Page 127 of Wings of Ash & Flame
She turned to find Professor Ross approaching from the direction of the labyrinths, his usual stack of papers tucked under one arm. In the dim torchlight, his face looked drawn—older, somehow.
“Professor Ross.” She moved her bag to her other shoulder.
“Working late again?” He shifted from one foot to the other. “I saw the light in the library archives until late last night as I was leaving.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Ah.” He nodded, as if that explained everything. “And I suppose you found the reading… helpful?”
Something in his tone made her glance sideways at him. “Helpful for what?”
The professor was quiet for a moment, expression thoughtful. When he looked at her again, his mustache twitched faintly.
“Helpful for what?” she repeated.
“To whatever you are seeking.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, as if he knew exactly what she was after. Adjustinghis papers under his arm, he added, “Ms. Vallorian, if you ever need someone to talk to, my office door is always open.”
“Except for any questions that concern my past, the files I found, or why I’m here. And of course, when it’s locked.” She crossed her arms.
“Precisely.” His smile widened just a fraction.
Frustration bubbled inside her. “Goodnight, Professor.”
She turned on her heel and strode toward the library, trying to wrap her mind around Professor Ross and his maddening evasiveness.
Thirty-One
The last few weeks had been torture—saying otherwise would’ve been a lie. With the final trial looming, Dawson had ramped up their training from grueling to borderline sadistic. All first years who failed were not permitted to attend the second year at Aeris Academy. No second chances. For most students, that meant disappointing their noble families—a carnal sin. For Alaire, it meant losing her opportunity to unlock more about her magic.
Her agreement with the Consortium hung by a precarious thread.
Surrounded by the dense forests of the Hollow of Echoes, Alaire trudged forward, a weighted pack dragging at her shoulders. Sweat slicked beneath her black leathers. At least the color camouflaged the mess, so she didn’t look as miserable as she felt.
She glanced at Dawson—jaw set, eyes scanning the trees, ever alert.
Letting out a breath, she steeled herself for whatever fresh torment he had planned. Between classes and training, she’d barely seen Kaia and Archer. Sleep was her only reprieve, though even that was haunted by nightmares that left her drained.
Grumpy and irritable, she narrowed her eyes at the cause of her suffering.
“You told Dexter you picked me as a partner,” she said. The words had been festering. “I thought Professor Leslie assigned us… I was there.”
“I was wondering when you’d ask.” Dawson kept moving, grip tightening on the straps of his pack. “Dexter watches you too closely.” A pause. “I don’t like it.” He turned his head toward her. “I told him what he wanted to hear.”
The weight of his words made her stomach flip. Dawson Knox never failed to deliver the unexpected. Heat flushed her cheeks as she fought to keep her voice even. “I can handle him.”
Weeks ago, she would’ve bristled at his interference. But this wasn’t about proving her worth. Dexter was desperate for power, and desperate men were unpredictable. With Dawson’s influence, having him as an ally wasn’t a weakness—it was an advantage.
Sometimes the smartest move was letting opponents underestimate the pieces she had in play.
Despite everything he kept from her, she realized uneasily, she trusted Dawson. And maybe—just maybe—she hated how much she wanted that trust returned.
Dawson’s lips twitched. “Sure,” he said slowly. The word curled under her ribs and refused to let go. His gaze, dark and heavy with promises she wanted to explore, lingered on her face, as if memorizing every line.
For a moment, she wondered what it would be like to close the distance. To give in to the ache that had kept her up late into the night. To feel his body pressed against hers, nothing between them, no history, no future. Just this. Just them.
Her feet moved before she could think better of it, breath catching in her throat—until a shadow swept overhead and yanked her back to reality.
Solflara and Beck flew above. Poor Beck adored her phoenix. Solflara, however, had no qualms unleashing fire whenever he got too close.
