Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 1021: Hairline Fractures

“Elowyn.”

Elara turned at the sound of his voice.

Cedric stood a few paces back, half-shadowed beneath one of the corridor’s lanterns. The crowd of students had already dispersed down the hall—Marian’s voice still echoing faintly in the distance—but he hadn’t moved. His hand rested against the edge of the stone wall, posture easy yet deliberate.

She had learned, over the past months, to recognize that tone.

He only used it when he wanted to say something—not the casual, throwaway comments he made to keep the group’s energy alive, but the ones that lingered. The kind that carried weight even before he spoke.

“Ced-, ahem…Reilan,” she said softly, turning to face him fully. “You stayed behind.”

He gave a faint, almost sheepish smile. “You noticed.”

“I tend to notice when people call my name,” she replied, a trace of dry humor in her tone.

That earned a quiet exhale from him—half amusement, half nerves. He pushed away from the wall and walked closer, his steps slow, measured.

The way he approached people always reminded her of his swordsmanship: precise, never abrupt, like he was giving them time to breathe before the strike.

Cedric stopped at her side—not too close, not too far. Just enough that she could feel him there, the familiar presence she’d grown used to over the months.

And… she didn’t mind.

It was easy, in a quiet way. A habit formed long before Arcanis Academy, long before the uniform and the illusioned names. Even when Eveline had taken her under her wing—dragging her from place to place, world to world, trial to trial—Cedric had been the constant shadow at her back.

He was used to waiting for her.

And she was used to being waited for.

“How are you holding up?” he asked softly.

The question wasn’t dramatic. Cedric never asked dramatic questions. He preferred the small ones—the ones that checked for cracks rather than demanded confessions.

Elara glanced up at him. His hazel eyes (illusion-warped, but still unmistakably his) held a quiet tension. Not panic. Not worry. Just… awareness.

“I’m fine,” she answered. “A bit tired. But it’s the same for everyone.”

A soft exhale. “You don’t need to hover.”

“Hovering would mean I’m above your head,” Cedric replied. “I’m definitely beside you.”

She shot him a look—flat, unimpressed, but edged with amusement. It earned him a ghost of a smile.

The hallway had mostly emptied now, footsteps fading into distant dormitory wings. Only a few lanterns flickered along the stone walls, their glow steady and golden. The air felt cooler without the crowd—quieter, almost peaceful.

Cedric shifted his weight, glancing after their friends before looking back at her.

“You weren’t bothered earlier,” he said. “With the announcement.”

“I said so.”

“I heard.”

His tone softened. “But still… this week has been hard on everyone. And I know your schedule hasn’t been kind.”

The pale light brushed along his jaw, catching the faint shadow of fatigue beneath his eyes.

But Elara wasn’t shaken the way the others were.

Eveline had trained her under storms and cold moons. Under illusions that tormented, and riddles that cut deeper than steel.

Compared to that, a Magister interview felt almost merciful.

She folded her hands lightly at her waist. “I truly don’t mind. I’ve handled worse.”

Cedric let out a quiet breath—one of those low, warm sounds he only made when something struck a little too close to familiarity.

Then he laughed.

Not loudly.

Not mockingly.

Just a soft, disbelieving laugh that slipped past his guard.

“Handled worse,” he echoed, shaking his head. “Yes… you would say that.”

Elara blinked, caught off-guard by the warmth in his tone. Cedric wasn’t laughing at her—he was laughing because he understood exactly what she meant.

“You’re thinking of Eveline,” she said.

His smile widened, rueful and fond at once. “Who else?”

A beat passed.

Then—

“You remember the time she made me hold a stance for three hours because I blinked at the wrong moment?”

Elara’s eyes softened. “You fell into the snow.”

“I collapsed into the snow,” Cedric corrected. “Face-first. She told me to freeze there until I ’absorbed the lesson.’ I still don’t know what that means.”

Elara’s lips tugged upward. “She never did explain her lessons, did she?”

“Explain?” Cedric scoffed. “She’d sooner set the training grounds on fire and tell us to ’reflect on the symbolism’.”

Elara’s laugh was quiet—real and unguarded. The kind she didn’t let out around many people anymore.

Cedric watched her for a heartbeat too long.

And something shifted in the air.

Not tension—no.

Something quieter.

Something that pressed at the ribs from the inside.

He took a slow breath, gaze dropping briefly—not in avoidance, but like he was choosing his next words carefully.

“Elara,” he said, voice lower now. “About earlier…”

Her posture stilled.

Not visibly—just a hint, the way her fingers folded together too neatly.

Cedric noticed anyway.

“I mean,” he tried again, “after the exam ended. We agreed to meet at the terrace.”

Ah.

There it was.

The question.

The one he’d been holding back since he saw her walk into the crowd alone—since Marian mentioned she hadn’t seen her, since Valen wondered aloud if she’d gone to check her score early, since Aurelian shrugged and said she was probably with Selphine.

Cedric had known better.

He always did.

But he hadn’t said anything then.

And he hesitated now.

“You… didn’t come,” he said quietly. “And you’re usually the first one there.”

Elara’s breath caught.

Just slightly.

Cedric saw the micro-flinch she tried to hide—the one that came whenever someone almost brushed the edges of something she couldn’t explain.

The headache she had.

The tremor in her hand when she left the hall.

Her expression when she saw Lucavion moving with purpose.

Her missing the meeting because she followed him—

because she found Priscilla—

because she witnessed something she wasn’t supposed to.

None of which Cedric knew.

And yet—

He was close enough to sense something.

Not the truth.

But the direction of it.

Cedric’s brows drew together, the faintest crease forming between them—a subtle sign he was thinking harder than he let on.

“Elara,” he said softly, “did something happen?”

The gentleness in his tone should have eased her.

It didn’t.

It pressed—quietly, almost tenderly—against the part of her she kept locked down.

The part she didn’t want anyone to see.

Her fingers tightened around each other. “It was nothing.”

Cedric didn’t move. He didn’t sigh. He didn’t push.

But his eyes—those steady hazel eyes—searched her face with a precision that made her chest tighten. Cedric never interrogated. He observed. And sometimes that was harder to deflect.

“You’re sure?” he asked.

His voice was soft. Too soft.

She hated that it made her feel exposed.

“I just needed a moment alone,” she said, tone even. “After the exam. The hall was crowded. The noise was too much.”

A half-truth.

She prayed it was enough.

Cedric nodded slowly—not convinced, but accepting the boundary she placed.

For a moment.

Then—

“…Elara.”

Something in his posture shifted.

His shoulders squared just slightly, as though he were bracing himself.

And then he said it.

“Lucavion wasn’t there either.”