Tamsin’s jaw tightens, but her eyes flick to me. “Linds?”
I swallow, debating if I can trust Kael enough to go somewhere with just him. He did step in to save me. He wouldn’t do that if he meant to harm me. Right?
“It’s fine,” I say. “I’ll be up to the dorm soon.”
It’s a lie. We both know it. But the last thing I need is for her to get dragged into this, too. Tamsin hesitates, gaze hard on Kael, then on me. Finally, she exhales and steps back.
“I’ll be waiting,” she says. “If you do anything to her, Kael, I’ll make you regret it.”
Kael doesn’t respond to her threat. He turns and walks on, expecting me to follow. After a quick, reassuring, shaky smile to Tamsin, I do.
Through an archway, down a side path I haven’t seen before. The Academy seems to shift around us, the air colder here, the shadows deeper. We stop at a door marked with unfamiliar runes. Kael traces one with two fingers. The lock clicks open.
Without looking at me, he pushes the door wide.
A sigh ghosts out of him when I don’t move. “In.”
I hesitate for half a second, my eyes taking in his lowly lit room. Then step through. The door clicks shut behind me, sealing the room in quiet. Kael moves ahead without looking back, a flick of his fingers bringing soft silver runes to life along the walls. The light is cold, leaving no shadows to hide in.
I hover just inside, gaze drifting. His quarters are sparse. The stone walls are dark and smooth, shelves lining one side stacked with books, scrolls, neat rows of glass vials, and small metal tools I can’t begin to name.
A narrow table sits beneath them, everything arranged with clinical precision; daggers, rune stones, coils of silver wire. No dust. No clutter. A single chair is pulled back from the table, like he studies there. And in the far corner, a simple bed. The blanket drawn tight, edges squared, not a single fold out of place.
The whole space hums with restrained energy, cool and clean, like him. I’m still cataloging his space when his voice cuts through.
“Eyes up, little human.”
My gaze snaps to him before I think. He’s across the room now, coat shed, dark tunic rolled to the elbows. Revealing toned forearms with a similar tattoo as the mark that is burned on my skin.
He watches me with the same bored disinterest, like I’m just another problem to sort.
Then, slow and deliberate, he tugs at the fingers of one glove.
Peels it off. Then the other.
I can’t stop watching, completely transfixed as his hands come into view. Long fingers, with dark, sharp nails. I suck in a breath. The air feels charged with something, and my heart is beating like it belongs to a rabbit and not me. I’m almost ready to bolt, but I keep my feet planted firmly on the ground and wait.
He crosses the room without hurry, every step measured. When he reaches me, he lifts one hand.
“Let’s see it.”
It’s not a question. I hesitate, throat tight, then extend my marked arm, fingers trembling just slightly. Kael takes my wrist in his bare hand, cool and steady. And pushes up my sleeve with the other.
The second his skin touches mine, a jolt sparks low in my chest. A rush of heat and something alive. Too alive. Too much. The mark flares faintly under his grip, glowing against the pale skin of his fingers.
My breath catches. The sensation coils low, unexpected and too strong. I grit my teeth, forcing the reaction down. The mark must be sensitive. That’s all.
Kael says nothing, thumb brushing once, slow and deliberate, along one of the glowing lines along my fingers. His expression doesn’t shift, but something flickers behind his eyes. Not surprise or concern. Something colder. Calculating.
His grip is steady around my wrist, cool fingers circling the skin just below the mark. The lines flare faintly under his touch,heat pulsing in time with my heartbeat. He studies it in silence. No wasted movement. His gaze tracks each glowing line like he’s cataloging a weapon.
When he looks up, the shift is subtle. The air between us draws tight.
“What triggered it?” His voice is clipped, flat as the stone walls.
Oh, he knows. Of course he does. That question isn't for him, it’s for me. To see if I know. Or to see how I lie.
I pull in a shallow breath. “I don’t know.”
