As I focus on it, the symbol sinks lower, settling into the paper. The lines pulse faintly, glowing against the parchment. I stare, unsure what to do next, until Nolan nudges me gently and holds up his quill. He gestures toward mine, raising his brows in silent encouragement as he lowers his to his paper.
Right. Trace it.
I dip my quill into the ink, but when I lift it out, a splatter of black drops scatter across the desk and my paper. Nolan chuckles softly. Before I can apologize, his hand covers mine, warm and steady. Without a word, he guides my hand back toward the ink pot, fingers light on my wrist.
Together, he helps me lower the quill, then taps it gently against the rim, showing the right motion to knock off the excess ink.
“Like this,” he murmurs, voice low and a little breathless. “You want to knock the extra ink off.”
The simple contact and his quiet patience sends a flutter of butterflies through my stomach. When he lets go, my hand feels lighter.
I glance sideways and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. He’s grinning now, still flushed, still a little shy but so adorable I can't help the answering smile that pulls at my lips. The tremble in my hand eases, but the buzz of lingering magic under my skin makes it hard to breathe evenly.
The rune on my parchment pulses faintly, waiting. I draw in a slow steady breath and lower the tip of the quill to the first glowing line. The ink catches the light and shimmers faintly as it touches the rune.
I start tracing.
Slow. Careful. The shape curves under my hand, flowing smoother than I expect. But as the last stroke connects, the rune flares. Not bright, but clearer than the others around us. A faint pulse of heat moves through the table, up my arm, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
I yank the quill back instinctively. The rune fades slightly. I did that. Beside me, Nolan lets out a soft breath.
“Whoa,” he whispers. His eyes are wide, flicking from the rune to me. “That’s…you felt that too, right? That’s a perfect rune.”
I nod, pulse quickening again.
“I—yeah.”
Across the room, Professor Marris’s gaze lifts from another student’s parchment. Her eyes flick toward me. She shifts her attention to my rune and then back to me. Then focuses back on the student in front of her as if whatever my rune is doing isn’t unusual.
I shift in my seat, trying to look normal, but the rune still glows faintly beneath my ink. And the hum under my skin hasn’t faded at all.
Around us, voices start up again. Soft, but loud enough for me to catch them.
“Did you see that?”
“Too strong for a first trace.”
The words crawl under my skin, cold and unwanted. I grip my quill tighter, knuckles white. I thought I hated people. I guess I hate monsters too.
Then Nolan leans in slightly and whispers, “They, uh…they talk about everyone. It’s not a big deal. Totally normal,” he says quickly, though his eyes flick toward the nearest cluster of whispering students.
Not exactly convincing. I glance at him. He’s flushed again, glasses sliding a little down his nose, fingers fidgeting with the edge of his notebook. He’s so sweet; it’s so opposite of everything else today that I feel a real laugh bubbling up.
I let it out softly. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”
Nolan blinks, then grins, sheepishly. “Yeah. I haven’t had much use for it.” He ducks his head, but there’s a warm flicker in his eyes. “Can I walk you to lunch after class?”
“Uh, are you sure you want to be seen with thehuman?”
“Only if you are okay being seen with a lowborn warlock.”
Something about the way he says it—light, but not quite casual—tugs at me.
I meet his eyes, smile smaller this time. “Deal. I think I can manage it.”
The rest of class passes in a blur. I manage to trace one more rune without it flaring this time, though I can still feel magic humming under my skin.
Nolan glances over now and then, offering quiet little tips—when to lift the quill, how to steady the stroke—but never in a way that makes me feel small. If anything, he’s trying to help me keep it together.
