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“This is entirely different from that regrettable social miscalculation,” I snap, though my treacherous body betrays me with another surge of magic that cracks the glass. “This is concern for a potentially vulnerable newcomer.”

“Like a shadow hunting light,” Orion confirms, following my gaze. “The way he watches her isn’t curiosity, Finn. It’s recognition. He knows something we don’t.”

“Then your reaction isn’t just academic concern, old friend. That’s jealousy crawling across your face like winter frost.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” But even as I deny it, I cannot tear my gaze from Kieran’s distant figure.

“No, we cannot simply tell her. Not yet.” I turn back to Orion, the decision crystallizing. “The shock alone could trigger an awakening she’s not prepared for.”

“So we wait?” Orion’s disappointment manifests physically—a small flame dancing between his fingers. “While the Unseelie circle like wolves and that pendant slowly strangles her power?”

“We observe. We protect. We guide.” I move to my desk to pull fresh parchment from a drawer. “There is a more systematic approach.”

The plan crystallizes as I speak it aloud. “I’ll use my position as her liaison to stay close, earn her trust gradually. You can approach from a different angle. Offer to spar with her. Test her combat abilities.”

Orion’s eyes light up—literally, gold flecks brightening like embers. “You want me to fight the potential royal heir? Now that’s a plan I can enthusiastically support.”

“Spar,” I correct firmly. “Not fight. We need comprehensive data, not incident reports.”

“And Nightshade?” Orion’s expression darkens, the temperature around him dropping. “If he’s watching her already...”

“You saw him?” I crush the quill to splinters. Ink splatters across three centuries of notes. My hands shake with barely contained violence.

“I did.”

“We keep her away from him as much as possible,” I say, voice tight. Golden light flickers beneath my skin, the ancient symbol against my chest burning with answering heat. “The Unseelie would use her as a weapon if they knew. Or eliminate her as a threat.”

Light explodes from the lamp. Glass rains down on my desk. Three books catch fire. I can’t control my magic anymore. The image of Kieran’s cold eyes studying her flashes through my mind again, sending another surge of protective rage through me so powerful that the lamp nearest me flares to painful brightness before shattering.

A knock at my door interrupts—three precise taps followed by two lighter ones. The Headmaster’s signature. The sound pattern sends a prickle of apprehension down my spine.

“Enter,” I call, quickly closing the ancient text and returning it to its shelf.

Valeborn moves like he’s not entirely solid. His feet don’t quite touch the floor. His shadow falls wrong—too many angles. He steps into my quarters with the fluid grace that has always marked him as something other than purely Fae. He moves as if partially untethered from physical laws. His hair has shifted to deep midnight blue—a sign of serious matters.

“Professor Willowheart,” he acknowledges before nodding to Orion. “I trust the welcoming festivities met with your approval?”

“Entirely,” I respond, recognizing the pleasantry for the formality it is. “What brings you to my quarters at such an academically unproductive hour, Headmaster?”

Valeborn’s eyes—currently silver with hints of gold—fix on mine with uncomfortable intensity. The air between us thickens slightly with his power. “I’ve made a decision regarding our new faculty member. You will serve as Professor Morgan’s primary liaison during her... adjustment period.”

Not a request. An assignment.

My pulse jumps, a flutter beneath the skin of my wrist. Blood rushes to my face. “An interesting choice of words. Adjustment to what, specifically?”

“To realities that may prove more familiar than she currently understands.” His eyes hold mine with ancient knowledge. “Your expertise in human-Fae relations makes you uniquely qualified for such... revelations.”

“And if these revelations prove dangerous to her?”

“Then your expertise in protective scholarship will serve her well.”

“Unusual in what way?” Orion asks, stepping forward with sudden intensity.

Valeborn studies him with unnerving intensity, his eyes shifting from silver to midnight blue. “The Balance has maintained peace for millennia. Some would say imperfect peace is preferable to perfect chaos.”

“And you, Headmaster?” I dare to ask. “What would you say?”

He turns, the movement too fluid to be natural. For a moment, I glimpse something beneath his carefully maintained appearance—something ancient and not entirely Fae.