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It was only fair she shared some of her experience as well. “It hurts on and off. And I get this burning sensation, singeing to the bone.” Instinctively she placed her hand over the scar. “I think the nightmares might be the worst.”

“What do you dream about?”

“That moment when I got the scar on an endless repeat. Over and over. Every time I can feel it. As if it’s happening all over again.” She quickly wiped a tear from her face.

Dawson stared at her very quietly.

“Anyway,” she continued. “I’ve tried so many things, and nothing seems to work.”

“You think if the scar was gone, it would fix the nightmares?”

She shrugged. She had never admitted that to anyone. “It might.” It was more than just a scar. It was alive, poisoning her from within. “So, because of your scars, you’re good at wound care?”

“Good?” He scoffed. “Winters, I’m a fucking master.”

“Of course you are. How could I even question that for a minute?”

He laughed, a real laugh that caught up to his eyes. “I quite agree.”

They kept talking for a while, and the distraction was helpful. Anytime her thoughts wandered, darkness returned like a bad hangover. When the adrenaline of the evening finally subsided, her muscles relaxed. Her eyelids grew heavy. She closed them for just a moment…

—

She woke up from the first rays of sun. When her eyes adjusted and found Dawson sitting across from her in the archway of the library’s main window, she sat up with a startle. I fell asleep? How long was I out?

By the looks of it, he hadn’t gotten any rest, dark circles spreading under his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, and she realized his jacket was draped around her.

She took a mental inventory. The bottomless darkness in her seemed to be gone.

“Fine.”

He shook his head and stood. “Do me a favor and remove that spheres-forsaken word from your vocabulary.”

Before she could give him his jacket back, he flipped his coin and disappeared into thin air.

She stood up, realizing the library would officially open soon. Panicked, she stared at the books scattered on the floor and a tipped-over chair—the evidence of their actions last night. Remembering what they had done made her flush.

Voices outside kept growing louder. Steps approached.

With a set of quick spells, she cleaned up the chaos they had created. When the door to the library opened, Mira snuck out the emergency exit on the side and walked down the steep staircase until she was back at the main entrance of Ivercrest. The sun broke through the low clouds that crept over the trees. Mira pulled Dawson’s jacket close around her—it still smelled of him. She was quite certain she did, too. He had said he wanted to brand her, and it felt like he had.

The last thing she had expected was for Aidric Dawson to open up to her.

In her dress, she sat on the ground, took off her gloves, and plunged her fingers into the cold dirt. She was under no illusion she could get rid of her gavisus-induced headache entirely, but when she called upon a healing spell, using the earth to replenish her, White Magic dulled the stabbing pain behind her eyes.

For a moment longer, she let the energy just flow through her and inhaled deeply. When she stood back up, she no longer felt like death. She brushed the dirt off her fingers and noticed Ella and Oliver in the distance. Mira turned around, ready to walk back, when her friend called her name.

Ella kissed Oliver goodbye. He waved at Mira before disappearing.

Mira stuffed her hands into her pockets—correction, Dawson’s pockets. Her attire wasn’t lost on Ella, whose grin became devilish when she took in the jacket and dress Mira was still wearing from last night.

“Looks like you began your night with a Caster and ended it with a Wielder.”

It was obviously not Sebastian’s jacket since—in true Dawson fashion—the lapel had the symbol of Dark Magic stitched into it.

“How was your night?” Mira asked, switching the conversation back to her friend, who was also still wearing last night’s dress.