“Wait a sec—holy crap. You and this Hedder chick were classmates at Darkbirch! You both fought in the Blood Wars!”
She jabs a translucent finger at the corner of the page.
“So if she's writing all this dragon fanfiction... she had an inside source, yeah?”
No answer, but her finger stays put, like she's trying to drill a hole through the paper.
I flip the page and nearly choke:actual notes on the dragons' exodus. The musty paper smell hits me like a caffeine shot, each whiff making the centuries-old ink dance.
“Dragons are worth saving,” Hedder writes. I snort. Yeah, tell that to the Darkbirch elders. “They're preceptors of knowledge, collectors of our world's greatest and most precious fortune.” Fancy way of saying book nerds with scales? “Knowledge was always key to them, far beyond their physical capabilities. Their cities rose from mountains to skies. Their fires burned bright. Metal bowed to them. Wood turned to ashes. But it was their knowledge and dedication to preserving ancient texts that made them paramount to our existence.”
Helena hovers like the world's most faded photo filter. I can literally see the table through her now. Dust motes float through her translucent hair like tiny stars. She's going ghost-transparent, which is saying something since she's already, you know…
“This is frickin' gold,” I mutter. “Bet these pages haven't seen daylight since some librarian with a powdered wig shelved them.”
By noon, Chad finds me practically making out with the books. My stomach's performing its own death metal concert while my brain's buzzing like a live wire.
“You look like walking death,” he says, dropping into the chair across from me. His eyes flick to Helena. “She's barely there...”
“Yeah, fading fast,” I sigh. “Ghost-wrangling isn't exactly a sustainable energy practice after getting my ass handed to me last night.”
He actually snaps his fingers at Helena like she's some kind of spectral puppy. What a dick.
“Do that again and I'll hex your fingers together,” I warn him.
“Brynn, you need sleep.”
“And a cheeseburger.”
“We have training today. What am I supposed to do with you like this?”
I glare at him over a tower of ancient tomes. “I've been solving dragon mysteries while you were probably doing whatever it is pretty boys do in the morning. Moisturize?”
“Corvin said?—”
I slam the book shut. “What’s Corvin’s number? I’ll talk to him. Make him understand I'm not his backup Esme.”
Chad's shoulders drop. “He's busy. Leading the search party for your sister and the dragon.” He leans in. “Spoiler alert: we really, really want that dragon.”
“Yeah. But they're wasting their time,” I say. “When a dragon wants to hide something? It's like trying to find my will to live on Monday mornings—completely freaking impossible.”
“That's... depressing.”
I wave my hand, and Helena's ghost dissolves. Poor thing needs to recharge in whatever spooky green room ghosts hang out in. I should probably crash too, but my brain's still doing the hamster wheel thing. Plus, I need Chad. Ugh. Even thinking that makes me want to gargle bleach.
“So about last night,” I mutter, picking at a hangnail. “That Ezra creep would've turned me into a Salem kebab if you hadn't shown up. So... thanks. For saving my ass.”
Chad's eyebrow does that annoying sexy arch thing. “Trust me, Salem, that ass is worth saving.”
“Wow. Did you workshop that line, or does douchebaggery just come naturally to you?”
“Try thanking me and slapping me. See which feels better,” he says. “Though I doubt you could reach me in your condition.”
“You just love poking the bear, don't you, Valgrave?”
He plants his elbows on the table and does that thing where he stares at me like I'm some rare specimen he's dissecting. A sunbeam slices between us, lighting up his eyes—green with those… freaky red patches that vanish the second he leans back. Weird.
“You're a rage-monster with actual skills,” Chad says. “When you're pissed, you stop overthinking and just... execute. That's how badasses are born.”
