His gaze slips down my body, slow enough to burn. Heat coils through me in a way I despise. “No,” he continues, “I came to ask if you’ve thought about my offer.”
“I haven’t,” I lie.
His smile says he knows it. “Harper… you’re a terrible liar.”
He steps close enough that the desk presses into my hip as I instinctively try to brace myself. His scent, smoke, cold air, something metallic, wraps around me, suffocating and seductive all at once.
“You want answers,” he whispers. “About your magic. Your father. What he made you forget. What he expects you to become. I’m the only one willing to tell you the truth.”
“Why?” I demand, voice thinning. “Why help me at all?”
His fingers brush a loose strand of hair from my cheek, barely a touch, but enough to freeze me in place. “Because I want something back,” he murmurs. “And you are the only person alive who can help me reclaim it.”
“What could I possibly give you?” My voice cracks on the last word.
His smile fades, not cruelly, but with a depth I haven’t seen from him before. “Something your father stole,” he says quietly. “Something that belonged to me.”
The room feels suddenly colder.
Smaller.
Like the walls are leaning in.
Ares steps back just enough to study my face, searching for understanding… or weakness.
“Let me help you, Harper,” he says. “Help me, and I’ll help you break your father’s chains for good.”
My hands curl into fists.
“And what if I say no?”
He leans in, lips near my ear, breath warm enough to send a shudder skittering down my spine.
“You won’t.”
I hate the way the words settle in my chest like a prophecy.
“How did you find me again?”
The question slips out harsher than I intend, but my nerves are already stretched thin. Twenty minutes rummaging through shelves and cabinets for something, anything, to force my mind quiet, and now he stands here like he has every right to occupy my oxygen.
Ares doesn’t bother to look at me. He drifts further into the classroom instead, studying the rows of desks as though Vireldan itself is a museum curated for his entertainment. His fingertip trails along a line of etched runes in one of thetables, tracing them carelessly, as if the magic woven into them is beneath him.
“I’ve always wondered what this place looked like,” he says finally. “Its size caught me off guard on the way in.”
He still avoids my question.
Of course he does.
“You’ve never been here before?” I press, mostly to keep him talking so my pulse has a chance to slow.
He scoffs, a sound that slices through the dusty quiet of the room. “I was a little preoccupied spending my formative years keeping your father and mother happy.” His hand lifts, gesturing lazily at our surroundings. “Didn’t exactly have the luxury of strolling around their beloved academy while you got to grow up pretending your life was normal.”
The words snag sharp inside my ribcage. I try not to react, reaching for the bottle I knocked over earlier, resetting it into place on the counter simply to give my hands something to do.
Ares watches the motion, head cocked.
“I’m assuming you’re wary of my deal?” he asks, arms crossing over his chest as though we’re discussing merchant prices.
