"Fine," I manage, forcing my voice to stay steady. "Just tired."
He doesn’t look convinced, but I don’t give him a chance to press. I drop my gaze to my lap, focusing on regulating my breathing, on tamping down whatever this is.
It’s power—there’s no mistaking that—but it’s unlike anything I’ve felt before. Not the shadow magic that coils in me like a serpent, waiting to strike. This is much bigger. And it is scaring the hell out of me.
I don’t tell them. Instead, I push the feeling down, bury it deep, pushing it as far back inside as I can. I push through the cold heat, the tingling, forcing myself to swallow it like acid. Whatever this is, now's not the time to deal with it. Not here. Not in front of them, or in front of the whole school. I force my hand to relax on the chair and focus on what’s right in front of me—my mates, their laughter, the way Rory’s grinning like he’s said the funniest thing in the world.
"Brigid," Callen says, leaning closer. His voice carries that teasing edge he knows always pulls me back. "You’re awfully quiet. Reminiscing about earlier?" He teases.
"Not a chance," I say, my lips curving up despite myself. It’s automatic, the banter slipping into place like armor. "But keep dreaming, Callen."
"Ah, there she is," Rory cuts in, throwing an arm over Tiernan’s shoulder like he’s ready to make a grand announcement. "I was worried for a second. Thought maybe Lochan had bored you to death."
"Rory," Lochan says flatly. "Keep talking, and I’ll show you exactly how boring I can be."
Marius catches my eye across the table. He doesn’t laugh, but there’s a knowing look, something that tells me he noticed my earlier slip. But he doesn’t call me out, doesn’t press. Instead, he gives a small nod, and I return it, grateful for his silence.
"Alright," I say, cutting into whatever nonsense Rory’s spouting now. "Enough about Lochan. Someone pass me the bread before Rory eats it all."
"Too late," Rory says, crumbs scattered across his plate like evidence of a crime.
"Unbelievable," I mutter, shaking my head.
The fiery energy still hums faintly beneath my skin, a reminder that it hasn’t gone anywhere. That it’s waiting. But for now, I shove it aside and focus on getting through dinner.
Chapter Twenty Four
Tiernan
The light catches on Brigid’s hair as she steps out into the courtyard, the dark strands glinting with bronze in the early sun. She moves carefully, her arms folded across her chest like she’s holding herself together. Her shoulders are tense, but there’s a quiet strength in how she carries herself now that wasn’t there before. She stops just past the stone arch, tilting her face up toward the sky, eyes half-closed, and for a moment, I forget to breathe.
She’s changed. It’s subtle, but it’s there—something sharper in her edges, something heavier in her silences. Since she came back from Newton, there’s this... stillness about her, like she’s bracing for something only she can see coming. I don’t know if it’s strength or fear, or maybe both, but it pulls at me in ways I don’t entirely understand. There’s so much I want to ask her, but I never know where to start.
I hesitate by the steps, watching her, feeling like an intruder on a private moment. Then she shifts, glancing over her shoulder, and our eyes meet. Her expression doesn’t change, but there’s a glint of something in her gray gaze—a question or an invitation. Either way, I take it.
"Morning," I say as I fall into step beside her. My voice comes out quieter than I mean it to, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She nods once, then turns back toward the path leading away from the courtyard.
We walk in silence for a while, the gravel crunching underfoot. She doesn’t look at me again, and I’m not sure if that means she wants me here or doesn’t know how to ask me to leave. Probably the latter. But leaving isn’t an option—not when she looks like this, wound so tight I can almost feel it.
"How are you feeling today?" The words feel clumsy as they leave my mouth, too formal, too clinical, but it’s the best I can manage. Empathy has never been my strong suit, and finding the right balance between concern and intrusion is a skill I’ve yet to master.
"Fine." Her answer is automatic, but then she exhales, glancing sideways at me. "No, not fine. Tired. Restless.” She pauses, frowning down at the path ahead. "I don’t know. It’s hard to explain."
"Try," I say before I can stop myself. It comes out sharper than I intend, and she flinches slightly, her fingers tightening around her elbows. I soften my tone. "I mean, if you want to. I’m listening."
She doesn’t respond right away, her gaze fixed on the horizon. When she speaks again, her voice is lower, more hesitant. "It’s just... everything feels heavier lately. Like there’s this pressure bearing down on me that I can’t shake off. And it’s not just—it’s not just mine, you know? It’s..." She trails off, shaking her head. "Forget it. It sounds stupid."
"It doesn’t." I keep my eyes forward, giving her space. "You don’t have to explain it all at once. Or at all, if it’s too much. Just know I’m here."
Her lips press into a thin line, and for a second, I think she’s going to shut down completely. But then she nods, a small, reluctant movement, and her posture softens just enough to let me breathe easier.
"Thanks," she murmurs, so quietly I almost miss it.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Nowhere in particular. I needed some fresh air and to get out of the building.”
I nod, understanding.“Same.”
