Vivienne's fingers curled into the edges of the clipboard, the metal biting into her palms. The name Aurelia Ravenshire seemed to pulse on the page, the ink dark and heavy.

"Who is she?" Vivienne's voice was a jagged whisper. She looked up at Evander, her grey-green eyes searching the glacial blue of his. "I woke up with that name in my head. I wrote it without thinking. Why did you say I remembered?"

Evander's gloved hand remained on the table, his fingers inches from her own. He didn't move, yet the air in the archives grew thinner, colder. The mask of aristocratic calm settled back over his features, though a muscle jumped in his jaw.

"It is a name from a history that no longer concerns this world," Evander said. His voice was a velvet rasp, low and controlled.

"It concerns me if I'm dreaming about it," Vivienne countered. She took a step toward him, her pulse thudding at the base of her throat. "The castle. The snow. That name. You know who she was. Was she a patient? A relative?"

Evander straightened, his height casting a long, monochromatic shadow over her. He looked down at her with a pained intensity, his pupils dilated until the blue was a mere ring around the black. "She was a tragedy, Vivienne. One that died twelve centuries ago. Do not go looking for ghosts in the margins of your notes."

"You're lying," she breathed. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the clipboard. "You looked at that name like... like it means so much to you."

"I am advising you to focus on your rounds," Evander said, his tone turning as sharp as a silvered blade. He stepped back, the formal distance restored. "Medical logic requires a clear mind. Dreams are merely the debris of exhaustion."

Before Vivienne could push further, the heavy oak door of the archives creaked open.

Adrian Blackwood stood in the doorway. His lab coat was unbuttoned, his posture rigid. His hazel eyes darted between Vivienne's flushed face and Evander's untouchable stillness. The warmth that usually defined Adrian was gone, replaced by a sharp, protective edge.

"Vivienne?" Adrian's voice echoed through the silent room. He walked toward them, his boots clicking rhythmically on the stone floor. He stopped beside Vivienne, his hand landing firmly on her shoulder.

Evander's gaze dropped to Adrian's hand. The temperature in the room plummeted another three degrees.

"Dr. Blackwood," Evander murmured.

"Count Valmont," Adrian replied, his jaw set in a hard line. "I didn't realize the archives were part of the foundation's tour today."

"I was merely discussing the importance of procedural accuracy with Miss Whitmore," Evander said. He gave Vivienne one last, lingering look—a gaze that felt like an invasion of her secret thoughts—before turning toward the exit.

He moved with a fluidity that made the laws of physics seem optional, his white coat billowing slightly as he vanished into the corridor.

Silence settled over the archives, heavy with the scent of old paper and Evander's lingering chill.

"Are you okay?" Adrian asked, his grip on her shoulder tightening slightly. He turned her to face him, his eyes searching hers for signs of shock. "What was he saying to you?"

"Nothing," Vivienne lied, her tongue feeling heavy. She looked down at the margin of her notes where she had scrawled the name. "Just... scholarship details."

Adrian took the clipboard from her hand, his eyes scanning the page. He stopped at the name Aurelia Ravenshire. His brow pinched. "You've been writing this for days, Vivienne. This isn't scholarship work. It's an obsession."

"I don't know why I'm doing it, Adrian," she whispered. She rubbed her temples, her head throbbing. "I'm just... so tired."

Adrian leaned in, his voice dropping into a low, urgent register. "Listen to me. I've seen the way he looks at you. It's not professional. It's not even healthy. Men like Valmont... they don't see people. They see assets. Or toys."

"He's the reason I have this internship," she said, though the words felt hollow.

Adrian took her hand, his skin warm and grounding. "Vivienne, if you feel pressured, or if he makes you feel... unsafe... you don't have to stay at the dorms. I have a apartment. It's secure. It's away from the hospital and the foundation."

Vivienne looked at him, her eyes wide. "Adrian, I don't need—"

"It's a safe place," he interrupted, his hazel eyes sincere. "If the dreams don't stop, or if he keeps cornering you in the dark... call me. I won't let him turn you into one of his variables."

Vivienne nodded slowly, her mind still back in the winter castle of her dreams. She felt the weight of the smartphone in her pocket—the one Evander seemed to have the number for without being given it.

"Copy that," she said.

As Adrian walked her back to the ICU, Vivienne looked over her shoulder at the empty archive door. She could still feel the phantom cold of Evander's presence on her skin, and the name "Aurelia" seemed to burn against her consciousness.