Page 14

“Students, if we could all sit down now,” Halvern calls, his voice carrying easily through the hall. “We are already running behind.”

That does absolutely nothing to hurry them. They keep coming through the doors in clusters, talking over each other, coffee cups in hand, dropping into their seats with the ease of a hundred times before. Like none of this means anything.

“Sit down, please,” Halvern snaps, louder this time. “Unless one of you intends to run the ceremony in my place.”

That gets a few last laughs from the rows, but the sound in the hall finally shifts, conversations breaking off, chairs scraping, bodies settling.

There are too many voices now. Too much movement.

The hall felt huge when I walked in. Now it feels smaller somehow, the noise pressing in from every side. I keep my hands where they are on the instrument and try not to move too much.

Maybe I can’t do this after all.

Forcing my fingers to loosen again, I keep my posture steady and my gaze fixed ahead, trying to pass for someone who belongs here when every part of me knows I don’t.

“As I was saying,” Halvern continues, “welcome, returning students. Honored faculty. Esteemed patrons. On behalf of Caervast Academy⁠—”

I risk a glance toward Damaris. He’s slouched in the reserved section, owning it. When he catches me looking, he rolls his eyes and gives me the smallest wink.

My mouth almost twitches.

Then I look back down, only to find the professor already turned toward me, one hand opening in my direction.

“Our invocation this year will be performed by Mr. Rowan Finlay Ashford, newly arrived to Caervast’s Noctis scholarship cohort.”

I set my hands. Feel one bead of sweat slide from my temple to my jaw and leave it there.

Don’t look at the room.

The second the bow touches the strings, something in me starts to ease. My shoulders drop a fraction. My breath catches, then evens out with the first note. The pulse at my wrist is still too fast, but the sound gives me something to follow.

This is the only place my life has ever made sense.

Here, breathing is simple. I can follow the next note instead of the room, the next movement instead of whatever might be waiting for me.

There is only pressure, timing, sound, and the relief of getting it right.

I am three phrases from the end when I open my eyes, only to find the man from Black Chapel standing against one of the side columns.

Heat rushes through me so fast I nearly miss the next breath mark.

Light. Not him. Not now.

For a second, all I can see is his hand around my wrist. His mouth against my skin. The way he pinned me beneath him, already certain exactly how far he could push.

The melody wavers, but I keep playing. He’s dressed differently now, yet I’d know him anywhere, and when our eyes meet, he looks pleased.

He was waiting for me to notice him.

His dark hair is pushed back carelessly, his collar open, the edge of a tattoo disappearing beneath it.

My bow stutters, the pressure slipping for a fraction of a second as recognition crashes through me.

It’s him, and for one sick moment all I can think is that he found me faster in daylight than he did in the dark.

He’s watching me, dark eyes fixed on me with a hunger I don’t know what to do with.

My gaze jerks away, but it’s too late. I’ve already given him the shock of recognition, and I know he’ll enjoy that.