Page 52 of Embers of Midnight
“And Cassandra,” Ash prods, nose wrinkling like he smelled ice.
I sip water. “She tried to trip me with a mirror. Maddox caught it. I didn’t bite.”
Ronan’s jaw flexes. Not drama. Calculation. “Good.”
“It’s not that she’s good at this,” I go on. “It’s that she thinks the room owes her. It’s… familiar.”
Ash tilts his head, reading the edges. “We can shift your schedule if she’s in too many blocks.”
“I’m not glass,” I say, then softer, because honesty is a muscle I’m trying to grow: “Thank you.”
We eat in a rhythm that feels practiced even though it isn’t. Ash narrates a terrible movie we should absolutely watch on Friday because poor choices are a spice. Ronan listens more than he talks, but when he does, the line is clean and aimed at the knot I didn’t know needed loosening—drink your water, eat the protein, ignore the two idiots staring at us like we’re on a show.
“Let them stare,” I mutter.
“They will,” Ronan says. “They’ll also learn.”
The thing under my sternum that likes him too much stretches. I give it a look. It refuses to behave. When we stand, Ash kisses my cheek, quick and warm. I swat him and miss on purpose. He grins like he won a prize and sprints backward for three steps before pivoting toward his next bad decision.
Tactical Magic & Combat Strategies is Draven’s arena. Grid on the floor, barriers on rails, ward nodes like quiet stars at the corners. He waits in charcoal and certainty, hands lax at his sides, attention sharp.
“Today,” he says, loud enough to carry without strain, “we’re training brains under pressure. Not flashy spells. Roles. Choices. You’ll work in threes. One decoy to draw attention. One mirror-hand to bend lines. One shield to keep the runner alive.” He taps a column; a small disc glows on top. “Token on the pillar. Two active wards. Trigger a third, you fail. Five minutes. Questions you should have asked earlier will hurt you anyway. Begin.”
Taya appears at my side like she popped out of a fern. “Mine,” she says, which is friendship, not possession. A wiry warlock with ink-stained fingers lifts a hand without being asked.
“Finn,” Draven supplies without looking. “Section B. Floaters, fill odd groups.”
“Finn, you’re with us,” I say. He shrugs like gravity, steps in, takes position by the shield plate like he’s done this in his sleep.
The first team sprints and detonates two wards in thirty seconds. The second team double-checks themselves into a timeout.
“Angles,” I tell Taya, already mapping cones. “We bait left with a fake step. Mirror at thirty degrees to kick the beam high. Finn, waist-high shield, fixed, not chasing. I’ll run.”
“Copy,” Finn says, voice low, steady. Taya shakes out her hands like a boxer, ready.
“Go,” I count. We move. The mirror catches; the beam jumps. Taya nudges a potted fern exactly one hand higher at my signal, which lifts a laser off the floor. Finn holds his line like a doorframe. I slide through the safe gap, sleeve over skin, lift the token, don’t gloat, don’t breathe stupid, and run the same path back.
“Two minutes thirteen.” When he calls time, the room exhales and leaks noise again. He waits while the tide drains, then crooks a finger. I step close enough to hear without giving away the conversation.
“How are you settling,” he asks. Not a test. A check.
“Better when the rules are honest,” I say. “Today helped.”
A flicker that might be humor touches his mouth. “Friday. Tea. Eleven. You talk, I listen. We’ll plug holes.”
“Yes.” It jumps out before nerves can start their circus.
He nods once. “Bring a friend if you want. Or don’t.” His gaze does that weighing thing again and then lets me go without pinning me to praise or threat. Taya materializes at my elbow.
“Tea,” she mouths, scandalized. “With Draven.”
“It’s a conversation, not a coronation.”
“Tell that to your cheekbones.” She bumps me and sprints for her next class.
***
Evening is sweat and discipline. Private training room. Wards hum low enough to sit in my bones without picking a fight.Darian checks a meter; Ronan tapes my wrists with that careful pressure that says he knows what my hands will do before I do.