I start to tune out, letting the voices blur as I scan the quad. All around the field, other students have staked their claims—blankets stretched across the grass, shoes kicked off, snacks in hand.Damn.I didn’t think to bring anything to sit on. By the looks of it, neither did the rest of my squad.
We finish our food and begin drifting toward the dais. Dash catches my eye and waves, motioning for Rozsen and me to join him and his friends on their blankets. I start to smile, about to say yes?—
But an arm snakes around my waist from behind.
I know who it is before I even look. His scent gives him away. Burnt cedar and mint—sharp, clean—but beneath it, something bolder. A trace of spice. Clove, maybe. Something that burns slow and lingers.
I smile as I look up at the face I’ve dreamed about countless times over these past few weeks—months, really, or years if you count when I only knew him from Alissa’s photos.
Noa kisses me then—right there, in front of everyone. It’s not quick, not gentle. It’s… consuming. Fire lights every nerve inmy body as his mouth devours mine. When he finally pulls back, my pulse is chaos, my grin unstoppable.
“Subtle,” I tease, a little breathless. “Very subtle.”
“I told you I wouldn’t let anyone else have you if you said yes,” he growls.
“I remember,” I say, my face growing warm as Iremembermore.
“And I don’t like to share.” He nips at my ear as he narrows his eyes at Dash and his companions. His other arm comes around to hold me in place while he tucks my head under his chin and molds my back into the front of his chest. We both look out over the quad.
Around us, the school breathes to life.
Groups are already forming—some easy and familiar, like puzzle pieces snapping back into place. Some students stretch out across blankets, boots off, limbs tangled or relaxed in comfort. Others stand in loose circles, caught in the rhythm of excitement and laughter at inside jokes only they seem to understand. A few lovers reunite in quiet, stolen touches. I hear music, the beat fast and energetic. Farther off, sharp voices clash—rivals rekindling old tension with half-smiles and narrowed eyes.
And us.
Wrapped in our own quiet bubble. Not yet ready to break the spell—not with talk, or truth, or the past.
Not yet at least.
The night feels stitched together by music and magick—old and new friendships, and the smell of fire and fall in the air.
“I’ve just got to make one quick announcement before the bonfire starts, but then I’ll be back, okay?” he murmurs. His warm breath sends shivers down my spine.
I squeeze his hand and flutter my lashes as I look up at him with mock innocence. “Don’t be gone too long. I’d hate to have to replace you so soon.”
He kisses me at that and gives my behind a squeeze as he makes his way to the dais. Just in front, a giant W made of straw and branches stands propped in a circle of stones, waiting to burn.
A girl with strawberry-pink hair is holding a microphone, making a welcome speech and going over some beginning-of-term announcements. Then the cheers erupt—hollers and stomps—as Noa steps close to the front.
I smile to myself and shake my head in amusement. Of course. Of course he’s the school’s golden boy.
All eyes are on him as hands clap his back and students call his name, and by the time he reaches the top of the stairs, the crowd is already his.
His voice rings out—clear, commanding, undeniably magnetic. “Good evening, legends-in-training.”
A ripple of laughter runs through the crowd.
“Tonight marks more than the start of another school year—it’s a turning point.” His gaze sweeps the faces in the crowd, unhurried. “There are forty-eight new students here tonight. And if you’ve been paying attention, you already know that not all of you will make it to graduation.” He pauses then, as if letting that sink in. “Some of you will wash out. Some of you will break. Some of you will learn—too late—that talent isn’t the same thing as control.”
As if on cue, the water in me slithers under my skin, like an uninvited guest. I clench my hands, willing it to settle.
“But hear me when I say this: for returning students—the mistakes, the losses, the bruises you don’t talk about… That wasn’t cruelty. It was proof. Proof that you can endure. Proof that what you’re building here is worth the cost.”
Another pause, letting the crowd settle.
“This year is your chance to define who you are, and who you’re becoming. Each of us walked through these gates carrying talent, ambition, and the power to shape not only ourown paths—but the future of magick itself.” His mouth curves with the hint of a smile. “But true greatness isn’t forged alone. It’s built in unity. In challenge. In the quiet moments when you choose discipline over ease—when you choose the strength of your squad over your pride.”
He finds me in the crowd, and our eyes lock. A real smile breaks through this time, soft and unguarded. For a heartbeat, he forgets himself. Then he clears his throat and straightens.
