Page 182

The walkback from the grove should feel like a victory lap.

Orion’s hand engulfs mine as we cross the Academy grounds, the guardian oath mark pulsing against my collarbone in perfect rhythm with my heartbeat. Each throb sends warmth spiraling down my spine, magic recognizing magic in ways that make me feel genuinely powerful for the first time in my life.

Students stare as we pass—some with curiosity, others with barely concealed envy. Word about the Truth Trial has clearly spread, but now there’s something else in their gazes. Heat unfurls beneath my breastbone and pools behind my ribs like sunlight trapped under skin.

“You’re glowing,” Orion murmurs, amber eyes warm with satisfaction. “Literally. The bond marks are visible through your shirt.”

I glance down and freeze—golden-green light pulses beneath my shirt like a heartbeat made visible. The sight settles something in my chest—belonging, maybe. Something that feels like home.

But with belonging comes danger.

Belonging means being seen. Means being watched.

And the more visible I become, the more the courts will want to claim or destroy what they finally recognize as theirs.

“Should I be concerned about that?”

“You should be proud of it.” His thumb traces circles across my knuckles that send heat spiraling up my arm. “Wild Court magic doesn’t hide when it’s acknowledged. It celebrates.”

The Academy bells chime across the grounds—eight times, signaling the start of first period. Around us, Academy life continues with comforting routine. Students hurrying to classes, professors striding with purpose, the familiar rhythm that’s anchored me for months.

“I should probably check my schedule,” I say reluctantly, though the thought of sitting through mundane classes after everything that’s happened feels surreal. “Professor Blackthorne is going to murder me for missing yesterday’s combat theory.”

“Might want to hold off on that,” comes a familiar voice from behind us.

We turn to find Kieran and Finnian approaching, both looking like they haven’t slept in days. Shadows pool around Kieran’s boots like restless animals, never settling into their usual geometric precision. His usual pristine appearance shows subtle cracks—dark hair slightly mussed, frost spreading from his footsteps in jagged, violent patterns that crack the stone beneath.

Whatever Moros said, whatever Kieran had to endure to keep his place beside me, it’s burning him alive from the inside out.

Finnian’s fingers drum against his thigh in patterns that spell out anxiety, amber eyes never quite meeting mine. His composure carries exhaustion around the edges, guilt written in the careful distance he maintains.

His guilt tastes different.

Finnian doesn’t mourn the line he crossed. He mourns that it was ever necessary.

My muscles coil with the urge to run to them, but I lock my knees and keep my arms at my sides. Because something in the air has shifted—and I don’t know if we’re allies, adversaries, or something messier than either.

“We need to talk,” Kieran says urgently, ice-blue eyes scanning the grounds like he’s expecting threats to materialize from the morning mist. “All of us.”

Before anyone can respond, the second bell tolls across the Academy grounds—the five-minute warning that sends students scrambling toward their classrooms. Academy protocol becomes an iron wall between us and the conversation we desperately need.

“Your classes have been cancelled indefinitely,” Kieran announces quickly, shadows writhing with barely contained urgency. “Administrative review following recent events.”

My stomach drops while cold spreads beneath my ribs like swallowed winter. “What? Why?”

“Standard procedure when students become involved in inter-court politics,” Finnian explains with forced diplomacy, but his words come faster than usual, amber eyes flicking to the surrounding area every few sentences. “However, you are welcome to sit in on my advanced magical theory seminar. Unofficial auditing, purely educational.”

Something in his tone makes me study his face more carefully. The specificity feels deliberate, weighted with meaning I don’t understand.

“What kind of magical theory?” I ask, but the final bell is already ringing.

Kieran grabs Orion’s arm with sudden decision. “Come with me. Now.”

“Why—” Orion starts, but something in Kieran’s expression stops him. A meaningful look passes between them, weighted with information I don’t have.

“Go,” Finnian urges me toward the academic building, amber eyes burning with urgency. “The seminar starts in ten minutes. I will explain everything I can.”

There’s something they’re not telling me. Something that makes Kieran’s shadows writhe and puts that desperate edge in Finnian’s voice.