Page 37 of Heir of Shadows

The silver band of my father’s ring was cool against my chest, a weight I wasn’t sure how to bear. Had he truly been a traitor? Had I inherited that stain? It felt like the entire world had already made up its mind.

By the time I emerged into the common room, breakfast was already in full swing. The oversized dining table groaned under enough food to feed twenty people, though only four of us sat there. Or rather, four heirs and their familiars. Scout shrank against my wrist, clearly sensing the tension in the air.

Cyrus sat at his usual spot by the fireplace, his fire wards pulsing in slow, controlled waves as he read over a Trial prep book. But the temperature in the room spiked the moment I entered. Ember preened from his perch, sending tiny sparks toward Scout—more aggressive than usual. A warning.

Elio occupied the window seat, his long fingers lazily flipping through his own notes. At first glance, he looked the same as always, perfectly poised and unbothered, but I noticed the slight tension in his shoulders, the way Echo’s pastel scales remained duller than usual. He was watching me without watching me, and I hated that I noticed.

Keane was in his usual place, buried in a book, his dark hair falling forward to obscure his expression. He didn’t glance up. Didn’t acknowledge me. He was just… letting it all happen. Again.

The silence felt too heavy, thick with the ghosts of Saturday night.

“Late again, darling?” Elio drawled, breaking it. He didn’t look up, but there was something off about his tone—something between mockery and I didn’t know what.

I glanced at the ornate clock. 8:17. Late, as usual. Some habits were hard to break when you’d spent years eating when you could, not when the clock told you it was time.

A portal flickered beside my plate, dropping off my now-customary morning coffee. The edges of the magic wavered—not wrong, just… uncertain. I flicked my gaze toward Keane. His fingers twitched against the page, hesitating before he finally turned it. Like he wanted to say something. Like he knew it wouldn’t matter.

The dead things whispered, unsettled.

Cyrus turned a page, his grip too tight. As I reached for the pastry tray, heat curled through the silverware—not scalding, just enough to make me notice. A test. His magic flickered unsteadily, like even it wasn’t sure how far to push me anymore.

I kept my grip light. I would not give them the satisfaction of seeing my hands shake.

I was studying my class schedule when another kind of warmth bloomed against my back. I froze. The scent of expensive cologne, dark and spiced, curled around me.

Elio.

Elio leaned in, his breath warm against my skin, and I hated the way my pulse jumped. Not because of him. Because my body was a traitor.

“I’m sure someone of your… background will have no trouble finding your way,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. “The Academic Building is quite impossible to miss. It’s the large one. With the doors.”

I made my voice flat, unimpressed. Let him think I didn’t care. “I’ll manage.”

His magic shimmered between us, subtle, meant only for me to see. There was something different about it now, though—less playful cruelty, more uncertainty. Like the Cauldron incident had left cracks in both of us, and neither of us knew what to do with them.

I stepped away from his warmth, ignoring the flicker of irritation—and something else—that crossed his face. Echo’s scales rippled in confusion, as if reflecting emotions Elio himself wasn’t ready to admit.

A tiny portal winked open next to my coffee cup, breaking the moment. A note drifted through, Keane’s familiar handwriting scrawled across it:Take the path by the normal dorms, enter through the south entrance. Room 204 is on the second floor. The staircase by the campus store is usually less crowded.

A small, quiet act of help. Too small. Too late.

I glanced toward Keane, but he still didn’t look at me, his face carefully neutral as he flipped another page. Like nothing had happened. Like I wasn’t still standing in the fallout of it all, drowning in it.

The weight of my father’s ring pressed against my skin. A reminder of the things I couldn’t change, the past I couldn’t outrun.

I grabbed my coffee, standing taller even as exhaustion gnawed at me. As I turned toward the door, I made sure to move slowly, deliberately, forcing them to sit with my presence. The flames in the hearth flickered lower as I passed. Even their magic seemed to hesitate.

Ten minutes later,I was caught in the flood of students rushing to their first class. They all seemed to know exactly where they were going, their spells precise and controlled as they levitated books or conjured forgotten supplies. Scout pressed closer, overwhelmed by the chaotic swirl of magical signatures.

“Is that her?” A girl’s voice rose above the clamor—low, but loud enough for me to catch.

I knew exactly who they meant. The whispers followed me like static into the academic building.

“Yeah. That’s Grimley’s kid. The necromancer.”

“I heard her father tried to destroy the Council.”

“Didn’t he kill someone?”

---