“You talk like the Academy’s a winter you mean to endure,” she said. “Not a place that could belong to you.”
“The Academy is a blade,” he said. “It declares you worthy by tasting you first. No one owns a blade. They just try not to bleed on it.”
“Bleak,” she said quietly.
“Accurate.”
Thaelyn drew a slow breath. He’d drawn the conversation into strange territory, half warning, and half confession. The tension between them wasn’t gone, only coiled tighter.
“Don’t follow me back to the dorm,” she said. “It’ll look like I’m exactly the kind of girl you think I am.”
“What kind of girl is that?”
“The kind who waffles back and forth. The kind who bends to fit expectation. I’m not her.”
“You’re not,” he agreed.
They stood in silence long enough that the lantern’s flame hissed. Her heart had slowed, but the air still felt heavy between them, warm with unsaid things.
“Would you have come after me if I hadn’t kissed him?” she asked.
Thorne didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I’d have come after you because you left that field with your head tilted toward the stars,” he said. “People get into trouble or fall for less.”
“You’re not my keeper,” she said.
“I’m not trying to be.”
He didn’t move. The air between them quivered like a held breath. It might have broken if either had leaned closer.
“Go home,” Thorne said at last. “There’s a version of you who’ll curse me in the morning, and another who’ll thank me. I don’t care which, as long as she arrives on time.”
“You make everything sound like orders,” she murmured.
“That’s because some of it is.” He stepped aside, creating space. She passed him. For a heartbeat, his warmth brushed her shoulder. Their shadows stretched together across the wall, then split as she walked away.
“Thaelyn.”
She paused, half-turning.
He didn’t come closer. “Do what you like with your nights,” he said. “Just don’t let them steal your mornings.”
By the time she reached the terrace, the night had sharpened into clean cold. She fit her key into the dorm door and hesitated. The metal was cool beneath her thumb. She hadn’t wavered.
Chapter
Seven
The combat ring shimmered beneath its vaulted glass dome, sunlight spilling through the high panes. Thick stone columns framed the arena, and beyond the open half-dome roof, dragons flew above in slow arcs, their shadows slicing across the floor.
Thaelyn stood among the gathered initiates. Every line of her posture coiled. Her gaze slid over the ranked cadets, then circled the mats until it landed onhim. Thorne Dareth.
Thorne leaned against a black stone pillar, arms crossed, posture relaxed, but there was nothing lazy in the way he stood. The red insignia of a Second-Year Cadet blazed against the dark charcoal of his uniform, edged in silver with his dragon rider’s emblem. His expression was unreadable. His presence radiated weight like a sword still sheathed but thrumming with intent.
Thaelyn looked away first. His eyes felt like a blade drawn across her skin, sharp, assessing, and unapologetic.
A voice like gravel and authority rolled across the gym. “Initiates, you are being reassigned for this session. No squads today.
Professor Andros stepped into view. He moved like a soldier, not a scholar. He was tall and thick-shouldered. His ash-grey uniform stretched taut across a frame carved from hard-earned strength. Faint scars ran along his jawline and disappeared beneath his beard, which was neatly kept but streaked with silver. His eyes were sharp and pale, like polished flint, unblinking and cool. Black leatherbands wrapped each wrist, marked with faded combat runes, and a thick steel ring glinted on one scarred hand as he clasped them behind his back.
