Page 48

Between the Lines

F or the first time in what felt like weeks, I woke with no lingering dread clinging to my chest. The morning light, soft and golden, filtered through the sheer curtains of my dormitory window, painting shifting patterns across the stone walls.

My limbs, though still heavy with the echo of yesterday’s trauma, no longer ached with magical residue. The poison, the whispers, the fireflies… it all felt like a half-remembered dream—one that left both comfort and unease in its wake.

I stretched beneath the velvet coverlet, a sigh escaping my lips as I soaked in the rare stillness. A deep breath filled my lungs with lavender and old parchment—the scent of safety, of home.

Then came the soft knock at the door.

I pushed myself up slowly, brushing stray curls from my face. “Come in,” I called, voice still thick with sleep.

The door creaked open and in stepped Lydia, radiant and impossibly composed for this hour of the morning. Her icy curls were already pinned back with a silver clasp, her robe pressed, her eyes bright with amusement. She leaned casually against the doorframe, a teasing smile dancing on her lips.

“You look alive. Miraculous,” Lydia said as she crossed the room with that graceful certainty she always carried.

“I saw Samael on my way over here,” she added, tone casual, almost too casual. “Fast asleep on the sofa at the end of the hall. Looked like he hadn’t moved all night.”

My heart betrayed me with the smallest flutter. Lydia caught the silence immediately, one brow lifting in amusement.

“For someone I still don’t trust,” she said, smoothing the hem of her sleeve, “that’s a remarkably romantic level of dedication.”

I threw a pillow at her.

She dodged with practiced ease, laughing as she moved toward my wardrobe.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not saying I’ve forgiven his mysteriously broody tendencies or his habit of stepping out of literal shadows—but I’m also not blind.”

“I didn’t ask for your analysis,” I said, though I couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my lips. I reached for my brush, dragging it through the tangled mess of my hair as Lydia leaned casually against the edge of the dresser, arms crossed, watching me with quiet fondness.

“You look better today. Less haunted.”

“I feel better,” I admitted, the words soft. “Last night was… a lot.”

“You almost died,” she said, always one to skip the sugarcoating. “Thankfully, you had your brooding protector nearby to lift the curse from your body and cradle you like some tragic heroine in a gothic novel.”

She winked. “Just thought I’d remind you. In case it slipped your mind.”

“Oh, believe me. I didn’t forget.”

We both laughed, and the weight hanging between us began to ease, dissolving like mist beyond the windowpane.

As we finished getting ready—robes straightened, boots laced, books gathered—I felt something shift. Not just in me, but between us. A silent understanding that things were changing. That we were being pulled into something larger than ourselves.

Yet for now, there was still routine, still the comfort of habit and friendship.

“Come on,” Lydia said, looping her arm through mine as we stepped into the hallway. “Let’s grab something to eat before Maximort turns you to ash for yawning in his class again.”

“He’s mellowing,” I said with a shrug.

“I heard he nearly singed Julian’s eyebrows off last week.”

“He deserved that.”

Lydia and I stepped out into the hall. My heart sank a little as I noticed Samael was no longer stationed outside my doorway.

The space where he'd lingered through the night—half-shrouded in shadows, the curve of the armrest molded to his lean frame—was now empty, save for a faint indentation on the cushion and the lingering hush of something unsaid. I hadn’t realized how much I had expected him to still be there, waiting.

Lydia noticed the subtle shift in my expression but said nothing, only squeezed my arm a little tighter as we made our way toward the stairwell.

Our boots echoed lightly against the stone as we made our way down the stairs, the sound accompanied by the occasional flicker of the enchanted sconces that lined the walls—glowing soft amber in the morning dim.

“He probably went to clean up before class,” Lydia said, her voice gentler now. “Even dark knights need breakfast and sleep.”

“Maybe,” I murmured, but my thoughts were still tangled—snagged on everything that had happened the night before. The familiar draft curling through the lower halls of the academy swept up to meet us, tugging at the hems of our robes and settling into the quiet space between us.

“I’m just saying,” Lydia continued as we rounded the last curve of the stairwell, “if a man risks expulsion, social ruin, and potentially his own soul to sleep outside your door… the least you can do is acknowledge how not normal that is.”

“I’ve considered it,” I said, the softness in my voice betraying me.

“And?”

“And I haven’t decided if it’s sweet, concerning, or both.”

Lydia snorted. “Welcome to romance at Drakestone.”

As we reached the entryway to the dining hall, the scent of cinnamon and roasted apples drifted toward us.

Warmth pooled in the air, a comforting balm against the sting of the winter wind that still clung to our robes.

The great arched windows spilled golden morning light across the rows of tables, where students were already gathering—laughing, yawning, whispering over steaming mugs and half-eaten scones.

Trays of charmed breakfast platters floated gently through the air, stopping at tables and refilling themselves as needed.

Bethany waved to us from a corner table, her braid half-unraveled and her expression already sharp despite the early hour. She nudged Leander with her elbow, prompting him to look up from the slice of toasted bread he was aggressively buttering.

“You’re late,” Bethany called as we approached, though the grin curling at the corners of her mouth took the edge off her words.

“It’s still technically morning,” Lydia replied, dropping into the seat across from her with dramatic flair.

Leander raised an eyebrow, glancing between us.

“Let me guess—dark entities on the way down? Or was it the usual makeup-and-moral-dilemma combo?”

“Bit of both,” I muttered, lowering my gaze to the table.

A tray hovered in front of me, offering an array of fresh pastries—flaky croissants, jam-filled danishes, and those spiced apple scones I could never quite resist. I reached for one absently, my eyes drifting toward the coffee carafe beside it.

A cup sat already poured, wisps of steam curling upward like silent ghosts.

My hand hovered just above it.

The last time I’d had coffee in this room, it nearly killed me.

A prickle of unease crept down my spine as I stared into the dark liquid. I could still remember the metallic taste of the hex, the way it had locked my limbs and slowed my heart. The memory sat cold and heavy in my chest, resisting logic, pushing back against reason.

Still, fear, if left unchecked, could become its own sort of poison.

With a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, I picked up the cup.

“Are you okay?” Bethany’s voice was quieter now, concern laced between her words.

“I will be,” I said, lifting the mug to my lips. The heat kissed my skin. The first sip was tentative, but all I tasted was the familiar bitterness I’d always loved—no magic, no malice. Just coffee.

Bethany gave a small nod of approval. “That’s my girl.”

I smiled faintly and took a bite of the scone. Bethany piled pastries onto her napkin. Lydia and Leander were already leaning close, whispering something between them with wide grins and knowing glances. Their joy was quiet but radiant, wrapped in the private kind of magic new love brings.

Bethany caught my glance and rolled her eyes affectionately. “They’ll be useless for at least a week.”

“I’m happy for them,” I said—and I meant it.

“I know,” she replied. “But if we don’t leave now, we’ll be late—and I’m not about to lose my eyebrows just because Professor Maximort decides singeing hair is more effective than giving a lecture.”

I laughed softly and followed her as we made our way toward the entrance. The warmth of the dining hall followed us, clinging to the edges of our cloaks as we stepped back into the stone corridor, the echo of our boots swallowed by the ancient halls.

The scone in my hand was half-eaten, the coffee still warming my fingers. A small thing—but it felt like a victory.

The shadows of last night hadn’t vanished, but I was learning to walk in the light anyway.

The corridors of Drakestone were quiet this early in the morning, the hush broken only by the occasional flicker of torchlight and the soft rustle of our cloaks.

Bethany walked beside me, humming some old ballad under her breath as we navigated a narrow corridor that seemed to zig-zag toward the Incantations classroom on the third floor.

By the time we reached the tall double doors carved with runes older than the kingdom itself, a few other students had begun to gather. Some leaned against the walls, muttering revisions under their breath, while others offered clipped greetings or suspicious glances.

I scanned the hall, searching for that familiar silhouette, that brooding stance. Despite myself, disappointment curled in my chest when I didn't see Samael among the waiting students. I pushed the feeling aside, forcing my attention to the lesson ahead.

"Think we'll actually learn something useful today?" Bethany whispered, adjusting the silver clasp on her robe. "Or will it be another hour of Maximort reminiscing about his glory days fighting off dark entities?"

"Both, probably," I replied, taking another sip of coffee. The warmth spread through me, chasing away the lingering unease.