Page 29 of Wings of Ash & Flame
Warmth bloomed in her chest.
The crushing force vanished, and with it, the clamp that had begun to tighten around her lungs.
What was that?
A loudthudinterrupted her thoughts. The door swung open as if welcoming her in.
She’d been sure it would trap her until a faculty member—or worse, Dawson Knox—found her. The last thing she needed was to give him one more reason to lord his superiority over her.
Alaire didn’t have time to question whatever convenience or good luck the gods had finally decided to bestow upon her.
She needed to get in, get answers, and get out quickly.
Orbs flared to life as she stepped over the threshold, casting light on a massive midnight desk. Professor Ross’s office was larger than she’d expected. Shelves lined one long wall, crammed with books stacked in rows and piles. She paused, taking it all in. Though the orphanage had never had many books, Blake had always brought her some during his visits. She hadn’t cared that their spines were cracked or their pages bent—it was the worlds they transported her to that mattered.
She shook her head, remembering why she was here.
The air smelled stale, as if it had been unoccupied for some time.
Better for me.
Across from the bookshelves, a tall window offered a view of the sprawling academy below.
She went to the desk. Before touching anything, she committed the layout to memory: one neat pile, two haphazard stacks discarded on either side.
There were meeting notes and correspondence regarding curriculum changes, mapped-out flying techniques withannotations in the margins on how novices could combine basics with their elements offensively.
Useless.
The desk drawers were unlocked, filled with blank pages.
Sitting down in his chair, Alaire ran a hand through her hair. Blowing out a breath, she went through everything once more just to be sure.
Still nothing.
Frustrated, she leaned back in the chair and kicked the bottom drawer with her foot. The impact sent a jolt through the desk. Her toe had scraped an edge beneath the desk.
Click.A concealed compartment dropped into her lap.
A smile spread across her face.Sneaky.
The drawer held a folder. Inside were student files—names she recognized, each with family connections, detailed histories, and abilities meticulously documented.
Information, if used correctly, could be just as powerful as magic.
At last, she found her own.
Alaire Aerendyl – Classification: PRIORITY
Her hands trembled as she read:
Parents: Deceased – house fire, age ten
Her chest tightened.
Medical: Chronic breathlock, mild to severe episodes
Memory: Traumatic amnesia, no recall prior to the incident
