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“Indeed not.” He places one hand briefly over mine, the touch sending warmth through my arm. “Some who wander the Academy at night never find their way back to where they began.”

With that, he returns the books to their shelves. As I stand to leave, he adds, “One more thing, Professor Morgan.”

His expression grows serious, golden eyes darkening with genuine concern.

“That pendant you’re wearing,” his voice drops, fingers almost touching my throat. “Beautiful piece. Though I wonder—do you know what it’s really designed to do? Or just what you were told it does?”

My hand rises instinctively to where the pendant sits cold against my skin, Graves’ orders embodied in metal. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The corridor outside holds the typical Academy warmth, but something feels different. The air carries a subtle charge, like the moments before a thunderstorm.

Finnian’s warmth still lingers on my skin where he touched me—gentle, safe in ways that make me want to let down guards I’ve maintained my entire life. But there’s something else threading through my thoughts, something cold and sharp that calls to a different kind of hunger altogether.

As I walk, the temperature begins to drop.

Not gradually—abruptly, like stepping from summer into winter between one footstep and the next. My breath mists. Frost forms on the stone walls in delicate patterns that look disturbingly familiar.

They match the thorn designs spreading beneath my skin.

The pendant turns painfully cold against my chest, while the thorn patterns flare with answering heat—my body becoming a battleground between opposing forces.

Kieran Nightshade materializes from shadows that shouldn’t be deep enough to conceal him—forming from darkness itself, like ink bleeding through water in reverse. His aristocratic features wear that careful mask I’m beginning to recognize as performance rather than nature. My body betrays me with a shiver that’s equal parts fear and recognition.

Where he stands, the air crystallizes into geometric patterns that hang suspended like diamonds before shattering and reforming.

“Finding what you’re looking for in our humble archives, Professor?” he asks, voice sharp as breaking glass. “Or perhaps... being found?”

Ice forms on my eyelashes as I meet his gaze. The pendant burns against my skin with cold so intense it feels like acid. The thorn patterns pulse with defiant heat in response—fire meeting ice.

“Research is a journey of discovery, Your Highness.” My voice stays level even as ice and fire tear through my veins. “Though I’m starting to think the real question isn’t what I’m looking for—it’s what’s been looking for me.”

He steps closer. The air between us crystallizes. Where his feet touch the stone, fractal frost patterns spread outward. The temperature drops so rapidly that my exhaled breath forms ice crystals that fall like snow.

“And where exactly,” he murmurs, breath visible in the arctic air, “might it be leading you next?”

I don’t answer. Can’t answer, because suddenly I’m seeing flashes—Orion’s fire calling to something wild in my chest, Finnian’s gentle warmth promising knowledge and safety, and this ice prince whose very presence makes my blood sing with dangerous music.

The paths ahead multiply like fractals, possibilities I’m only beginning to glimpse.

His hand rises, hovering near my cheek without touching. The cold where our skin almost meets intensifies until I can feel individual ice crystals forming in the air. My lips part slightly, an involuntary response that makes him step even closer.

“Choose your guides carefully, Ashlynne,” he murmurs, close enough that his breath frosts my lips. “Some of us know exactly how beautiful you are when you’re dangerous. Others are still pretending you’re safe to touch.”

That name in his mouth sends electricity down my spine. Not Ash. Not Professor Morgan.Ashlynne—a name that tastes like moonlight and thorns, familiar in a way that makes my throat tighten.

“Some lights,” he continues, his thumb tracing the air just above my cheekbone, “lead only deeper into shadow. Trust me—I know what it costs to protect someone you love from people who would destroy them for sport.”

Then he’s gone, dissolved into darkness. Only the frost patterns remain, slowly melting, leaving dark patches that look disturbingly like the mark spreading up my arm.

I stand there for several heartbeats, my body caught between fire and ice. The aftereffects of his presence war with the lingering warmth from Finnian’s touch, creating a storm in my chest.

The mission parameters no longer seem adequate to contain the possibilities that twist and spread like the thorns beneath my skin. Or the growing certainty that the real question isn’t what I’m becoming—but what I’ve always been, sleeping beneath a skin that was never truly mine.

Tomorrow, I’ll let Finnian show me those hidden archives. I’ll follow the path deeper into whatever truth is waiting.

Even if it leads me somewhere I can never return from.

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