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Forcing my attention back to the music, I drag myself through the final phrase and let it carry until the sound finally falls away.

For one suspended second, the hall seems to hold its breath.

Then the applause breaks.

I rise with the Noctis still in my hand, a little too fast, my pulse kicking hard again as I set the bow down and reach for the next step before I lose it.

Halvern is already applauding. “Beautifully done, Mr. Ashford,” he says, loud enough for the room.

I glance toward Damaris first. He’s on his feet in the reserved section, clapping hard enough to embarrass me on purpose. My mouth almost twitches.

Then I drag my gaze back to the column.

It’s empty now. He’s gone.

That should make it easier to breathe. Instead, the whole hall feels off, like he left something behind just by standing in it.

“Rowan.” Catching me at the bottom of the steps, Damaris falls into stride beside me. “Okay, no, that was insane. Did you even look up? They loved it.”

“Dama.”

“I’m not joking. Even Halvern looked impressed⁠—”

“Damaris.”

Stopping mid-sentence, he finally looks at me properly. “What?”

For a second, I remember looking up from the music and finding him already watching me. The heat that had rushed through me then stirs again, unwelcome and impossible to ignore.

Stop thinking about him.

“Nothing.” I shake my head. “Sorry. Go on.”

His eyes narrow, reading me the way he always does, but after a moment he lets it go. “I’m just saying. You had them.”

I step down beside him.

“Hey. You’re the one who just played?”

I turn to find one of the academy students waiting at the foot of the stage, one hand shoved into his pocket.

Damaris gives him a flat look. “Nice to meet you too. What do you want?”

The boy huffs, looking mildly offended by the interruption. “Whatever. I’m just here to deliver the invitation. Ciaran Virel wants you at his house tomorrow night. He’s throwing a party.”

Frowning, I glance between them. “Who?”

The student blinks, shifting his weight awkwardly. Then, letting out a short disbelieving laugh, he shoots Damaris a look that says I’ve just admitted I don’t know what planet I’m standing on. “You don’t know who Ciaran Virel is?”

Damaris snorts. “We got here last night.”

“Right.” Looking down at his multi-slate, he scrolls before glancing back at me. “Anyway. Tomorrow. Eight. Don’t be late.”

I stare at him. “What?”

“At his place. The mansion on the edge of campus. The one with the guards.”

It takes me a second to understand what he’s actually saying. “The one with the⁠—”