“Your magic is powerful. More powerful than you’ve been trained to handle. The surge amplified what was already there, and now there’s simply too much energy for you to contain on your own.” He leaned forward, trying to make her understand. “You don’t need to suppress it. You need to ground it. Find a focus. Something or someone that can help channel the excess.”
“Like what?”
Like me, his dragon growled.
The word pressed against his teeth, demanding release. He swallowed it back with effort that made his jaw ache.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said instead. “That’s part of what this research is for. Understanding the surge’s effects on practitioners. Finding ways to stabilize the amplification.”
Her expression flickered—disappointment, maybe, or resignation—before smoothing into something neutral. “Right. The research.”
She turned back to the storm.
Aero sat beside her in silence, hating himself for the lie. For the distance. For centuries of learned avoidance that made honesty feel impossible.
His dragon raged beneath his skin, demanding he close the gap between them. Demanding he tell her what she was to him—what she could be, if he wasn’t such a coward.
He didn’t move.
NINETEEN
AERO
The storm broke over the ocean as full dark settled.
It was breathtaking. Terrifying and beautiful in equal measure—lightning splitting the sky in jagged forks, thunder rolling across the water in waves that shook the cliff beneath them. Rain curtained down miles offshore, visible only as a gray smear against the darker sea.
Cassia stood at the edge of the overlook, her face tilted toward the wind, her hair a wild tangle around her shoulders. The barometer pendant caught the last gray light, brass gone dark against her skin, but she didn’t seem afraid. She seemed alive.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “God, I know I shouldn’t—I know storms can destroy things, hurt people—but this…” She spread her arms, letting the wind buffet her. “This is what I am. This is what’s in my blood. And it’sglorious.”
Aero watched her, unable to look away. She was silhouetted against the lightning, wild and fierce and utterly uncontained. Every wall she’d built—every layer of control and containment and careful management—had fallen away, leaving only the storm witch beneath.
She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
The thought hit him with undeniable force. He’d existed for over eight hundred years. He’d seen wonders beyond counting: dragon flights over mountain ranges, aurora blazing across polar skies, cities of crystal and glass that no longer existed. He’d documented beauty with the same clinical precision he applied to everything.
None of it compared to this. To her.
His dragon roared approval.
“You should come back from the edge.” His voice came out rough. Strained. “The wind is strengthening.”
She looked at him over her shoulder. Lightning flashed behind her, turning her into a silhouette for a split second.
“I’m not afraid of storms.”
“I know.” He stood, moving toward her despite every rational thought telling him to stay back. “But I’m not interested in watching you get struck by lightning.”
“Would you care?” The question came out softly. Almost vulnerable. “If I got hurt?”
He stopped an arm’s length away. Near enough to feel the charge building around her—not the storm’s charge, but something deeper. The energy that lived in her skin, in her blood, in every breath she took.
“Yes.” The word tore from him. “I would care.”
She faced him fully. The wind whipped between them, her hair lashing, her eyes bright with something he couldn’t name.
“Why?”
