I hate how my chest responds, tightening like it’s remembering him. The dream. The way his hand felt in mine. The almost-kiss I haven’t stopped thinking about since I woke up.
“You were following me,” I whisper, throat raw.
“Obviously,” he says, not bothering to deny it. “And you wandered too far.”
I force myself upright, limbs trembling. “I didn’t know—where I was?—”
“I know.” His voice softens, just slightly. “Which is why I was there.”
The wind shifts, and suddenly he’s kneeling in front of me. One knee down in the damp grass. One hand reaching toward my face.
I flinch without meaning to. His fingers pause midair.
Then—slowly, deliberately—his thumb brushes the edge of my cheek. Gentle. Out of place against the memory of violence still ringing in my bones.
“You’re bleeding,” he murmurs.
I hadn’t noticed. Not until now. My skin stings where a tree branch had caught me, just under the cheekbone. His thumb traces just beside it. Careful. Focused.
“You didn’t fight,” he says, more observation than accusation.
“I tried.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “My magic—it didn’t work. It never works when it’s supposed to.”
His eyes search mine, and for once, he doesn't look amused or superior.
“You’re not supposed to be ready yet,” he says quietly. “That’s the problem with letting them use you like a weapon before you’ve learned what kind of blade you are. It's dangerous.”
I stare at him, caught somewhere between fury and heat and something I don’t have a name for.
He leans in, not too close, but close enough for me to feel the cool whisper of his breath against my jaw. Close enough to know he could kiss me.
But he doesn’t.
Kael’s eyes flicker to my mouth—just once—before he pulls back. The shadows around him settle, curling at his shoulders like silk. Like they are welcoming him back.
“Next time,” he says, standing smoothly, “don’t make me chase you and your attacker.”
He steps back, just enough to lift one hand and point—two fingers, a flick of his wrist—to a clear break in the tree line behind me. When I turn to look, a narrow path, nearly hidden by fog, flickers with faint mage-lights just beyond.
“The school’s that way.”
Then he turns, his wings folding behind him as he fades into the fog.
Like he was never there at all.
SEVENTEEN
LINDSAY
The bruiseon my ribs aches with every breath as I step into Combat Casting.
I expect more whispers. More sidelong glances. What I don’t expect is Kael—already standing inside the chamber as if he belongs here.
He’s leaning against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, black sleeves rolled to the elbow like he’s casually lethal and only here because he wants to be. His horns aren’t visible, but he hasn’t bothered with glamour either. Just enough shadow to keep everyone cautious. And his wings folded neatly against his back.
Students edge around him like he might bite—or worse, speak to them.
I spot Raiden immediately, standing near the training rings. His eyes are locked on Kael, unreadable. Tension radiates off him in slow, controlled waves.
