“Fuck,” he mutters, more to himself, and it’s not surrender. It’s a decision.
He gathers the blanket around both of us and moves fullyonto the bed, keeping me pinned to his heat. Like if he lets go, the water might remember where to find me.
“Sleep,” he orders softly, moving my head to his chest, his arms wrapped tight around me. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
And he doesn’t let go.
His scent fills my lungs—amber-dark and dusk-deep, a bite of smoke and grounding leather—and the Cavern slips away.
Sleep takes me, soft and warm. And this time when I dream, it’s of shadowed woods, dark paths, and whispering leaves, the air thick with damp earth and night-blooming sap. Creatures watch from the trees, their silver eyes reflecting the starlight like pools of mercury.
I walk deeper. The forest shifts around me, subtle as breath. A path opening where there wasn’t one a heartbeat ago. Guiding. Guarding.
The dark gathers at my back. Not threatening.Claiming.It curls around my ankles like a vow, cool and steady, as if it’s always known the shape of me.
Then the sky splits.
Rain slams down in sudden sheets, cold and electric, thunder rolling so close it rattles my bones. Lightning zigzags across the canopy—once, twice—until one spear of white-blue fire strikes the ground at my feet.
Heat blooms. Violent. Alive.
Flames lick through the brush, racing up the trunks, devouring the world in a golden roar. The fire pulls—steady, bright, and full of hunger. And I know if I step forward, I’ll be consumed.
The darkness tightens behind me just as fire surges in front.
And I’m caught between them, trembling—not from fear, but from the terrible truth of wanting both.
Choose,the fire seems to say.
Stay,the dark pleads.
The flames suddenly soar, blindingly bright, and the shadows lunge to meet them.
I try to move?—
A floorboard gives a soft complaint somewhere next to me and the dream rips apart.
The air changes—heat, spice, and something achingly familiar. I wake to warmth: a cup pressed gently into my hands, arms folding around me from behind, tucking me into cedar, clove, and mint.
Noa.
My breath catches, and for one disorienting, fractured second, I don’t understand.
I was?—
I was just?—
My gaze snaps across the room. Searching. Needing?—
Gavrail’s eyes lock on mine.
He’s there, sitting in a chair in the corner of his room. Something unreadable flickers across his face—too fast to catch, too sharp to mistake.
Only then do I feel Noa’s arms around me.
I turn. His face is drawn, turquoise eyes hooded in shadow.
“Gavrail came and got me,” he murmurs. “Told me what happened. The pool. What you found.” His voice is soft but caught at the edges, like it can’t quite hold the weight of everything he’s thinking. “You must have been terrified. If someone hadn’t been there to pull you out…” His gaze flicks across the room before coming back to me. “What you saw in the vision.” His jaw tenses. “Thorne… Cel, he’s the headmaster.”
