I swore the woman could drag confessions out of people through sheer psychological warfare alone.
Years of disappointing powerful women had conditioned me well for this exact kind of scrutiny.
My mother, my aunts, my sisters—they all had that same look when they examined me too closely.
That subtle disappointment wrapped in elegance.
The expectation that eventually I would say something foolish and prove them correct.
“You were with Sten,” Professor Kenna said.
Not a question.
“He’s tutoring me,” I replied immediately.
Too quickly.
Too defensively.
And the worst part?
I didn’t even fully understand why I was rushing to explain myself.
Only that I suddenly felt fiercely protective of him.
Of us.
The instinct hit so hard it startled me.
Like something deep inside me recoiled at the idea of anyone misunderstanding him.
Or judging him.
Or taking him away.
My fingers twitched.
I looked down instinctively.
Blue light swirled around my fingertips.
Tiny sparks.
Lunar-colored magic dancing across my skin like liquid starlight.
“What the hell?” I whispered.
The professor’s gaze sharpened almost imperceptibly.
Interesting.
Not alarmed.
Just interested.
“Have you been sleeping any better?” she asked calmly.
The abrupt shift in conversation caught me completely off guard.
