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Will she be proud of me?

The thought lingers somewhere deep inside my chest as my mind drifts back to the concert, to those first nervous notes I always play before anything important. I probably shouldn’t have used them on stage. I’d already warmed up beforehand, but somehow the sequence still slips out whenever I’m nervous, my fingers finding it automatically even after all these years.

The sequence had barely left my fingers before I felt Angela Virel’s empty gaze find me from somewhere beyond the lights.

Then the memory shifts to the final note hanging beneath the vaulted ceiling while the entire room watched in complete silence. For one terrifying second, I thought I’d done something wrong before the applause finally broke across the hall.

Cold wind lashes against my face, chasing away the heat and noise of the hall below. Thunder rumbles somewhere beyond Caervast while rain drums softly against the stone.

Up here, at least, I can finally breathe.

The concert should have left me floating. Instead, I can’t stop thinking about the man in black standing near the back of the hall. The sight of him hit me with the same instinctive unease I’d felt outside my dorm weeks ago, my pulse spiking hard enough for my medical band to flash amber against my wrist before I even understood what was wrong.

Some part of me recognized him, even if I can’t remember why.

A shiver crawls unexpectedly down my spine.

Wake up.

The words flash through my head so suddenly that I blink. Then they’re gone.

I glance down at my wrist. The display is back to normal. The sight usually reassures me, but not tonight. I’ve spent half my life convincing myself those feelings mean nothing, that the shadows following me belong to old memories instead of real people. Yet every time I catch sight of someone who feels familiar in all the wrong ways, my pulse reacts before my mind can make sense of it.

Below, the lights of the hall still glow through the rain. The last time I looked inside, Ciaran was standing beside his parents talking to Imperial Milanov Zephyranth and his son Helianth, surrounded by people who looked like they’d known each other their entire lives.

Unlike me.

I couldn’t even spot anyone from Düren in the room. Not a single familiar face. Not even our awful Imperial.

After the concert, I stood near the edge of the hall for a while, pretending to admire the architecture while guests drifted between tables and conversations I wasn’t part of. Damaris had disappeared into a conversation with Lucan, and for the first time since arriving at Caervast, I found myself standing completely alone.

The stupid thing is that I should’ve been happy for him. Damaris has looked after me for years. He deserves friends. So if Lucan makes him smile, if he gives him something that belongs just to him, then I should be glad.

Instead, watching him laugh across the room, I felt something small and ugly twist in my chest. It can’t be jealousy. At least, I hope not.

He deserves people who choose him for once instead of expecting him to take care of everyone else.

So why does part of me still react like this?

Maybe because it’s easier to pretend I’ve outgrown that feeling than admit I never really did. The weak heart. The missing sister. The kid who always needed a little more help than everyone else. I’m tired of being that person.

Yet somehow, every time the ground shifts beneath my feet, that old fear finds me again.

Everyone seems to be finding a place here.

Damaris was laughing with Lucan. Ciaran was surrounded by people who belonged in that room. Nobody needed me standing awkwardly at the edge of the hall, pretending I fit in.

So I slipped away.

Now, I look up as storm clouds churn above the academy while the city below glows silver and gold beneath the rain. Somewhere far beneath the tower, traffic moves through the old streets while thunder rumbles softly in the distance.

I wrap my arms tighter around myself and stare out across the endless lights of Sero. The evening should feel over, but instead it feels like something has only just begun.

My multi-slate pings with a message.

Dama:

where the hell did u go