Page 54 of Ashes to Ashes

His eyes widen, gold flecks expanding like molten metal. “You’ve heard of them?”

“Fragments,” I admit, the truth constraint loosening my tongue. “Mentions in passing. Nothing substantial. But every instinct I have says they’re important. Maybe the key to everything that’s happening to me.”

My throat doesn’t close completely, but I feel a warning pressure.

“Such knowledge is... restricted,” Finnian says, fingers hovering over the concealed page. “Where exactly did you encounter these mentions?”

“Why?” The question tears from me, raw with need. “What makes them so dangerous that just reading about them requires clearance? What makes them worth hiding people like me from the truth?”

“Because most people don’t have the magical stability to process that kind of information. It alters things. Changes fundamental understanding of power, of identity.” His voice grows quiet, serious. “And because some knowledge, once learned, puts you in more danger than ignorance ever could.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re deflecting. Are you always this protective when something scares you?”

“You want honesty?” His voice drops, becoming vulnerable in a way that makes my breath catch. “Everything about this terrifies me. But losing the chance to help you terrifies me more.”

The admission hangs between us, raw and unexpected.

I flip the page he’s guarding and glance sideways. “And yet you’re still here, playing gatekeeper with dangerous knowledge.”

“Because I need that book,” I add, meeting his eyes directly.

“You need me,” he corrects, voice dropping to something intimate and uncertain.

“Only for the book.”

“I hope that’s not true,” he whispers—and the way he looks at me makes it feel like a confession, not a tease.

His expression holds no scholar’s distance now, only quiet intensity that reminds me why Riz Ahmed’s characters always seem to see straight through to your soul. “Power, Professor Morgan. The kind that reshapes reality. The kind that makes kings of peasants and dust of royalty. The kind wars are fought over.”

“The kind you’re suggesting exists in more... specialized collections?” I question.

He studies me for a long moment, clearly weighing risks against possibilities. Just as he opens his mouth to respond, a tremendous crash shatters the moment—a shelf collapsing across the library. Tadhg’s outraged voice rises above the chaos.

The spell breaks. Finnian leans back, though electricity still sparks in the air between us.

“Perhaps we should continue this discussion somewhere more... private,” he suggests, closing the book. But his fingers linger on mine as he does, the contact sending warmth up my arm that has nothing to do with magic. “The library has many ears, not all friendly to certain types of inquiry.”

A chill runs down my spine.

We’re being watched.

He looks up, meeting my eyes with an intensity that makes my breath catch. “I’ve spent centuries studying texts about connection, about bonds between souls that transcend court politics. I never thought I’d find someone who made those ancient theories feel... possible.”

His thumb traces across my knuckles, the simple touch more intimate than any kiss. “I want to show you knowledge that could reshape everything we understand about court magic. But sharing it means trusting you with secrets that could see me executed for treason.”

The weight of his confession settles between us. He’s not just offering information—he’s offering himself, his safety, his future. All for a woman he’s known for weeks.

“I can’t tonight,” I say, surprising myself with genuine regret. “I need to—” I catch myself before lying, “—review student assessments and try to figure out what the hell is happening to my body before I accidentally burn down your library.”

“Tomorrow, then,” he suggests, gathering the books. “There are sections of the archives not listed in any catalog. Records that might help with your... academic interests. I could show you after the evening meal.”

I should refuse. Should keep professional distance. Should follow mission parameters. Every instinct I’ve been trained to trust screams retreat.

“I’d appreciate that,” I say before I can even think to deny him.

His smile transforms his face completely—relief and anticipation and something deeper. “Until tomorrow, then.” He hesitates, adding, “The Academy grounds can be dangerous after dark. If you find yourself... exploring tonight, stay within the eastern gardens. The western paths rearrange themselves when the moon rises.”

“Thanks for the tactical advice,” I reply carefully. “Wouldn’t want to get lost.”

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