Page 133 of House Ignis

The Riftball match had been canceled, a small mercy from Veyros, as the skies had opened in a relentless deluge every day since. It matched the mood of the Academy perfectly—gray, damp, and heavy. Ryven didn't remember a thing. Not the hollow, not the pulsing vines, and certainly not the way the black veins had almost swallowed his soul. To the rest of the student body, he just looked like he was nursing the world's worst hangover.

Classes, meanwhile, were a chaotic blur of combat spells, elemental theory, and the bloody History of the Second War. By the time I dragged myself back to my dorm each evening, I was so bone-tired I barely remembered my own name. It didn't help that Ember was constantly chirping in my ear between lectures.

"So… Daddy Darkness still giving you the cold shoulder?"

I swear to all the gods—I was going to murder her.

Because Asher was there. He was always within ten feet of me, a silent shadow, but the man didn't speak. No teasing. No wicked banter. No lingering glances that made my skin tingle and my breath hitch. It was as if everything that had happened—the bond, the baths, the electricity of his touch—meant absolutely nothing to him.

I tried to squeeze information out of Zya, but the shadow-cat was as loyal and silent as her master.

Even our four-way link had dulled into a tactical frequency: "Where are you?" "Moving to the mess hall." "Status."

He trained late into the night—every single night. Sometimes, I'd pass the courtyard and catch a glimpse of him through the rain. He looked like a god of war, sweat-soaked and lethal, shadow magic curling around his limbs like sentient smoke. Once or twice, I caught him off guard. His walls would flicker for the space of a heartbeat, and I'd feel it through the tether—a jagged, agonizing pulse of longing. Maybe even love.

But it vanished before I could catch it. Up went the fortress. Locked tight.

Then, three days ago, Jeremy returned.

By the gods, I was relieved to see him. He was familiar. Safe. He brought me a pressed flower from Eldrethine and held my hand with a gentle certainty, acting as if I were still his and only his. I hadn't told him about the almosts with Asher. About the ache in my chest that felt like a permanent bruise. I didn't know if I could—not when I didn't even know what I was to Asher anymore.

Still, I didn't have much time to wallow. Every spare second not spent at Ryven's bedside or in a lecture was spent hunched over a desk with Jules. We were deep in the archives, candles burning down to stubs as we picked through Jax's journal. We'd barely scratched the surface, but the pages were already a nightmare of riddles, strange sketches of the Monoliths, and phrases that made my blood run cold.

To make matters worse, the Aegos Trials were looming on the horizon. Training had shifted from intense to outright brutal.

Asher and I still sparred every night, but he wasn't my Asher. He was in full protector mode—silent, distant, and clinical. I wasn't his partner; I was a mission. A responsibility. A body he was sworn to shield.

And gods, it was pissing me off.

He parried my every strike with a bored flick of his wrist.

He corrected my stance with a cold hand on my hip that felt like ice rather than fire. He blocked every burst of flame I threw at him without blinking. He saw my form, but he didn't see me. Not like before.

As much as it felt like my heart was being shredded, I couldn't afford to let my feelings get involved. Not anymore. Not when the journal was whispering secrets about the Ring, and not when the shadows in the Veylaith were clearly just getting started.

If Asher wanted to be a statue, fine. I had an addict to save and a brother's ghost to chase.

So here I was—sprinting through the rain, soaked to my socks, Aether padding silently beside me on my way to the archives for another late-night decoding session with Jules.

I'd just come from Runes class, where we'd finally learned how to trace a basic healing rune.

It was meant to close surface wounds—handy, but not nearly enough for the darkness we were dealing with. Between that and the cheer squad? I was done. Somehow, despite everything, Maddy had managed to pull together a full team—Ember, Sera, Zaria, and a few others. Matches started next week, assuming the rain ever stopped.

Of course, Maddy was captain, but she wasn't her usual self. Not without Ryven. He'd been officially "booked off" by the Academy healers, medically excused for Eclipsa recovery.

I slipped into the archives wing of the Tower of Archives, water dripping from my blazer onto the stone floor.

Aether shook out his fur with a low grumble.

"Careful," I muttered. "They'll ban us again."

"Ava!" Jules called softly.

Her orange curls were tied up in a massive bun on top of her head, her nose buried in four books at once. She was already at our table—her usual spot tucked beneath the arched window, papers scattered like battlefield debris.

I trusted her with Jax's journal. She wasn't Fae. She wasn't royalty. She wasn't caught up in any politics or pressure—just smart, loyal, and normal. And gods, we laughed together. I needed that normalcy.

"Hey Jules," I greeted, peeling off my soaked blazer and flopping into the chair beside her. I gave her a quick side-hug before pulling snacks from my bag.