The western administrative tower of the Asgarheim Runevald Institute always felt oppressive.
Not in a bad way exactly.
Just ancient.
Like the stone itself was watching.
Tall arched windows overlooked the black cliffs surrounding the island realm while storm clouds churned endlessly beyond the sea below.
Enchanted lanterns floated along the corridor ceiling casting soft gold light across rune-carved walls and portraits of former Runevald professors who absolutely seemed to track students with their eyes.
The place smelled like old magic.
Dusty books.
Rain.
Burned herbs.
And beneath all of it—power.
Deep, old, terrifying power.
I hugged my satchel tighter against my side and resumed pacing.
Honestly, I should have gone back to class.
Or slept.
God knew I needed it.
After yesterday’s disaster in the corridor, my nerves still felt completely shredded.
Not because I regretted what happened.
No.
If I was being brutally honest with myself?
The memory of Sten appearing seemingly out of nowhere to defend me still made heat curl low in my stomach.
One second Gunner had been sneering in my face—his antagonism knowing no bounds.
The next?
My gorgeous terrifying celestial Monster had come flying from the shadows like wrath itself and punched the Werewolf so hard he nearly folded in half.
Objectively speaking, violence was bad.
Academically inappropriate.
Potentially alarming.
Unfortunately, my body had reacted to it in a deeply unhelpful manner.
Because there had been something intensely possessive about the way Sten stood in front of me afterward.
Protecting me.
