“Oh, my goodness, yes!” she chirps, voice like honey, softened by the glasses of wine Gavrail charmed out of a server for her earlier. “He’s been a friend of the family for years. He knew your father well—from their college days, I believe.”
I freeze. “My father?”
She clucks her tongue. “Your father didn’t always hate Magicks, Celeste.”
I try to mask my shock. Funny, I think, that Thorne neveroncementioned knowing my dad.
“He was actually the one who encouraged me to have you apply to Whittaker,” she adds.
I turn to look at her, surprise jolting through me. Beside me, Gavrail’s expression darkens, all trace of charm gone. A muscle in his jaw ticks, but he doesn’t speak.
Before I can press her further, a familiar presence approaches.
Noa and his parents walk over. His father folds me into a crushing bear hug, and his mother kisses my cheek before pulling me in close. I haven’t seen them since last summer, since Noa left for Whittaker. Since before my dad passed. Somehow that’s both forever ago and only yesterday.
“Celeste! We couldn’t be more proud of you and how much you’ve accomplished in such a short time!” his mother gushes.
I flick a questioning look toward Noa, searching for confirmation. His expression remains carefully blank, but I understand. He hasn’t told them about my past. They still believe my powers only recently manifested.
His mother sits beside me, looping her arm through mine like we’re old friends as she greets my mother. She tells us about Alissa’s new job, her boyfriend Greg, and their future plans like nothing about the world has changed since last summer.
Blake Gallegher stands nearby, tall and powerful, the kind of man who makes other people step back. His hair, like Noa’s, is a chestnut brown, streaked with silver at his temples, his presence quiet but undeniably warm. A retired commander of the non-magick faction of the Service, the prestigious Iron Vanguard, he exudes silent strength and discipline.
Noa’s mother, by contrast, is tiny and fiery, with amber eyesand strawberry-blonde hair—the spitting image of her daughter Alissa. Brigid Gallegher practically sparks with energy, never short on opinions or opportunities to poke fun at the men in her family. She is the true flame in the family, her maiden name Emberlain—one of the original founding fire families. The same Emberlain whose textbook on fusion we’ve been studying. I want to ask her about her family, but now is not the time for history lessons.
My mother rises to pull Noa into a warm embrace, and the two of them start chatting as he charms her—and the rest of the table—in the way only he can.
Dinner passes in laughter and nostalgia, all of us catching up on what we’ve missed in each other’s lives. My mom lost two of her favorite silkie hens to foxes but now has two horses named Starla and Paul. I smile as I watch her win over my friends with her stories and ever-present warmth. The comfort of it all makes my eyes prickle with tears as I move in closer, laying my head on her shoulder. Gods, I’ve missed her.
Gavrail turns to Noa. “What business does General Vaylor have here?” His tone is clipped, short, almost accusatory.
Noa’s father answers for him. “He’s trying to recruit Noa for his own unit come summer,” he says, unmistakable pride in his voice as he looks at his son.
Gavrail’s eyes darken, his body tensing, as he looks out over the quad at the general—the black of his uniform cutting and sharp, the awards of service dripping from his lapel denoting decades of missions and wars, stories not spoken of, or perhaps too classified to know.
My mother lets out a delicate yawn. Gavrail rises smoothly to his feet, asking if he can escort her back to her room for the night—years of manners ingrained in him by his father, ever the gentleman. The parents who didn’t book accommodation in the nearby town of Elesmere were offered rooms at the Ivy House, my mother along with them.
She smiles at Gavrail with something close to adoration, placing a hand on his cheek. “Bless you, boy. It’s been too long since I’ve seen that handsome face.”
He inclines his head and bows with charming ease, just enough to distract from the way his shoulders hold tension beneath the easy smile. He then leads her away, leaving me with Noa and his parents under a starlit sky.
I watch them go, and something primal stirs inside me. A sense of protection… but not for my mother.
For him.
The kind of man who doesn’t let anyone close unless he wants them there. And even then—only on his terms.
“Do you know what your plans are after graduation, Celeste?” Noa’s mother asks. Her question is laced with an unmistakable sense of expectation. To the Galleghers, the Service isn’t just a path—it is an honor, a duty one owes to their country.
“I’m not sure,” I say honestly. The truth is, I haven’t dared to imagine that far ahead.
Noa reaches for my hand under the table. “She’s only a first-year, Mom,” he says lightly. “There’s still plenty of time to decide—and as long as that future has room for me in it, I don’t care what she does.”
His arm curls around the back of my chair, easy and sure. But I catch the glance his parents exchange, the small grin on Blake’s face. The quiet approval. A shared understanding.
They see everything. So much like Noa, I think.
* * *
