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Kitsa brushed past her, cheeks flushed from cold and light, while Lysander held the door.

Rather than take her place at the high table with those who commanded the room, Idonea chose a seat among the witches instead.

At the far end of the bench sat the lone warlock, Edik. He hunched forward, elbows tight to his ribs, afraid to take up too much space. His bowl of stew sat untouched, steam thinning in the cold air. His fingers worried at the edge of his sleeve, the fabric already frayed from repetition. Idonea watched him.

Some of the younger witches still had their mothers with them. They smothered their laughs.

Three of the older girls came in late, hair still damp from washing. They sat together at the end of the long table and ate, the way people eat when they've been outside in cold all day. None of them spoke. One of them rolled her shoulder while she chewed, as if it was sore.

The meal wound down. Spoons scraped empty bowls, benches creaked, and conversation thinned.

One girl stood, stretching with feline ease. “It’s my turn to help Lidiya clean up. I’ll meet you at the chapel,” she said with a smile, already turning away.

Something snagged in Idonea’s gut.

Light caught the girl's eyes. Amber ring. Idonea's pulse stumbled hard enough to hurt.

Idonea pushed back her chair, the scrape of wood on stone cutting through the low murmur of the hall. Several heads turned. She barely noticed. Her body was already moving, instinct before thought. She had to reach that girl, stop her.

But a movement in the corner of her vision froze her mid-step.

Alcaeus. He watched her, lifting a hand, summoning her forward.

Her gaze flicked to the side door where the girl slipped through. Her jaw clenched so tightly her teeth ached. The muscles in her legs tensed, coiled to run.

Alcaeus raised his hand again, more insistent this time.

She turned towards him, her chest burning with the effort to keep her breathing steady.

Lysander watched her approach, his brow furrowing the smallest degree.

When she reached the table, Alcaeus leaned forward. “Stay,” he said. “I’d have a word.”

Her gaze slid past him, lingering on the empty doorway. As the others filtered from the hall, she remained standing. Though Lysander hadn’t moved. Elzhbeta gave her a fleeting look before departing.

Silence followed. Only the three of them remained.

Idonea turned towards Alcaeus, chin lifted. “Well?”

“You practised with Current today?” he asked.

Her lips tightened. “It was the Resonant way.”

“I know.” His eyes flicked to Lysander, then back. “You should practice more.”

Idonea’s nostrils flared. “It will not change who I am. What I am.”

Alcaeus said nothing.

When he looked away, she pivoted sharply. She’d barely taken two steps before a hand caught her wrist. Warm, calloused fingers closing with muted insistence. Lysander.

“You’re not thinking clearly,” he said.

She twisted free, but the echo of his touch lingered, electric beneath her skin. "I am,” she said. Her breath came sharper than intended. “She had the same eyes.”

His voice softened but held its edge. “She’ll be at chapel. It’s safe.”

Idonea turned to face him fully. “She’ll be safe when the daemon is dead.”