Now the dome shows the gray November sky. The orchestra pit is empty. The air smells like cold stone and dead ash instead of champagne and cinnamon. And the fireplaces...
Six of them burn, their flames muted and subdued. The Passion Fire barely flickers. The Truth Fire has gone almost entirely still. The Memory Flame shows only shadows.
At the center of the room, where the Unity Flame has burned steadily for over a thousand years, there’s only cold, dead ash.
I did that. A thousand years of continuous fire, and I snuffed it out with my storm.
Static prickles along my fingertips, and I press my nails into my palms until it stops.
We’ve been here for a few minutes, clustered in groups while Helen Finchman’s recording orbs drift overhead. But I can barely focus on them. Because all I can see is Oliver.
“You look beautiful tonight. Persephone suits you.”
“Thanks. And you make a great Hades.”
“Without the kidnapping and forced pomegranate eating parts.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, but that just sharpens the memories. Oliver’s smile was warm and genuine as he spun me across the constellation floor, unaware that Logan was watching from the Revelation Flame, wanting to kill him for touching me. I spent every second of that dance looking over Oliver’s shoulder, counting down the minutes until I could escape to Logan.
Now, Sam’s droning on about magical theory. Elizabeth and Francis are having the world’s most stilted conversation about weather patterns. Garrett’s trying and failing to flirt with Vera. No one’s saying anythingreal,because Helen’s orbs are watching, recording every word, every micro-expression, and every nervous fidget.
I’ve reorganized my rings three times already.
Helen stands near the Memory Flame, one hand resting on her pearls. Every few minutes, she tilts her head toward the fire, birdlike and curious, studying it with an intensity that doesn’t match her warm smile.
“Good morning, students,” she says through the forced chatter. “I know this morning has been stressful, but these memory verification sessions are nothing to worry about. Councilman Cane simply needs to establish clear timelines for Halloween night. Each of you will speak with him privately for approximately ten minutes.”
Ten minutes of someone poking around inside my head.
My brain itches at the thought.
“If Councilman Cane needs additional time with any student, he’ll ask them to remain at the end for an extended session.” Her eyes sweep the room, and I swear they linger on me for a fraction of a second too long. Or maybe she was looking at Nina, who’s sitting next to me. I can’t tell.
I fidget with my gold bracelet, twisting it so hard the metal bites into my skin.
“Professor Carver will escort you to the Observatory one at a time.” Helen gestures at Delia, who’s examining a tapestry on the wall like it contains the secrets of the universe. “We’ll proceed alphabetically by surname. Any questions?”
No one raises their hand. Because what are we supposed to ask?Hey, Helen, quick question—what happens if the Council’s memory specialist discovers that one of us covered up a double homicide on a volcanic peak during a lightning storm she created with her goddess-given powers?
“Wonderful.” Helen claps her hands together once. “Nina Aldridge, you’re first.”
Nina moves forward with the kind of calm I genuinely can’t fathom. Her face betrays nothing—not nervousness, not fear, not even mild discomfort. She just smooths down her shirt and follows Delia out of the ballroom, like she’s heading to a routine doctor’s appointment instead of an investigation session where hermind will be invaded.
How is she so calm? HOW?
The minutes crawl by like hours.
I try to distract myself by counting the constellation patterns in the floor, watching the flames dance in their fireplaces, and listening to the murmured conversations that nobody means. But no matter how hard I try not to let them, my eyes keep drifting to the empty brazier at the center of the room.
Delia returns ten minutes later without Nina in tow. “All went well,” she says to Helen, although she’s as fidgety as the rest of us. “The Councilman is ready for the next student.”
Helen gives Delia a curt nod. “Henry Baker,” she calls.
Henry goes. Delia comes back empty-handed fifteen minutes later.
“Elizabeth Bradley.”
Elizabeth goes. Delia returns.
