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Nothere, specifically. But others like it. Before the Academy had this name. Before the Council built walls to contain power and passed it off as teaching. Before they made men like us into myths, and locked away what didn’t serve their order.

This was a place for ritual. Not for learning.

Ambrose crouches beside the circle, trailing one gloved finger along its edge. “It’s not complete.”

“It was,” I say. “Someone broke it.”

He glances up, eyes catching the fractured section like he’s already piecing together what was once carved there. “Intentionally.”

I nod. “To stop something. Or let something out.”

He rises, slow and deliberate, watching the altar the way predators watch one another—curious, wary, and barely keeping their claws to themselves.

I don’t like how it smells in here. Not decay. Not dust.

Old magic.Bitter. Violent.

“I want the others to see this,” I murmur.

Ambrose doesn’t move. “Do you?”

I turn to him. “What?”

His gaze cuts to mine, unreadable. “Do youwantthem to see it, or do you want her to see it?”

The silence stretches. My bond to Luna flares, low in my chest, the way it always does when she’s too far.

I grit my teeth. “Shut up.”

He smirks.

I let the bond stretch between us like muscle flexing beneath skin—intentional, restrained, but strong enough she’ll feel it. My side opens first. Not a tug, not a demand. Justpresence.A pulse in the hollow of her chest, echoing down her spine, the way mine hums when she thinks of me.

She answers before I even finish the thought.

We found something,she tells me, her voice threading through the link. Not words, not really. Just meaning.Books. Hidden. Caspian says he’s never seen them before. They’re not catalogued.

I close my eyes, drag in a breath, and exhale through the rising heat in my chest.Bring them to me,I send back, sharper than Imean to. Then softer, before she can twist it.And grab Silas and Elias. I want them here too.

There’s a flicker of amusement from her. Then warmth.

I love you,I tell her. Not a whisper. Not hidden.

I love you too,she says, and the bondsings.

The corners of my mouth lift—barely. Enough.

Then I feel it. That other weight.

Ambrose.

He’s leaning against the far wall like he’s part of it. Arms crossed. That storm cloud of superiority and self-loathing brewing so loud I don’t need a bond to hear it.

I snap my head toward him. “You done sulking?”

His jaw tightens.

“I’m serious,” I growl. “This tortured antihero routine? It’s fucking old. You want her? Take a fucking step. Bond her. Kiss her.Look at herwithout pretending she’s just another goddamn piece on a board.”