If fire travel is possible, what other limits have been erased? What other abilities are waiting to be discovered?
I press my palm against the stone wall and let my heat sensing ability expand through the building. Jade is in our room, her thermal pattern soft and slow with sleep. The hallway is empty. The common room has two students—early risers, probably, or people who never went to bed.
I start moving, threading through shadows, avoiding heat signatures with an ease that feels like cheating. By the time I slip through our door and into my bed, Jade hasn’t stirred.
I lie there in the growing light, staring at the ceiling, my body exhausted but my mind racing.
The blast on the Crown. Permanent amplification. A witch who can compel other witches. Kieran’s offer to help.
Now my magic’s humming at a new frequency, like an instrument restrung with heavier gauge. It’s the same notes, but deeper and louder.
I need to learn exactly what the Crown did to me, how far my abilities extend now, and what I’m truly capable of.
Because somewhere on this island, there are answers about what happened to my brother.
And I’m going to find them.
JADE
I stopdead in the doorway of the dining hall, nearly causing a pile-up as Evie, Felix, and Lauren collide into my back.
“Jade, what the—” Evie starts, but then she sees them, too.
Seven fiery spheres are hovering through the space, drifting between the chandeliers and the high vaulted ceilings. They pulse with a soft golden light, spinning like planets on invisible axes, like eyes made of flame.
That’s not creepy at all. Nope. Totally normal Saturday breakfast vibes.
Evie’s amber eyes track their movements with analytical intensity. “The distribution pattern suggests they’re designed for maximum coverage.”
“Recording orbs.”
Nina Aldridge appears beside us, her dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail that probably took her thirty seconds but manages to be perfect.
Felix pushes his glasses up his nose. “Recording orbs?” he echoes. “Like... magical surveillance?”
“Exactly like magical surveillance. There’s only one person whose signature those could be—Councilwoman HelenFinchman. She specializes in history preservation and documentation.”
Her gaze shifts to the head table at the front of the hall.
Then, her body goes rigid.
“Oh, shit.”
The curse sounds wrong coming from Nina, who usually speaks like she’s drafting a formal letter.
I follow her gaze to where the faculty sits in their usual spots. Constance is in the center, Kieran’s examining his blade, Professor Rousseau is studying her nails, and Delia’s watching the orbs as if they’re animals she wants to adopt.
Beside them, there are three people I don’t recognize.
The woman has a sleek black bob, and she’s watching us file in with warm brown eyes and a small, reassuring smile. One of the men is older—tall and military-straight, with black hair cut short. His face is weathered, carved with deep laugh lines that don’t move. He’s writing in a leather journal without looking up.
The third’s young enough that he must be a recent graduate, with pale blue eyes and dark, tousled hair shot through with a few strands of silver. He sits perfectly still while the chaos of breakfast swirls around him, his eyes tracking everyone who enters.
“Nina?” Evie touches her arm gently. “What’s wrong?”
“The man on the right.” Nina’s hands clench as she looks at the older man. “That’s my Uncle Michael.”
“I’m guessing that’s a bad thing?” I ask.
