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Wisp leaned into me, solid and cold. She didn’t speak—she didn’t need to. She knew.

I stared at the closed pages in front of me, vision blurring.

And told myself it didn’t matter.

That keeping control was more important than doing the right thing.

That silence wasn’t the same as betrayal.

I told myself that.

And tried to believe it.

13

Marigold

Friday afternoon, Ifound them in the common room—Cyrus in an armchair by the fire, Elio sprawled across a velvet sofa, and Keane lurking by the windows with a book. The moment I entered, the temperature rose, and the air shimmered with barely contained magic. They’d clearly been waiting for me.

Elio’s usual elegant sprawl looked forced today, tension coiling in his shoulders. His perfect mask was brittle around the edges, and when he saw me, his light eyes flashed with something darker than his usual calculated disdain. Beneath that polished veneer, I glimpsed wounded pride—he still hadn’t forgiven me for seeing through his illusions.

“Ah, our little half-breed arrives,” Elio drawled, stretching lazily as if he hadn’t just been watching the door. “We were just discussing the deplorable state of our shared space.”

Scout stirred in the front pocket of my sweater—he didn’t like the heat, and neither did I. Cyrus’s magic radiated in slow, curling waves, but he kept his gaze fixed on the papers in his lap, feigning disinterest. Keane, still by the window, didn’t look up from his book. But he wasn’t reading. He was listening.

“Someone isn’t maintaining the proper magical standards,” Cyrus said without looking up. “This dorm has centuries of tradition in its maintenance.”

I twisted my ring on its chain. “The room looks fine to me.”

“Oh, but that’s exactly the problem.” Elio stood in one fluid motion, and despite everything—despite how much I loathed him—my breath hitched at how effortlessly graceful he was.

Damn him.

“You can’t even feel the enchantments woven into this space, can you?” He stepped closer, his voice dipping into mock pity. “Centuries of refinement, generations of our families strengthening the foundation. But to you, it’s just a room.”

Magic crackled in the air around me, and suddenly, my comfortable jeans and sweater vanished. In their place, an outfit materialized—a maid’s uniform, the skirt indecently short, the bodice tight enough to make my breathing shallow.

Heat flooded my skin, but I refused to flinch. I turned toward the door, but Cyrus’s flames flared, sealing my exit.

The dead things stirred at my call, ready to answer.

I shoved them back. No. If I lashed out, if I let them see me break, I’d never earn their respect. Never prove I belonged here.

Chin lifting, I faced them again.

Their reactions made my stomach twist.

Elio’s gaze dragged over me, his smirk widening. Cyrus, who had barely looked at me before, now watched with darkened amber eyes, his fingers clenched around his papers. And Keane—Keane flicked his gaze over me, then quickly looked away, the muscle in his jaw ticking once.

He wasn’t stopping this. That betrayal cut deeper than any of Elio’s taunts.

“Keane,” Elio commanded. “Fetch our new maid appropriate supplies.”

A portal shimmered open, its edges wavering slightly before steadying, and a cloth and bottle of lemon cleaner fell at my feet. I looked at Keane. He still hadn’t met my eyes.

The silence stretched. Then, finally, he turned a page in his book.

A sharp, cold thing lodged in my chest.