"Reasonable." He tilts his head slightly. "What else?"
"I don't want special treatment because I'm a siphon." The words come out harder than I intended, but I don't soften them. "I know we're rare. I know that makes me valuable in certain circles. But I'm not interested in being treated like some kind of magical curiosity. If I'm going to do this, I want to earn my position. Not have it handed to me because of what I am."
Villeneuve studies me for a long moment, his gaze sharp enough to cut. Through the bond, I feel my wolves stirring, probably sensing my elevated heartbeat. I try to project confidence through the bond to reassure them.
Killian's presence pushes closer, protective even from across campus. Even more so than usual. He seemed tired this morning and I don't think he slept well. I'm sure it's hard for him that I'm with his so-called mortal enemy right now.
"An admirable stance," Villeneuve says finally. "Though somewhat naive. Your nature as a siphon is intrinsically tied to your magical abilities. Ignoring that connection would be counterproductive to your education."
"I'm not asking you to ignore it. I'm asking you not to treat it as my only defining characteristic." I meet his eyes, refusing to look away. "Kyle did that. Made me feel like my only value was in what I could produce, what energy I could channel. I'm not doing that again. Not for anyone."
His eyes widen slightly in recognition, I think.
"Understood," he says quietly. "I have no intention of repeating your former coven leader's mistakes. My interest in your development is academic, not exploitative."
"That's another thing." I set down my coffee cup on the bench between us. "Whyareyou doing this? The sponsorship, the teaching assistant position, all of it. What's in it for you?"
He doesn't answer immediately. Around us, campus life continues, but the space between Villeneuve and me feels separate. Like a sacred circle where even the air is alive.
"You're direct," he observes. "I appreciate that. Most people dance around their actual questions for far too long."
"I don't have time for dancing around the truth. My mates will be out of class in an hour, and if I'm not back at the house by then, Killian will launch a fucking search party."
"He does seem the type." Villeneuve takes another measured sip of his coffee. "The truth is, Ms. Cook, I meant what I said during our first meeting. Siphons are rare. Powerful. And extraordinarily vulnerable to exploitation by those who would use your abilities for their own gain."
"Like Kyle."
"Like many others before him and, without intervention, many others after." He sets his own cup aside, turning to face me more fully. "I have seen what happens when siphons fall into the wrong hands. The damage they can cause—and the damage that can be done to them. It is not pleasant. And I have an obligation to prevent that."
The words have weight to them. Like he's speaking from experience rather than theory.
"Because of your role on the Council?" I ask warily.
"Among other things."
Somehow, I know asking him to clarify will be a lost cause.
"You've known other siphons?"
"I have known many supernatural beings over the course of my career." The non-answer is smooth, practiced. "Some thrived. Others were destroyed by their own potential or by those who coveted it. I prefer to see talent nurtured rather than wasted."
"So you're, what, a supernatural guidance counselor?"
His lips twitch. "Something like that. I feel a responsibility to help shape creatures as rare and vulnerable to exploitation as yourself. Consider it a long-term investment in the magical community's stability."
It's a good answer. Reasonable. Even noble.
I don't believe a word of it.
Oh, there's truth buried in there somewhere. Villeneuve is too smart to lie outright. But he's holding something back. Something significant. My instincts are screaming it. Not quite the same instincts that warned me about Kyle's charm, the same gut feeling that made me flee the coven before things got worse.
But Villeneuve is playing a long game.
And I'm a piece on his chessboard.
The question is whether that matters enough to walk away.
I take a breath, pushing down the unease. "Can I ask you something else? Something related to magic."
