was the last place a boy with a rampant Cupid bloodline wanted to be.
The world outside was on the verge of an apocalypse.
Silas, meanwhile, was battling a far more personal, deeply embarrassing one.
Silas swallowed the medicine like it was his last lifeline, then lay back on the infirmary bed as instructed, still guarding himself with the backpack like an improvised chastity shield.
Elara rolled her stool closer.
Too close.
She sat beside the bed with the casual confidence of someone who had no idea she was a walking catastrophe for teenage self-control.
"Just relax," she said softly. "I need to make sure your muscles aren't locking up."
Which was hilarious, because Silas felt every muscle locking up.
She reached out, pressing two fingers lightly against the side of his neck to check his pulse again. Her touch was soft, dangerously soft, and her perfume drifted over him like some enchanted smoke.
His pulse spiked so hard Anna's brows lifted.
"Still elevated."
Silas coughed, fists clenching around his backpack straps. "Yeah, my body doesn't… relax easily."
Anna hummed thoughtfully, leaning in as she ran her fingers along the curve of his collarbone to check tension there. Her coat brushed his arm. Her hair fell slightly forward, grazing his cheek.
Every nerve ending he owned fired like alarm bells.
"You're very tense here," she murmured.
"I'm tense everywhere," Silas muttered before he could stop himself.
Her lips twitched, amusement she tried to hide.
"Lie still. I'm going to check your breathing."
She placed one hand on his upper chest.
Silas stopped breathing entirely.
Her hand was warm. Steady. And way too close to the disaster zone his backpack was protecting.
"Breathe in," she said gently.
Silas inhaled like a man being led to execution.
"And out."
The exhale came out shaky. Embarrassingly shaky.
Anna frowned slightly, misreading his panic for pain. "Is it cramping? Do you feel pressure anywhere else? Don't be embarrassed, Silas. You can tell me."
He almost laughed. Almost.
If he started laughing, he would cry right after.
"It's everywhere," he managed. "Like… everywhere."
She took his wrist again, but this time, instead of just checking his pulse, she rotated his hand slightly, testing flexibility, sliding her fingers along his palm in a slow, examining sweep.
His breath hitched.
She was doing absolutely nothing wrong.
And Silas's traitorous body was interpreting all of it as a full assault.
"Your palms are sweating," Anna noted. "Your heart rate is inconsistent. Whatever's causing this reaction is strong…"
Her eyes softened.
"Are you sure you're not suppressing something? Hormones don't usually hit this hard."
Anna reached for his backpack.
"Let me move this so you can lie comfortably..."
Silas practically levitated off the bed.
"NOPE! It's fine! It's exactly where it needs to be. Perfect. Don't touch it."
Anna blinked, startled. "Oh. I didn't realize it was that sensitive."
Silas wondered if the gods took walk-in prayer requests.
She tried to ease him back down gently, resting a hand on his shoulder, for comfort, for reassurance, but to Silas it felt like she hit a switch.
His whole body tensed. Hard.
Anna withdrew her hand slowly.
"This reaction is really intense." She bit her lip thoughtfully, unaware of the thousand ways that tiny gesture destroyed Silas's will to live. "I might need to run a more thorough exam."
He bolted upright so fast she flinched.
"No! Nope! I—I'm feeling better. So much better. Miraculously better. Medicine works fast, wow!"
"Silas, you can't leave until your vitals stabilize."
"My vitals are great!" He slapped a palm to his chest. "See? I feel... uh... calm."
A vein in his neck throbbed visibly.
"Silas."
Her voice went soft. Professional. Concerned.
"Something is wrong, and I need to help you. You don't need to be scared of me."
He wasn't scared of her.
He was scared of what would happen if he stayed another minute.
And then, as if the system itself sensed the danger of the moment, a faint, shimmering ripple ran under his skin, just enough for Silas to feel, not enough for Elara to notice.
A warning.
A pressure.
A pulse that did not belong to any normal teenage body.
His eyes widened.
No more staying.
"I need to go," he blurted.
"Silas..."
He slid off the bed, grabbed his backpack, and edged around her like a cornered animal trying to escape a goddess.
"I'll come back! Later! When I'm… less me!"
"Silas, wait!"
But he was already halfway out the door, back rigid, steps fast, mind filled with pure survival instincts.
He didn't look back.
If he did, the infirmary might actually explode.
Behind him, Anna stood frozen, hand still halfway raised, baffled.
"What on earth is going on with that boy?"
Silas didn't stop moving until he reached the stairwell and pressed his forehead to the cool wall, whispering through clenched teeth:
"This school is going to kill me long before any rift does."