Not mine.
I grind my teeth, shoulders knotting tighter.
Beside me, Adeline shifts closer, the faint scent of lilac and frost drifting with her. One slender arm brushes mine as she leans in, elbow propped on the table, chin resting lightly in her palm—like we’re just friends sharing a joke and not sitting in a pressure trap laced with magic.
“You sure you’re fine?” she purrs. “You look... distracted.”
I don’t answer. Because Iamdistracted.
Becausesomeoneon the other end of the tether is flaring with emotion again—and I feel all of it. Sharp and hot, and nowhere to put it.
Across the table, Loki chuckles, completely oblivious. “You’d think someone in a fresh Veilbond would be a little more relaxed.”
I shoot him a warning look, but he only smirks wider. The kind of smirk that says he thinks he’s being funny, not that he knows he’s one breath from me snapping.
“I told you both so you wouldn’t do something reckless,” I bite out. “Not so you could... comment.”
Because yeah, I told them. I didn’t want them pushing her or throwing unstable magic in her direction without knowing what she is. It was a precaution. A necessary one. Loki can be an ass when he thinks he’s being funny.
But now, watching Adeline inch closer, watching Loki grin like he’s trying to be clever, I regret it. Because they’re not taking it seriously. And I can feel her reacting to something I can’t see.
Adeline's fingers trace slow, idle circles on the table between us, nails glinting faintly with runic polish, laced with at least eight spells that I can count. All subtle. All intentional.
“I hear Veilbinds can be intense,” she says softly, eyes glittering. “Maybe you need a better distraction.”
Another surge slams through the tether. Lindsay.Someone’s touching her. Calming her. Too close. The sound that rumbles low in my chest is nearly a growl. I shove back from the table hard, chair scraping against the floor.
Adeline’s brows lift, amused. Loki blinks up at me. I don’t care. The bond pulls taut as wire, dragging me toward her, fast and sharp. I let it.
The bond coils tighter the closer I get—like a leash yanking hard against my ribs. It took a while to snap into place fully, but now that it has, I can’t ignore her, even when she is clearly halfway across campus.
Cutting across the darkening landscape, I follow the link between us, letting it lead me with the precision not even my nose could manage at this distance.
Yanking the library door open, I step inside, sniffing the air for her scent. It’s faint, but I follow it toward the back of the library and down two flights of stairs. I stalk through the lower wings, boots silent on the worn stone. And then I catch a fainttrace of her scent, her presence, pulling me deeper than she should be.
The Restricted Archives.
Too far.
My jaw tightens.
Shit.
She shouldn’t be here.
The wards in this section are half-feral—old magic layered by a dozen generations of paranoid spell casters. Unstable artifacts hum with residual power on the shelves. Spells that have been banned, bindings that were never fully severed. Blood-inked grimoires, summoning rings etched into the floors that can’t be fully scrubbed out.
There’s a sealed corridor two levels down with residue from a failed lower demon containment—black scorch marks still spidering across the ceiling. No one with ungrounded magic should come within ten feet of that corridor, let aloneher.
And someonelether wander in here?
Or worse—no one stopped her.
The bond pulses again. Warm. Pleased. That damn soothing contact she doesn’t even know she’s projecting. Like she feels safe here.
My hands curl into fists. She’snot.
I round the last row on instinct, steps fast and clipped, and stop cold.
