Page 249 of House Ignis

Other nights, we built blanket forts and talked absolute shit until sunrise.

Ezra usually slept on the floor near the door, like some overprotective guard dog who refused to admit he cared.

I had never been more grateful for anyone. I felt it deep in my soul—Ezra wasn’t just a friend anymore. He was family.

Aether and I fell into our own rhythm, too.

I even convinced him to start meditating with me. He complained the entire first week, claiming celestial panthers did not “sit around breathing like anxious housecats,” but now he showed up before I even asked.

Today was different, though.

Today was the Flame Festival, and my stomach was a pit of dread.

I stood in front of the mirror, fussing with the crimson ribbons Ember had practically assaulted me with earlier.

The Festival belonged to Ignis, and the streets of Zymarra would be drowning in gold and scarlet tonight.

I had to look like fire incarnate.

The gown Ember had chosen shimmered like molten red glass, clinging to my waist before flaring into liquid silk.

The slit ran high along my thigh—scandalous, even by Ember’s standards. My hair was woven into my signature twin braids, threaded with fine gold that caught the light like embers.

Aether sprawled dramatically across the chaise behind me, his tail flicking in slow irritation.

“You look like a sacrificial lamb,” he muttered through the bond.

I shot him a flat glare. “You’re supposed to hype me up, not make me want to burn this dress.”

“Flame One,” he yawned, flashing sharp teeth,

“if you want honesty… you already glow like a pyre. No mortal is going to look at you and survive.”

I huffed. “Better.”

Before I could spiral further, the adjoining bathroom door slammed open.

Ember came barreling through like a comet, and my mouth actually dropped open.

She wore emerald—a strapless dress that hugged her waist before flowing into rich green silk.

The slit mirrored mine, and her hair was pulled into a sleek high ponytail that made her eyes look sharper than ever.

She held her heels in one hand like weapons.

She stopped dead when she saw me.

“Oh my gods, Ava,” she whispered. “You look like the godsdamn queen already.” She smiled, slow and wicked. “Asher would absolutely fucking drown at the sight of you.”

“Well… that’s fortunate. He’s not here,” I said dryly.

I watched her for a moment. She was acting too casual. Too quiet. A dangerous combination for her.

“So,” I said slowly, wiggling my eyebrows, “how are things with Ezra?”

She sighed. Sharp. Immediate. “Fine.”

“Ember Pyreson,” I said, slipping into my most terrifyingly formal voice.