Page 29 of The Witch They Fear

His expression shifts. Something careful enters it—not guarded, just aware that the answer is loaded.

"Daylight walking requires enchantment. A talisman, usually—witch-made, expensive, and tied to a specific vampire. You either buy one outright, which costs more than most families can afford, or—" He pauses. Chooses his words. "You find a witch willing to create one. Which usually means a witch who owes you something."

A witch indebted to a vampire. I think about what Professor Malloy said in class yesterday—ambient magic, channeled magic, the power dynamics baked into the system.

There’s an entire ecosystem I have no idea about thanks to that fucking facility.

"Students who can't walk in daylight take their classes at night," Emric continues. "Separate schedule, separate social world. They're technically getting the same education, but..." He trails off. Shrugs. "Nobody at the night sessions is getting invited to the parties. Nobody's making the connections that matter for after graduation. Daylight walking isn't just about sunlight. It's about access."

"And you have a talisman."

He touches his collar—pulls out a thin chain with a small, dark stone that catches the light. "My grandmother made it. She was a witch. Married into the family, which raised some eyebrows, but she didn't much care about eyebrows." A genuine smile. "She died before I was born, but she made talismans for all the grandkids. It's the most valuable thing I own and it looks like a rock on a string."

I stare at the stone. A witch made that. Witch magic, sustaining a vampire's ability to walk in the sun. A gift across species lines, made from love, not debt.

"She sounds like someone I'd have liked," I say.

"You probably would have." He tucks the stone back under his collar. "She was a terror."

Something about the way he says it—fond and sad and proud all at once—makes me think of Marion. The people who take care of you even when the system makes it hard. Even when it costs them.

We spar another round. Then another. My arms are burning but the rhythm is starting to feel less foreign. Block, strike, pivot. Block, strike, pivot. Emric calls out adjustments and I adjust.

"So Midus," I say, catching my breath between drills, nodding at the instructor pacing around the training grounds. "Is he always like that?"

"Like what? Terrifying and vaguely medieval?" He resets his stance. "Yeah. Pretty much. He's been running combat training at Devenir for longer than most of the faculty have been alive. Rumor is he was a general in something—nobody knows what, nobody asks."

"Smart."

"He's fair, though. Harsh, but fair. He'll push you until you think you're going to collapse and then push you one more round past that, but he doesn't play favorites." A pause. "Well. He plays one favorite, and it's discipline. If you show up on time, work hard, and don't waste his time, he'll respect you. If you slack off or showboat—" He glances toward the weapons rack where Kage is leaning. "He'll make an example."

I swallow. "I noticed."

Emric's expression sobers slightly. "Yeah. The Kage thing is..." He trails off. Chooses not to finish the sentence. Resets. "Anyway. Just give Midus effort and he won't give you trouble. He actually respects beginners more than naturals, believe it or not. Says talent without discipline is just a mess waiting to happen."

"Great. I'm a mess that's already happened. He should love me."

He laughs at that—a real one, that crinkles his eyes and makes him drop his guard for a second. I catch myself smiling back without deciding to, my shoulders loose, my grip on the staff relaxed for the first time all morning. For a few minutes, I'm just a girl talking to a boy between sparring drills, and the simplicity of it is so foreign it almost hurts.

And then—

That wasn't so bad, was it?

The voice. In my skull. Warm and unhurried and right there, sliding between my thoughts like it heard me laughing and wanted to be closer to the sound.

My entire body goes rigid.

My laughter dies. My grip on the staff tightens. I look at Emric.

He's still smiling. Resetting his stance for the next drill. But—was he talking just now? Was his mouth moving? I try to rewind the moment and I can't because the voice came and Emric was right there, two feet away, looking at me with those warm dark eyes, and the timing—

The timing is too close.

He was in the middle of telling me about Midus—the discipline thing, the mess-waiting-to-happen line. Then there was a breath. A gap. And the voice spoke. And then Emric was readjusting his staff again like nothing happened.

Is it him? Is he the voice in my head?

No…