“I know,” I say, cutting in before she can retreat into apology or fear or whatever brittle shield she feels she needs in this moment.
Her head snaps up, eyes meeting mine with a sharpness that falters almost instantly.
“I know,” I repeat, taking the smallest step forward, not touching her, but close enough that her grip in my shirt tightens instead of loosening. “Trust me.”
The words are quiet, but they land with the weight of something neither of us is ready to name. She swallows, eyes flicking between my mouth and my eyes, as though deciding which part of me proves the larger threat.
Her fingers tighten in the fabric of my shirt, sharp, desperate, almost panicked, and the shift startles me enough that I glance down. But before I can read her expression, her entire posture changes. Her breath stutters, her eyes squeeze shut, and both of her hands fly to her temples as though something inside her skull has suddenly ignited.
“Harper?” The word leaves me before I can stop it. She doesn’t answer.
Her shoulders hunch inward, a soft gasp tearing from her throat. It’s not fear, at least not the ordinary kind. It’s something deeper, something that looks like she’s trying to brace herself against a wave only she can see.
Her body sways.
A flicker of violet pulses beneath her lashes.
A shiver runs through her entire frame.
But she still doesn’t speak.
My hand lifts on instinct, hovering near her arm, unsure whether touching her will steady her or break her further. She looks like she’s caught between moments, between worlds. Like something is pulling her mind into a place I cannot follow.
“Harper,” I repeat, softer this time, not knowing why my chest tightens the way it does. “Look at me.”
But she can’t.
Her breath comes in shallow stutters, her fingers digging into her scalp, her shoulders trembling as if she’s fighting something behind her eyes. And I realize, too late, that whatever happened in Anvaris, whatever flickered in her gaze when that bastard touched her… it’s happening again.
Before I can step closer, before I can steady her or pull her hands down or say something that might tether her back to the present-
“Harper!”
The shout cracks through the common room like a struck whip.
Both of us snap toward the sound.
Professor Locke stands in the doorway, rain-soaked cloak, jaw clenched, eyes blazing in a way I’ve never seen. His gaze rakes over her first, then flicks to me with a severity that sinks into my bones.
“Harper,” he barks again, voice tight with urgency, withfear, with something far heavier than reprimand. “Come here. Now.”
Her eyes flutter open, unfocused and glassy.
The moment shatters.
15
HARPER
Locke’s grip doesn’t loosen, not even as we turn the last corner. His fingers are tight around my wrist, not painful, but urgent, too urgent, and the speed of his stride forces me to stumble to keep up. My pulse has barely slowed since the library; the echo of that vision still claws at the back of my mind like something that refuses to be forgotten.
When he flings open the door to his study, the lanterns inside flicker from the sudden rush of air. The room smells of parchment, warm dust, and old magic. Normally it’s a place that makes me feel grounded. Tonight it feels like a chamber built for confessions I’m not prepared to give.
Liam is already there.
He shoots to his feet the moment he sees me, wide-eyed, breath caught halfway in his chest. His hair is mussed, as if he’s run his hands through it a hundred times in the span of minutes. And the way he looks between Locke and me, the rapid flicker of confusion, fear, and disbelief, I know instantly he wasn’t warned about any of this.
“Harper?” Liam steps forward, voice tight. “What’s going on? Why did he-”
