Then he exhales, defeated. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
He gestures at the flames around us, which have shifted to deep purple. “I did everything I could. But I can’t—” He cuts himself off, and his hands curl into fists, knuckles white with strain.
“Can’t what?” I lean in, wanting to be close to him, wanting to helphimrelax from whatever’s causing him so much stress.
His gaze hardens again, any trace of vulnerability gone. “Even I have my limits.”
The purple flames continue to dance around us, beautiful in their intensity. I don’t understand why he looks so defeated by them, but the way he’s staring at them—like they’re revealing a terrible secret—makes my stomach twist.
“Go.” His body is coiled tight, his dark hair fallen over his forehead, like he’s seconds away from either grabbing me or running from me. “Now.”
His tone brooks no argument. So, I take one last look at him—exhausted, conflicted, and beautiful even in defeat—and turn toward the wall of flames. My new sigil throbs as I step through, the purple fire parting around me like silk.
When I emerge, snickers ripple through the gathered first-years.
“Well.” Constance’s voice slices through the whispers. “That was an interesting turn of events. Perhaps next time, Miss Harrington, you’ll focus on something more neutral during sacred ceremonies.”
More snickers.
What did I do this time to warrant this kind of reaction? I have no idea. The only thing I know is that I want the floor to open, swallow me whole, and drop me off at Yale as a student there.
Except at Yale, there’s no Logan. And my heart clenches at the thought of being somewhere he isn’t, no matter how irrational the feeling might be.
“Silence.” Constance’s command quiets the group, although the stares remain. “Next up—Vera Jackson.”
I stumble back to my place beside Evie, my sigil throbbing against my palm.
She grabs my arm the second I’m close enough. “Purple?” she whispers, her eyes wide. “What happened in there?”
“What does purple mean?” I have a sinking suspicion, but I need to hear someone else say it.
“Desire. Lust. Passion.” She studies my face like she’s reading a textbook. “The flames basically announced to everyone that you were having very... stimulating feelings about the person who was in there with you.”
My face burns hotter. Because Logan knew. He knows what I feel for him, which means he knew exactly what color the flames would turn. He fought to stop it, and failed, and now every first-year and the Headmistress knows about the stupid crush I’ve had on him since he saved me from being eaten alive by the Hydra.
And as the ceremony drags on, my traitorous mind refuses to think about anything but purple flames, gray eyes, and the way Logan said, “even I have my limits,” as if the words were torn from the deepest part of his soul.
JADE
The dining halldoors swing open, but instead of plastic tables and fluorescent lights, I’m met with long stone tables radiating out from a massive central fire pit like spokes on a wheel. Floating chandeliers drift overhead, casting dancing shadows across stone walls. Although I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything less, given that Blaze Academy is a luxurious gothic castle that’s over a thousand years old.
However, I don’t have time to look around, because the room suddenly erupts, everyone rushing forward like it’s Black Friday at Bergdorf’s.
“Move!” Garrett practically bodychecks me as he sprints past.
I spin in a circle as people shove past me, claiming chairs with triumphant expressions. By the time I spot an empty chair and start toward it, someone else—Lauren, who introduced herself to me at the sigil ceremony—slides in first.
“Over here!” Evie waves from the end of the table farthest from the fire pit.
I weave through the chaos and collapse into the metal chair beside her. A guy across from us is already drawing patternson the table with his finger, charcoal smudges decorating his ceremonial robes.
“I’m Felix,” he introduces himself, adjusting wire-rimmed glasses that have scorch marks on the frames. “Velasco. Yes, like the carnival family. No, I don’t juggle flaming batons anymore—there was an incident. And before you ask, the insurance claim is still pending.”
“I wasn’t going to ask,” I reply, even though now that he’s said it, I really want to know.
“Okay, so, here’s how this works.” Evie leans close, lowering her voice like she’s telling state secrets. “Where you sit at the table reflects your social standing. Closer to the fire means higher status… which means we’re in social Siberia right now.”
