Page 70

I pick one at random. The title’s faded, but my power whispers the knowledge into me the moment my fingers brush the leather.Council Archives: Generation Three.Not what I want. Not yet. But close.

Behind me, Luna climbs the rolling ladder along the back wall, scanning from the top shelf down. A vision in black, cut by moonlight bleeding through the stained glass. She doesn’t know I’m watching.

She never has to.

I already know how this night ends.

I just haven’t decided if I’ll let it happen.

Luna climbs higher.

One foot hooks on the next rung of the rolling ladder, the other props out just slightly, balancing her weight. She reaches for a spine just out of range, fingers grazing it with that maddening elegance she doesn’t know she has. Her shirt lifts as she stretches. The edge of her spine curves, a shadow between skin and hem. Her hips shift. The slope of her ass arches out, perfect, offered without intent.

And the room forgets how to function.

Silas stops mid-page flip, mouth open like he’s about to say something ridiculous but forgot how words work. Elias stares, blinking like he’s trying to rationalize the view into something respectable—and failing, miserably. Even Caspian, broken and quiet as he’s been, pauses. His eyes track upward, locked to the way Luna moves like gravity’s never had a hold on her.

She plucks the book free, frowns at the title, then slides it back in. No idea she’s just committed a war crime with her back pocket.

“I’m going to kill that ladder,” Elias mutters under his breath.

“Not before I marry it,” Silas adds, completely sincere.

Luna turns her head over her shoulder. “You know I canhearyou.”

Elias makes a noise like he’s been caught doing something heinous—which, technically, he has—and immediately busies himself with a book on magical flora. It’s upside down.

Silas winks at her, unrepentant. “Just saying, if the ladder gets mysteriously enchanted and starts purring when you climb it—don’t blame me.”

She rolls her eyes and keeps searching.

I push off the desk and cross to the far shelves, tracing the titles absently with my fingertips. The books whisper at my skin, threads of ownership unraveling with every touch. They want to be claimed. The whole damn room does. Magic laced into the mortar, the kind that tastes like centuries-old secrets—something older than the Council, older than the school.

Blackwell didn’t build this place. He inherited it. But hefedit.

And he didn’t clean this room himself.

“Luna,” I say without turning.

She hums in response.

“Check anything bound in crimson leather. That’s Council archive protocol. Especially if the binding smells like copper.”

“Why would I sniff books?”

“You’ll understand when you find it.”

Silas snorts. “That’s the most Ambrose thing I’ve ever heard. ‘Smell the books, Luna.’ Next he’s going to ask her to lick them for residual magic.”

“Iwilllick the next one if it means getting out of here before sunrise,” Luna mutters.

Caspian’s quiet laugh surprises all of us. It’s the first sound from him that isn’t haunted. He meets my eyes across the room, and for a second, something dangerous flickers there—like he remembers how to be wicked, how to burn bright instead of breaking. Then it’s gone. Doused. But it lingers.

An hour.

We’ve combed through shelf after shelf, skimmed pages brittle with time and stinking of magic soaked too long in secrets. Riven is bent over Blackwell’s desk, rifling through paper with akind of violence that makes the drawer handles flinch. His jaw ticks every few seconds, which means we’re getting nowhere.

Luna’s on the floor now, cross-legged, a stack of books around her like a protective ring. She’s flipping through them fast, efficient, a frown between her brows that hasn’t let up since we entered. I’ve seen her kill things with less effort.