“And if there’s going to be any smoke-based haunting through the walls, you’re right, it will be me. Toast has never survived my kitchen.”
Juliette looped an arm around her waist. “And if the real shadowsdocome knocking, I’ll be right there with fireballs at the ready.”
Andrew groaned. “That’s not—any of it—reassuring.”
Juliette just grinned.
Shaking his head, Andrew continued on, the ladies following, arms linked, the rhythm of their shoes soft against the worn stones. The ancient university grounds stretched around them, all moss-covered stone and towering spires. Outside lanterns flickered in their brackets like sleepy sentries, adding to the spooky feel of the walk. Moonlight spilled over the gravel paths in silver puddles. Somewhere nearby, an owl hooted with dramatic timing that Isla didnotappreciate.
The air held that familiar scent of damp earth, a reminder that the world kept turning, even after chaos.
Despite her instinct to push people away and her adamant words about being left alone at her apartment door, Isla admitted to herself that she was afraid to sleep alone—though she’d never admit it to the others.
They reached the iron bike rack tucked beneath a colonnade, where her bicycle waited beside Juliette’s—hers the one with the cheerful basket and faded blue frame.
Andrew moved ahead and unlatched it without a word, and Isla raised an eyebrow as he firmly kept his hand on the handlebars, making no move to pass it over.
“You just had a blow to the head,” he said, tone brooking no argument. “You’re not riding. Not tonight.”
Despite huffing her annoyance, Isla didn’t try to take her bike. Her head still throbbed, and she wasn’t about to fall over in front of him. Juliette, ever the loyal companion, chose to walk alongside, pushing her own bicycle with an exaggerated air of dignity.
“How will I know what my, you know, abilities are?” Isla asked quietly.
Andrew glanced over and studied her face. She tried not to squirm under the weight of it.
“Now that you have your Sigil mark, it won’t be long,” he said. “The process tends to come naturally. Though ...” He paused. “I have my guesses. You’re a botanist, so becoming a Terra Summoner seems the most likely scenario.”
He kept looking at her, and Isla had the odd sensation that he wasn’t just making a logical guess, that he knew. She looked away, unwilling to ask him questions, even if curiosity burned beneath her ribs.
“You know,” Juliette said brightly, interrupting Andrew’s thoughtful stare, “I am fully on board with Isla’s idea of us being superheroes. It would make a wonderful story—and we’d make excellent heroines, Isla.”
“I have no doubt,” Andrew answered, now looking forward, though his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere.
“Oh, wemustcome up with superhero code names,” Juliette continued, undeterred. “Now that Isla knows the truth and we’re wrapped up in a mystery, it’s practically required.”
“Ice Man?” Isla muttered, biting back a grin.
Andrew looked at her, his face mock offended.
Juliette nodded with solemn agreement to his offense. “Youcouldcall Andrew that, though it’s a bit on the nose. Wewant our legends to beepic. I was thinking something more like ... Captain Chill.”
“I don’t think so,” Andrew said flatly.
“No, you’re right—I’m not getting that vibe,” Juliette replied.
Andrew let out a long-suffering sigh and looked like he was reevaluating all his life decisions.
“I could be Flame Dame,” Juliette offered with a theatrical grin.
“How about ... The Shadow Librarian?” Andrew said, surprising them both.
Isla blinked, momentarily thrown. He wasjoining intheir ridiculousness. Then again, she supposed she was too. Her carefully composed façade—the serious, levelheaded professor—was slipping far more easily than she’d expected. The events of the whole evening had been one long unraveling.
“Sounds like I haunt overdue students.”
“Exactly,” Andrew replied.
They all laughed at that, the kind of laughter that came too easily after an ordeal, softening the edges of the night. As the three reached the apartment building, they secured their bikes and stepped through the front door—an old sandstone affair with creaking stairs and high ceilings, where every footstep echoed and the smell of dust and coal lingered faintly in the halls. Wallpaper desperately clung to the walls, though in places it had given up the fight and was peeling away.
