Chapter 40 40- Never Admit How Much You Like Him
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Well. That was… An intriguing development. Not only did I manage to gather more useful information about Lexi’s shift, the prickling sensation, the delayed response, the way her body reacted to the exercise, but she also kissed me. On the cheek, admittedly. But still. That is a very good sign. I replay the moment in my mind with far more focus than I strictly need to. The way she hesitated first. The way she leaned in deliberately, not rushed, not accidental. The warmth of it, brief but intentional. The fact that she pulled back blushing instead of startled or regretful. Yes. Very good. I allow myself a slow, satisfied smile. Progress. Everything is unfolding exactly as it should. She’s comfortable. She’s choosing closeness. She’s not pulling away, if anything, she’s stepping forward in small, careful ways. That tells me far more than any bold gesture ever could. Lexi doesn’t do impulsive. If she kisses someone, even lightly, it’s because she’s thought about it. Which means my plan to keep her close is proceeding nicely. Perfect, really. Of course, I don’t dwell on the brief spike of heat that shot through me when she did it. Or the way my mind went momentarily blank before snapping back into place. That would be unnecessary. Dragons don’t get flustered. We observe. We assess. We adapt. Still… I can’t quite stop the smugness settling into my bones as I finally stand, the echo of that kiss lingering far longer than it has any right to. Yes. Very good progress indeed.
Lunch is… Louder than usual. Not in an unpleasant way. Just noticeably so. Lexi barely pauses between sentences, launching from one thought to the next with an energy that’s a little too bright, a little too fast. I recognise it for what it is immediately. She’s nervous. Embarrassed. Still thinking about what happened after class. And instead of retreating inward, she’s compensating by filling the space. I let her. She tells me about a board game she likes to play with her parents. Something cooperative, apparently. Lots of cards. Clues. A story you have to unravel together.
“They’re like escape rooms, but in a box.” She explains, hands moving as she talks.
“You have to solve puzzles to unlock new cards and figure out what’s going on. Mum always insists on reading everything out loud, and Dad gets really competitive about guessing solutions first, even though it’s literally a team activity.” She adds. I’m already halfway to dismissing it. Board games don’t generally appeal to me. Too slow. Too many arbitrary rules. Then she adds, almost as an afterthought.
“There are logic puzzles though. And codes. And riddles.” Her tone is enthusiastic. I stop chewing.
“…Go on.” I say. She brightens instantly, clearly pleased she’s caught my interest, and launches into a more detailed explanation of how the puzzles work, how you’re not supposed to look ahead, how you have to piece together information from different sources. I nod along, filing the information away. I’m not opposed to the idea. Not really. Still, part of my attention drifts, as it has been doing all day, back to the far more interesting puzzle sitting across from me. Lexi. I’m almost certain now that she isn’t any kind of flying shifter. That narrows things significantly. She’s not enrolled in flying class, and while that alone isn’t definitive, it’s rare for a species with wings not to be pushed into it early. Flight is too dangerous to delay training unnecessarily. She’s also probably not aggressive by nature. Her temperament doesn’t fit. She dislikes violence, avoids confrontation when she can, and has absolutely no interest in defence training. That rules out a significant number of predatory or combat-oriented species. Size matters too. She’s small. Compact. Not fragile, but not built for mass or brute strength either. It’s not unheard of for a small humanoid form to hide a large shift, dragons themselves are proof of that, but statistically it’s uncommon enough that it makes sense to rule it out for now. If every other avenue leads nowhere, I can revisit the possibility later. What continues to bother me, and intrigue me, is the sensation she described. Prickling. I’ve shifted more times than I can count, partially and fully, and I have never experienced anything like that. For me, shifting is heat and pressure. A sense of expansion. Weight redistributing itself. Never prickling. Never tingling. Which means whatever she is, it doesn’t function like anything I’m familiar with. I watch her talk, animated and warm, blissfully unaware that I’m cataloguing every detail. The way her honesty borders on bluntness. The way she lights up when discussing something cooperative rather than competitive. The fact that she never once frames the game as ‘winning,’ only as solving it together. Interesting. Very interesting. She glances at me, finally noticing my silence, and smiles.
“So… Would you want to try it?”She asks eagerly. I don’t answer immediately. Instead, I give her a small, thoughtful nod.
“Yes, I think I would.” I say at last. Her smile widens, and something settles in my chest, a quiet, possessive satisfaction.
After lunch, I walk Lexi to her medicinal magic class. She’s calmer now, more settled, but I still keep my pace matched to hers, slow and steady. I don’t rush her, don’t crowd her. I stay just close enough that anyone watching would think twice before drifting too near. She doesn’t comment on it. She doesn’t pull away either. That feels… Right. At the door, she turns to me with that small, warm smile she’s been giving me more often lately.
“I’ll see you after class?” She asks.
“Yes.” I answer immediately. No hesitation.
“Then we go to the library.” I confirm. She nods, reassured, and slips inside. I stand there for a moment after the door closes. Just long enough to make sure she’s truly gone, safe in her seat, before I turn away. Flying class can wait. I head back to my room instead. The moment the door shuts behind me, the familiar quiet settles in. My desk is already cluttered, notes stacked haphazardly, loose pages half-covered in cramped handwriting, books left open to marked pages. I don’t bother tidying. There’s no point. I’m just going to make more mess. I pull the shifter book off the shelf and drop into my chair, flipping straight to the index. Prickling skin. There are… Far too many results. I frown, scanning the entries one after another. Dozens turn into hundreds. My initial satisfaction at finding references evaporates almost immediately, replaced with irritation. This sensation isn’t rare at all. I start taking notes anyway. Species names. Context. Descriptions of the sensation, tingling, static, pins-and-needles, crawling warmth beneath the skin. Some describe it as pleasant. Others as deeply uncomfortable. Some only experience it during partial shifts. Others during their first shift. Others every single time. It’s a mess. For nearly an hour I get nowhere. I lean back in my chair, jaw tight, eyes skimming the open pages without really seeing them anymore. There has to be something I’m missing. Some pattern. Some commonality. I force myself to slow down. Read properly. Not just what they feel, but who they are. And then it clicks. I sit forward abruptly, scanning my notes again with fresh eyes. Every single entry that mentions prickling involves creatures with hair, fur, or feathers. Mammals. Birds. Hybrids. Not one, not a single one, has scales. I flip pages rapidly, double-checking. Re-reading. Confirming. Dragons: heat, pressure, weight. Serpents: constriction, cold tightness. Scaled sea creatures: density, pull, heaviness. No prickling. Not once. I exhale slowly, something like satisfaction curling in my chest.
“Interesting.” I mutter to myself. It’s not definitive, nothing ever is with Lexi, but it’s a solid lead. One more thing I can rule out with reasonable confidence. No scales. Which narrows the field significantly. I grab another sheet of paper and start reorganising my thoughts, scribbling fast now. Notes pile on notes. Observations. Eliminations. Possibilities circled, crossed out, rewritten. Her temperament. Her magic sensitivity. Her discomfort with violence. Her draw toward healing. The way potions reacted on her skin. How quickly her burns improved. My desk becomes chaos. Loose pages slide onto the floor. Books lie open, spines bent, corners marked with scraps of paper and folded edges. I don’t notice. I don’t care. I’m too deep into it. Eventually, the clock on the wall catches my eye. I freeze… Shit. I check the time again, just to be sure. Lexi’s class will be ending soon. I shove my chair back, standing abruptly. The research can wait. The theories will still be here later, and I already know what I want to look into next. Methods for identifying unknown shifters. Historical cases. Diagnostic rituals. Assisted shifting techniques. Anything that can be done safely. Anything that won’t frighten her or push her too hard. I gather a few key books into my arms, leaving the rest exactly where they are. The mess can stay. It’s a working space now. By the time I reach the door, my mind is already racing ahead to the library. To Lexi. To what else I might uncover if I keep digging. One thing is certain. Whatever she is, she’s rare. And I am going to figure it out.