I’ve done my research and I know the risks. For once, the human government and the magical world are trying–publicly, at least–to keep a fragile peace. The dorms are practically built into the college campus, which would discourage any huntersfrom trying to take me in a public setting. All I have to do is stay on campus and keep my wits about me.
Maybe it’s naïve to believe in that kind of progress. Or maybe my parents can’t believe in it because they carry old wounds from a world they bled to survive.
Either way, if danger still waits in the alleys and behind the smiles of humans, I’ll have the portal ring to escape. I’ll be back in this suffocating safety before anyone can even miss me.
My fingers tighten around the strap of my satchel and the decision is no longer a question.
I sling the bag over my shoulder, the strap biting into my collarbone, and cross the room to my mini-fridge before I can talk myself into one more minute of hesitation. I toss as many blood bags into my bag as I can fit before zipping it shut.
The hallway outside my chambers is hushed, the kind of silence that feels like it’s holding its breath. My steps sink into the thick crimson runner, each one carrying me past family photos.
First is one with Papa, frozen in the sharp black and gold of his headmaster’s uniform, his hazel eyes softened by the kind of pride that could level me if I let it. Beside him, Father stands in regal black, the silver clasp of his cloak gleaming at his throat, one hand resting on the back of the throne Mom sits in. His dark gaze has the same steady weight as it does in person, the kind that makes others bow their heads. Not many are allowed to see the twinkle of mischief and love he hides in their depths. Dad stands on the other side of the throne, the most contagious smile on his face beaming at me. It causes my lips to twitch as I imagine his excitable energy making everyone else laugh when they needed to stay still.
My feet carry me to the end of the wall where the family portrait hangs. My hair catching the light, my lips curved into the practiced smile I mastered, and my parents’ hands resting onmy shoulders like anchors. The four of them look at me as if I’m the best thing they’ve ever done.
That’s a heavy feeling, considering all they’ve accomplished and fought for. Yet I have always been their shining light.
The air in my lungs turns heavy.
I reach out without thinking, fingertips brushing the dried paint. My throat tightens, a sharp ache lodging there. I can picture their faces when they realize I’m gone. The confusion, the fear, and the questions they’ll hurl at themselves before they ever blame me.
It will gut them.
The guilt snakes through my chest, hot and relentless. Part of me wants to drop the satchel here, to let the weight of their love pull me back.
But that’s the trap, isn’t it? Living for them means dying for me.
I let my hand fall back to my side, curling it tight until my nails press half-moons into my palm. Their love doesn’t erase the way this place has closed in around me, the way my dreams have withered in the shade of their protection.
I take another step, and then another, forcing my gaze forward until the paintings are behind me.
I can love them and still choose myself.
I hurry down staircases until I reach the glass doors leading to the courtyard and pause, my hand hovering over the handle as I glance over my shoulder. The hallway stretches empty and golden, lit by warm sconces that have watched over me my entire life. My gaze catches on the curve of the staircase I used to race down as a child, with my parents taking turns catching me at the bottom. Then there’s the stretch of floor worn smooth where Mom paced every day waiting for me to return from my day at the academy.
For a moment, the weight of all those memories presses down, thick as the humid air in the bathroom earlier. If I walk out now, I will undoubtedly hurt them. I will make them worry in ways I could never imagine.
I press my palm to the glass, letting the cold bite of it tether me. One last breath, the scent of petrichor lingering in the castle’s stone walls washing through my lungs, before I turn the handle. The door gives way with a muted click, the night air spilling over me in a cool, steady rush.
I don’t let myself look back again, because If I do, I know what little confidence I’m clinging to will fade.
The courtyard lies silent beneath the weight of the rising moon, its silver light spilling across the dew clinging to the grass beyond. In the distance below our castle, the city of Sanguis pulses with street lights flickering on and the glow from inside buildings opening for the night life.
It’s all I’ve ever known, and now as I say goodbye to it, nostalgia builds within me.
“Thanks for the memories, Sanguis.”
The ring is already warm against my skin, what feels almost like a sentient awareness pulsing beneath its surface as if it has anticipated this moment as much as I have. I shift the satchel higher on my shoulder as I step to the center of the courtyard, where it’s the most spacious. Aunt Deva’s words echo in my mind about “needing enough room to let the magic breathe properly.”
I fix my mind on the place I’ve studied for years in pictures: New York City at night, a street just beyond the art school’s entrance. I summon the image in sharp detail with the jagged rise of its buildings, the burning glow of neon signs against the dark night, and crowds of movement in a city that is said to never fully sleep.
The power stirs, a faint ripple beneath my skin that grows warmer and heavier until it blooms in my palm. The red stone set in the center of the ring glows, first with a quiet pulse, then with a sudden flare that sends thin rivers of crimson light coursing through the air. The space before me seems to bend as the temperature drops, brushing over my arms with a cold sharp enough to raise goosebumps in its wake.
The distortion widens, twisting itself into a vortex edged with red. At the center, the color clears, revealing a window to another place entirely. Lit with bright city lights, my future waits.
My pulse thrums in time with the hum of the portal, a steady drumbeat that fills my ears until it’s all I can hear. I step closer, the magic curling along my skin in restless currents, each one urging me forward. The scents of lavender and cherry blossom still cling faintly to my clothes, ghosts of the home I’m leaving behind.
I hesitate just long enough to let the ache swell in my chest, thinking of the faces I don’t know when I’ll see again.
