Rozsen studies us both for a moment too long. “Mm” is all she says. The look she gives me lets me know she’s not buying it for a second. But she lets it rest. For now.
And then she’s off, leaning in with questions—about his school, his shadows, training routines, sleeping quarters—like she’s simply curious, and not building a case to interrogate me with later. As the attention shifts off me, I finally exhale, letting myself listen and finding his words painting captivating images in my mind of the life he has lived since I last saw him.
He answers each question with clipped elegance, but his voice has weight, like every word is chosen deliberately and with care. Gavrail is formal, attentive, disarmingly polite. It’s both infuriating and intoxicating.
Something in his voice—certainty, memory, truth—has me rooted in place.
They segue into a discussion about international recruitment, and Gavrail’s tone darkens.
“In Europe, they’re always preparing for the next war. Magickteers are weapons—sharpened or discarded. At least… that’s how my father sees them.” He glances at me on the last sentence.
“Your father’s in the military?” Rozsen asks.
I answer before he can. “His father is General Neron Kamenov, the highest-ranking”—and most ruthless—“general in all of Eastern Europe, and head of Krovya.”
They both turn to look at me.
Rozsen’s brows shoot up as she lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Bet he’s a blast at Christmas parties,” she jokes, lightening the mood, and I’m grateful.
I can feel him before I see him—Noa’s presence is warm and unmistakable. I wonder if Gavrail can, too, as his body tenses a second before I feel an arm wrap around my shoulder.
“Sorry I took so long,” Noa murmurs, lips brushing the curve of my ear. “Looks like you two have been catching up?” His smile is easy, relaxed, but there’s a subtle edge to his words and a threat of violence still lurking beneath the surface. “I know we met before the duel,” he says to Gavrail, extending a hand, “but Idon’t think we were properly introduced. I’m Noa Gallegher—Cel’sboyfriend.” He emphasizes the last word. His other arm tightens over me possessively. “And you must be the ghost from her past.” His grip hardens just slightly, though his tone stays smooth. “Funny thing about shadows—they only exist when something stronger is casting the light.”
I kick him with the back of my heel. Annoyingly, he doesn’t even flinch.
Gavrail takes his hand, ignoring the jab—but I catch the flicker across his face before that perfect, impassive mask slides back into place. Unnervingly calm. Tension crackles like a live wire in the air between them. “Your fire is… impressive,” Gavrail says at last, voice even. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
Noa tries to suppress a smirk. “Well, if you hadn’t blacked out the school, you’d know I was just getting started.”
I kick him again—harder. This time, I know he feels it.
Gavrail’s eyes sharpen, gleaming with challenge. “Perhaps we’ll find a better time to finish that conversation.”
The two of them lock eyes, and for a moment, the firepit isn’t the only thing throwing heat.
Gavrail turns to me one last time, something tight in his expression. “Excuse me. I need to find my companions.”
And with that, he’s gone—back into the shadows he commands. And my eyes can’t help but try to track him through the moonless dark.
CHAPTER 25
Not all wars are declared
—Vikhrostrum Akademiya Doctrine of Elemental Combat
Rozsen and Elliot corner me a few days later, forcing me to tell themexactlywhat sort of history I have with a certain third-year Vikhrostrum student.
I give them the short version—the one that doesn’t make me want to drown my emotions with my own tide: childhood friends and something more. Summers of lakes and dares and secrets whispered into the dark—until he vanished without a word and left me with questions too painful to ask out loud.
Elliot’s brows climb. “So let me get this straight,” she says slowly, like she’s assembling a crime scene. “He sleeps with you and then he just disappears?”
My cheeks burn. I don’t answer fast enough, and that’s answer enough.
“That bastard,” Rozsen snaps, voice going razor-thin. Her hand clenches around the strap of her bag like she needssomething to do with her anger. “Want me to light his textbooks on fire?”
A laugh punches out of me—until I realize she’s not joking. My face sobers. “Rozsen—no.”
She leans in anyway, eyes flinty, protective in a way that makes my chest ache. “I’m serious, Celeste. If heeverhurts you again, I’ll make it my problem.”
