“She’s probably not wrong,” I tease.
“Okay,onenosebleed and suddenly I’m a legend.”
I’m still laughing when Tamsin returns, arms full of magical supplies and an expression that promises trouble. But even as we make our plan, even as the thrill of what comes next skates beneath my skin—I keep glancing back at Nolan.
And every time, he’s already looking at me.
The door creaksopen with a reluctant groan, exactly as we left it.
Cool air slides out across our ankles, not ancient or undisturbed, but changed. Like the room remembers us, and it's been waiting.
Inside, the book still sits on its pedestal, glowing faintly in the center of the chamber. The same warm, golden light pulses beneath the surface of its cover, soft but steady.
Tamsin exhales and crosses her arms. “Okay. Reminder of the ground rule. No one touches the book.”
I glance at her. “You meanIdon’t touch the book.”
She lifts a brow. “Correct. You’ve already had your dramatic magical meltdown moment, thanks. Let someone else be reckless tonight.”
Nolan's footsteps echo softly as he follows us in. He slows near the pedestal, his gaze sweeping across the runes carved into the floor and the strange shimmer hanging in the air.
“Whoa,” he breathes. “Okay, this is…more than I was expecting.”
“You didn’t see it the first time,” I say quietly. “It seemed to do everything to get our attention last time.”
Nolan's eyes cut to me. “And it reacted toyou?”
I nod. “Like it recognized me or was calling out to me.”
Tamsin mutters something under her breath in Fae, likely a very creative curse, and points again. “Still. No touching.”
The book pulses. Brighter this time. As if to say, I disagree, touch me. My mark stirs beneath my cloak, responding to it—tugging at me.
Nolan edges forward. “You really think it’s sentient?”
“I think itknowssomething,” I say. “And it wants me to know it, too.”
Tamsin throws her hands up. “Then lethimtouch it. He volunteered.”
Nolan freezes. “Wait—me?”
“You’re the only one who hasn’t triggered any magical fireworks so far,” she says. “Statistically, you're the least cursed of the three of us.”
“That’s...not comforting,” he mutters.
But he moves toward the pedestal anyway. And this time, the book flares with recognition,notexactly danger, just awareness. Like it’s curious abouthim. The mark on my skin pulses brighter, shining through the cloak Tamsin gave me for stealth. And I’m suddenly not sure if letting him touch it is brilliant…or the biggest mistake we’ve made yet.
Nolan takes a cautious breath, then lifts his hand. His fingers hesitate just above the cover, like even he knows there’s no going back once he makes contact.
Then he touches it.
The glow flares, not wild or blinding, but reverent. Golden light spills out beneath his palm and flows into the etched lines of the pedestal. The roomshifts, like the floor breathes once and settles.
Tamsin swears again. “Okay. That’s not creepy at all.”
Nolan doesn't pull away. Instead, his fingers move, tracing the edge until the cover lifts with a quiet click. The book opens. Pages ripple on their own, flipping past symbols and diagrams I don’t recognize until they settle on one page.
Not a diagram. Not runes. A poem. Nolan leans closer, reading aloud:
