We finally get to learn and grow and develop at a pace that supports who we're becoming rather than simply demanding we survive.
I grin.
The expression feels different than the smirks and satisfied smiles I've been producing throughout these chaotic weeks—genuine, warm, carrying hope that I'm still learning to trust.
I squeeze his hand in return.
Agreement.
Gratitude.
Love that I'm still learning how to express but that he seems to understand anyway.
"GREE!"
Grim's declaration interrupts whatever moment was building between us, my familiar apparently deciding that emotional exchanges have gone on long enough.
We watch him float toward the door, his small form drifting across the room with purpose that his usual chaotic movements rarely display. He stops at the entrance to my quarters and points with obvious insistence.
"Someone at the door?" I ask, parsing meaning from gesture that he can't verbally clarify.
I share a look with Cassius.
He nods with the particular agreement of someone who trusts my interpretation.
We walk toward the door together, hands still intertwined, presenting whatever unity we represent to whoever has decided to visit on the morning of the first assembly.
I open it.
My eyes widen.
Oh.
Oh gods.
My heart skips—not one beat but several, rhythm stuttering in my chest as my brain struggles to process what my eyes are seeing.
A lump forms in my throat.
Emotion that I wasn't prepared to feel rising with speed that makes speaking temporarily impossible.
Two figures stand at the threshold.
A woman whose features carry familiarity that transcends simple resemblance—bone structure that I recognize from myown reflection, eyes that mirror the shade I see every time I look in the mirror. She's wearing robes that speak to academic authority, fabric carrying enchantments that shimmer with the particular combination of purple and silver that apparently defines the position she holds.
And beside her?—
A man whose presence radiates power that I can feel rather than simply observe—authority that doesn't need demonstration to be recognized, strength that exists in posture and expression rather than requiring physical proof. His eyes carry colors that I've seen in my own gaze when Fae nature asserts itself—gold and pink swirling together in patterns that speak to heritage I'm only beginning to understand.
The woman speaks first.
"Well," she begins, voice carrying tremor that speaks to emotions barely contained, "we figured as the Professor of Fae Arts and Vampire Studies, it would have been important to allow you a chance to be introduced to the Headmaster of Wicked Academy before the assembly."
Her smile is the biggest I've ever seen—genuine, overwhelming, carrying joy that tears are already tracking evidence of down her cheeks.
She gestures toward the man beside her.
"I'm Professor Isolde," she whispers, lips trembling around words that seem inadequate for what they're actually communicating.
