His hand grips the doorframe, his eyes cold as winter storms. “No. You were just leaving.”
The dismissal is so complete, so utterly final, that even I feel the sting of it.
Callie just stands there, her face graying even more, before spinning on her heels and leaving the building in a way I think is supposed to look cool and collected, but that actually looks like she’s been beaten and rejected, leaving a trail of rose perfume in her wake.
Logan’s eyes are hard as he watches her leave… and they remain hard when he returns his focus to me.
I swallow, not getting a good feeling about this.
“Jade. Come in.” He steps back and gestures me into his office, but the movement is too controlled, like he’s measuring each action to make sure he doesn’t snap.
Slowly, I follow him in, the door clicking shut behind us with a finality that makes my nerves sing. But before I can open my mouth, he’s talking.
“Nothing’s happening between Callie and me.”
“Okay…” I say, watching him pace behind his desk like a caged animal. “I didn’t ask, but... okay.”
He stops mid-stride, running both hands through his hair. “Right. You didn’t. I just—” He takes a visible breath, composing himself again. “You wanted to talk?”
The whiplash from emotional vulnerability to professional distance makes my head spin, but I shake myself out ofit, forcing myself to focus. “I found information about the Lampades. You know, the murder mermaids from the Drowned Tower?”
His expression doesn’t change, but something shifts in the air. “In the library?”
“No, on Google.” The joke falls flat between us, and I immediately regret it. “Sorry. Yes—the library. First-year section. With a little help from Miles.”
“You were spending time with Miles?”
“I bumped into him. He pointed me to the first-year section mythology texts.” I move closer to his desk, and he tracks the movement like a predator watching prey. “Everything says the Lampades are supposed to protect witches, serve Hecate, and guide lost souls. But I couldn’t find anything about why they’d attack people they’re meant to help.”
“Interesting.” His tone is neutral. Too neutral.
“That’s it?Interesting?”I study him, trying to figure him out and failing. “Logan, they attacked us. All I can think of is that my electricity magic made them believe I’m not a witch, and that’s why they were trying to kill me.”
For the first time since I walked in, he relaxes slightly. “You’re probably right.”
“Probably?” I plant my hands on his desk, leaning forward. “A group of divine torchbearers tried to drown us, and all you can say isprobably?”
“What do you want me to say?” He meets my gaze steadily. “That you’re different? That your power isn’t normal? You already know that.”
“I want answers. The ones you promised to give me before I rejoined the party.” The words come out sharper than intended. “Because I feel like there’s a reason why you’re not telling the professors about me, or the Headmistress about me, or whatever you’re supposed to do as proctor. Which makes me wonder—doyou know what’s happening to me? Is there something you’re not telling me? And why do you care so much about keeping my secret safe?”
There’s more I don’t say. So much more. Because why do Imatter so much to him? If I even matter at all?
He’s quiet for a long moment, studying me with those intense storm-gray eyes. “Has anything strange happened to you recently?” he finally asks. “Before coming to the academy?”
“You mean besides finding out magic is real and getting attacked by mythological creatures?”
“Jade.” There’s a warning in his voice. “You asked for answers. If you want them, I need you to help me help you.”
Unfortunately, he has a point.
“Fine.” I straighten, thinking back and pinpointing the big thing I haven’t talked with him about yet. “When I was flying here with T—she’s been my family’s pilot forever—there was a storm. Silver lightning everywhere, like the sky was made of electricity. She touched my forehead, and then—“ I stop, the impossibility of it hitting me fresh. “I passed out. Woke up in a car heading to the Hydra trial.”
“That’s... significant,” he says carefully.
“You know what it means.” It’s not a question. “You know what happened to me.”
“I have theories. But I need to look into some things before I can be sure.” He stands up and makes his way around his desk, the movement abrupt, like he needs to put distance between us. “Until then, don’t come to my office hours anymore.”
