The possibility’s so horrible I can’t speak it out loud.
“They won’t notice.” Evie’s tone softens, almost pitying. “The memory work is thorough. They’ll think you’re checking in regularly, and that everything’s fine.”
I want to scream, to rage against the violation of it all. But the bitter truth settles in before I can. Because my parents wouldn’t have wanted much contact, anyway. Even if I’d gotten into Yale, they would have been relieved to tuck me away, out of sight, so they could enjoy the Manhattan social scene without worrying about what trouble I was getting myself into around the city.
“This is insane,” I mutter, even though it feels more like surrender than rebellion.
“This is our world.” Evie rises, smoothing her crimson robes with practiced grace. “Speaking of, it’s 5:50. We should head down.”
Not having much else of a choice, I grab the red velvet robes from my bed. They’re heavier than I expected, with intricate embroidery along the sleeves that ripples in the light.
“Do I wear this over my clothes?” I hold it up, trying to figure out where to start with putting it on.
“Yes. Here, let me help.” Evie steps close, helps me get my arms into the sleeves, and adjusts the clasps until the fabric falls perfectly over my shoulders. “There. You look like a proper witch now.”
I glance at the ornate full-length mirror, surprised at what I see. Because the robes transform me from the girl who didn’t get into Yale into something sharp, otherworldly, and alive. The dark red deepens the flecks of gold in my green eyes, and for the first time since stepping into that clearing, I look like I might belong here.
“Ready?” Evie asks.
“No,” I say, although I follow her to the door anyway. “But when has that stopped me today?”
JADE
All twenty-four first-yearscrowd around the Emberhearth, the flames shifting colors so fast it’s dizzying. Orange to red to blue to purple to green and back again, like a magical mood ring on steroids.
“Look at that,” Sam whispers beside me, adjusting his glasses. “The emotional resonance must be overwhelming the flame’s natural state. I read that when the emotions in the common room strongly conflict, the Emberhearth can’t choose—it just cycles through everything.”
A girl with copper skin and a halo of tight curls leans over. “My sister said her year’s ceremony looked like a rainbow exploded. The hearth’s been reading student emotions for centuries, so it sometimes gets overwhelmed by all that accumulated feeling.”
“Centuries?” I glance at the ancient stones surrounding the fire pit, the carvings worn smooth. “How long has this thing been burning?”
“Since the academy’s founding a thousand years ago. They say the first witches lit it with pure emotional flame—grief for what they’d lost, and hope for what they’d build.” She shudders.“The flames remember every feeling that’s passed through this room since.”
“Your sister went here?” Garrett perks up, predictably latching onto the family connection instead of the history lesson. I’ve seen enough people do it in the city to know the signs.
“Goeshere,” she corrects him. “She’s a second-year. Deidre Mitchell. Watch out—she’ll recruit you for a dozen clubs before sundown.” She turns and offers me her hand, giving me what looks like a real smile. “I’m Lauren. You’re the Harrington girl, right? Jade?”
Before I can craft a sarcastic response about my already stellar reputation around this place, the flames flare white-hot, forcing us all to step back.
“Silence.”
Headmistress Constance appears at the edge of the circle like she walked straight out of the fire’s shadow. Her presence bends the air, and the flames bow as if even they know who’s in charge.
Logan stands beside her in black robes that make him look untouchable, sculpted in firelight. But when his eyes catch mine for half a breath, they’re haunted, almost in warning. It’s the kind of look that says he knows something I don’t—and that I won’t like what he’s hiding.
My heart pounds, but no matter how many more times I glance at him, he refuses to look my way again.
“The Emberhearth reflects emotion,” Constance announces, her voice carrying over the crackling flames. “As you can see, your collective state is currently... chaotic.”
The flames pulse, shifting through yellow, blue, and dark green in the span of a heartbeat.
“As first-years, controlling your emotions will be fundamental to controlling your magic,” she continues. “They are inextricably linked. Master one, master both. Fail at one…” She lets the fire speak for her, the crackling roar loud enoughto make a few students flinch. Then, she gestures to Logan. “Proctor Ashford, if you would demonstrate.”
Logan steps forward, and I hate the way my pulse reacts just from watching him move. He pauses at the edge of the hearth, shoulders rigid, then exhales slowly and walks into the flames.
They swallow him whole, and for a terrifying second, I can’t breathe. Then I remember that walking into fire and traveling by fire is an everyday activity around here, and I relax slightly.
A second later, the flames settle into a perfect, steady orange. Neutral. Balanced. Controlled.
