My stomach tightens. Julian doesn't send notes. We're too careful for that, too aware of the risks. If he's breaking protocol, something's wrong.
"Everything okay?" Lily asks.
I fold the note and tuck it into my pocket. "Professor wants to see me about my essay."
"At night?"
"He has office hours until nine." The lie comes easily now. I've gotten good at lying to everyone.
Lily doesn't look convinced but she doesn't push. "Be careful."
"Always am."
I finish eating without tasting anything, my mind already racing through possibilities. Chase found something. The Council is moving faster. Someone saw us together. The bond is showing somehow and people are noticing.
By the time I leave the dining hall, my heart is pounding.
The campus is quiet as I make my way to the History building. Most students are at dinner or in their dorms. A few pass me on the paths but no one pays attention. Just another student heading to evening office hours.
Julian's door is closed when I arrive. I knock twice, soft.
"Come in."
I slip inside and he closes the door behind me immediately, turning the lock with a sharp click. He doesn't touch me, doesn't even come close, but the mate bond flares between us the moment we're alone.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
He crosses to his desk, then back to the door, then to the window. Pacing. I've never seen him this agitated.
"Julian, you're scaring me."
"I should have told you this weeks ago." He stops moving, faces me. "Before I claimed you. Before everything got so complicated. But I was afraid and selfish and I told myself there was time."
"Told me what?"
He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up enough that normally I'd want make me want to smooth it down. "Sit. Please."
I sit in the chair across from his desk. He doesn't sit. Just paces behind the desk, organizing his thoughts.
"You know you're Silverpelt," he starts.
"Yes."
"But you don't know what that means. Not really." He pulls a leather-bound book from his desk drawer. Old, the bindingcracked with age. He opens it to a marked page and sets it in front of me.
The text is handwritten in ink that's faded to brown. Old language, formal phrasing, but readable.
"What is this?"
"Records. From before the genocide." He taps the page. "Read it."
I scan the text, trying to make sense of the archaic writing. Words jump out. Silverpelt. Rare. Powerful. Bond.
Multiple bond.
My eyes catch on that phrase and stick there. I read it again. Then again, making sure I'm understanding correctly.
The Silverpelt bloodline carries unique capacity for multiple mate bonds. Where common shifters bond singular, Silverpelt may bond plural, up to four complete connections. This is not aberration but design, evolution's answer to power balance.
