Formal black coat. White shirt. Blond hair pulled back from his face. Everything neat enough to satisfy a father who measured sons by what they could endure.
But his wrists were bare.
Only skin, and the dark Mark on his right forearm, visible from three floors up.
Magnus saw it.
Even from the window, I saw the pause.
Brief.
Terrible.
Caspian stopped in front of his father.
He didn’t bow.
Beside me, Cosima stood perfectly still.
Rev whispered something under her breath that I suspected was not prayer.
Magnus spoke.
Caspian answered.
We were too high to hear the words.
The Mark on my wrist pulled once.
Caspian’s head lifted.
He looked up.
Straight to my window.
For a moment, the whole school was between us: stone, glass,Quill, Magnus, Linden, the formal waiting to be dressed as an honor.
For one breath, all the Ashford training left his face.
My hand pressed against the window. I didn’t remember moving it.
Below, his hand opened at his side.
He kept it there.
So did I.
Below, Lord Magnus Ashford turned his head and followed his son’s gaze.
He saw me in Selene Verita’s dress.
He saw the wren over my heart.
He saw my Mark uncovered.
This time, when my wrist pulled, there was room for all of it.
The ache. The fear. The want.
