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“They’re gone,” he confirms and releases me.

I turn to face him, keeping my voice low. “We need to finish and get out.”

He nods, but there’s something different in his gaze now—a heightened intensity, an almost predatory focus. We return to the lilies, working quickly to collect the final drops.

As I secure the vial, I notice his attention fixed on my hands—specifically, on the cut I made amidst the chaos of the relic chamber, which has reopened after pushing through some thorny undergrowth. A thin line of blood has seeped through my glove.

“Your blood,” he says, his voice deeper than usual, something calculating behind his amber eyes. “It carries the signature of your magic. Strong. Ancient.”

I frown at him, confused. He already knows my ancestry. Why is he acting surprised now?

“What?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says, but his eyes lingeron the blood seeping through my glove. “We need to leave. Now.”

Something about his reaction unsettles me, but there’s no time to question it. I tuck the vial carefully into an inner pocket of my jacket as we retrace our steps through the greenhouse, moving with greater urgency now. Behind us, the moonfire lilies continue their pulsing glow, marking our intrusion in their silent language. At the service door, Dayn pauses to listen once more before we slip out into the night.

As we walk into the darkness, I can’t shake the sensation of his eyes following me—not with casual interest, nor even with assessment. As if it doesn’t matter that we’ve almost been caught. As if the possibility of his exposure is nothing compared to whatever is playing out behind those eyes. It makes me uneasy, the intensity of it. There’s something else there, something that somehow makes me think of… ancient hungers… forgotten wars.

I clutch the vial of moonfire essence in my pocket and quicken my pace. Whatever game we’re playing, whatever ritual we’re preparing, I’m certain that Dayn hasn’t revealed all his cards. And in my experience, that’s when things get truly dangerous.

20

The next ingredient we need to collect is apparently in the infirmary.

At night, it smells like death masked by disinfectant—a poor disguise, in my opinion. I follow Dayn silently down the sanitized corridor, my footsteps soundless on the polished floor, keeping my distance from him. I’m still unsettled from the way he looked at my blood. It seems he’s uniquely able to sense my signature even through my suppression tablets.

I try to focus. We’re in this place now for someone else’s blood. And this task requires precision—stealing blood from the very leaders who would execute me if they knew my true identity. I find a certain poetry in that.

“The blood repository is in the eastern wing,” Dayn murmurs, his voice barely audible. “Past the treatment rooms.”

I nod, not bothering to ask how he knows the layout so intimately. Now I know dragons hoardknowledge like treasures, and Dayn apparently has centuries of collection behind him.

The white walls of the infirmary seem to glow under the dim emergency lighting. Clearblood aesthetics—everything bleached and scrubbed of character. I prefer the shadows, the honest darkness that doesn’t pretend to be something it’s not.

“Wait.” Dayn extends an arm, blocking my path.

Around the corner, a night nurse shuffles through papers at her station, yawning widely. Her aura pulses with exhaustion—an easy target for suggestion, if I had full access to my abilities. Instead, I watch as Dayn steps forward, subtly adjusting his posture to appear more human, more approachable.

“Excuse me,” he says, his voice transformed into something warm and solicitous. “I’ve been asked to review some treatment protocols for tomorrow’s combat training.”

The nurse blinks sleepily. “Professor Dayn? It’s nearly midnight.”

“Which is why I’d prefer not to disturb anyone else.” He offers a thin smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and I note how easily he lies. “The eastern repository should have what I need.”

I hang back, adopting the meek posture of the scholarship student I’m supposed to be. Clara Winters, timid and forgettable. The nurse’s eyes slide over me without interest.

“I suppose that’s fine,” she says finally. “The night healer is attending an emergency in the dormitories—lightning practice gone wrong. Should be back within the hour.”

“We won’t be long,” Dayn assures her, already moving past.

Once we’re beyond her view, I catch up to Dayn, keeping my voice low. “That was almost too easy.”

“Clearbloods trust authority without question,” he replies, something like contempt coloring his tone. “It’s their greatest weakness.”

“And what’s yours, Professor?” I can’t help asking.

His amber eyes flick to me, momentarily bright as molten gold. “Curiosity, perhaps. A dangerous trait for both our kinds.”