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“Magic should flow naturally, like water finding its path.” Dr. Reyes demonstrated, her own power moving smoothly through the air. “Any resistance usually means you’re trying to force it in unnatural ways.” She hesitated. “Like during the ceremony—did you try to make your magic work with theirs? Or did it simply… happen?”

“It just happened,” I admitted. “Like it knew what to do better than I did.”

Something flickered in her expression—concern? Warning? “You have good instincts about magical currents. Trust them. But be careful who you tell about your sensitivity.”

I gathered my books slowly. “Dr. Reyes? Is it normal for magic to feel so different in different places?”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Magic is complex. The important thing is learning to work with natural flows rather than against them.” She paused. “Come see me if you notice anything… unusual. Especially in places where old magic runs deep.”

As Scout and I headed to our next class, I couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been warning me about something. The dead things whispered more urgently now, drawing my attention to places where wrong magic leaked through otherwise clean flows.

I just wished I understood what it all meant.

Raven and Iemerged from the academic building, the crisp mountain air a welcome relief after a morning of lectures and failed spells. Students moved in shifting clusters around us, their conversations layering like woven threads of magic—some threads bright and warm, others darker, whispering things I didn’t want to hear.

Raven stretched, shaking out her hands. “Death, that class was brutal. If I never have to hear the phrase ‘arcane symbiosis’ again, it’ll be too soon.”

I nodded absently, my fingers drumming against my books. Yesterday still weighed on me—the failed light spell, the way the whispers had followed me down the halls.

But more than that, a lingering unease curled low in my stomach. Like someone was watching me.

Scout chittered softly, his tiny skeletal form pressing closer to my skin. A warning.

And then I saw him.

Keane stood at the entrance to the courtyard, half in shadow, half in the weak afternoon light. He wasn’t blocking my way, wasn’t even looking directly at me—but he was there, his presence impossible to ignore. His magic curled and shifted around him, portals flickering in and out of existence like thoughts half-formed and discarded.

Raven noticed my silence and followed my gaze. “Are we avoiding him, or pretending he doesn’t exist? Just need to know so I can adjust accordingly.”

My grip tightened on my books. “We’re walking past him like he’s just another heir who stood by and watched.”

Raven’s expression turned unreadable, but she didn’t argue.

We stepped forward. Keane’s head lifted slightly, his gaze flickering toward me for the briefest moment before he looked away again. The muscle in his jaw flexed, his fingers tightening at his sides as his magic flared—just for a second—before he forced it back down. He was trying to keep his distance. Trying to do exactly what I had told myself I wanted.

So why did it make my pulse pound?

Scout bristled against my shoulder, sensing the conflict knotting inside me.

I could still feel Keane’s presence even as I passed him, like the ghost of fingertips skimming my skin. He wasn’t touching me. Wasn’t saying anything.

Raven must have felt it too, because she glanced between us, lips pressing into a thoughtful line. “You know,” she said lightly, “for someone you’re ignoring, you’re very aware of him.”

“I’m not—” I cut myself off, forcing my shoulders to stay straight as I kept walking. “He doesn’t matter.”

A lie. One that tasted bitter on my tongue.

We had nearly passed him completely when Keane finally moved. His voice was quiet, but it slid through the air like the edge of a blade. “I heard about the orb lesson.”

I froze mid-step, then forced myself to keep going. “Hope it was entertaining.”

He didn’t reply immediately. Just watched me, his magic curling inward like he was holding something back. Then, softer, “That wasn’t what I meant.”

I hesitated. For a breath, I wanted to turn, wanted to demand what he did mean. But the memory of his silence in the common room, at The Cauldron, at every moment when I had needed someone to stand up for me, slammed through me like a wall. I clenched my jaw and kept walking.

He let me go.

And I hated that part of me had wanted him to stop me.