Page 43 of Embers of Midnight
“Laz is the one with the sarcasm filter turned off?”
“That’s the one.” He squeezes my shoulder once and lets go at the glass doors. “I’ll grab you after. Try not to adopt a carnivorous fern.”
“No promises.”
The greenhouse is another country. Heat wraps my throat. Green presses in on every sense. Light scatters off panes in sheets and lands on leaves, on glass lab benches, on runic plates etched into the floor like crop circles that went to college.
Laz is already here, perched on a worktable he absolutely shouldn’t be sitting on. Curls. Eyeliner. The exact wrong smile to put on a poster that saystrust me.
“Look who learned doors,” he says, hopping down to meet me halfway. “You good?”
“Define good,” I start, and he grins because I’m predictable.
“Right. Breathing, not on fire, prepared to judge others—check.”
A girl with riot red curls and tattoos like vines snaking up her arms bounces over. Barefoot. Anklet bells. Eyes the green of things that will not die. “You’re Sera,” she declares, and takesmy hands like we’ve already cried together. “I’m Taya. I’m going to be your friend and also probably enable poor decisions like midnight tea and plant shopping.”
“I approve of two out of three of those.”
“We’ll fix the third,” she says, solemn, then conspiratorial: “I do not buy plants. Plants arrive.”
“Of course they do.”
Professor Hyssop—thin, dry, a man who might be a stick of rosemary wearing spectacles—claps once. “Welcome to Alchemy & Runecraft. Today we learn to respect lines and not explode.” He gestures at a grid of etched brass plates. “Rune discipline is breath and accuracy. Your partner will check your strokes before anything gets infused.”
I’m paired with Taya, who takes to sigil-strokes like she was born with a calligraphy brush in her hand. I copy, counting my exhales to keep my fingers from rushing. Laz wanders our bench like an unhelpful cat, offering commentary when my line wobbles.
“Don’t choke it,” he says. “You’re writing a boundary, not strangling a chicken.”
“Have you strangled a chicken?” I ask.
“Metaphorically,” he says, which is worse.
We’re halfway through a simple anchoring knot when the temperature in the room drops five private degrees. Cassandra arrives with a pair of silver-haired satellites. She’s every bit as immaculate as Friday, which is impressive given that we’re in a humidity trap. Her gaze slides over me like I’m an unfortunate leaflet someone handed her on the way in.
“Oh,you’reauditing,” she says, as if the word is litter.
“Enrolled,” I correct without looking up. My line goes steady when I’m pretending to be bored. Good to know.
“You’ll find the pace… challenging.” Her mouth curves. “Runes don’t respond to bravado.”
“She’s not using bravado,” Taya says, voice sweet and loud enough for nearby ears. “She’s using a spine. It’s rare. You should try.”
Laz snorts. Cassandra’s eyes cut to him. “Still attached to the ornamental crowd, Laziel?”
“I go where the air is breathable,” he says lazily. “You’re allergic.”
Cassandra gives me one of those slow head tilts like she’s deciding where to stab. “You’ll run out of rescue tonight,” she murmurs just for me, then turns away, trailing frost and interest she thinks hides better than it does.
I let my shoulders drop only after she’s out of earshot. “What is her problem,” I ask Taya, “in long sentences.”
Taya flips her pen between fingers, considering which version I can swallow. She picks the quick cut. “High Fae. Old family. Thinks rank is a personality. Caelum didn’t return an interest once upon a time. She adores grudges. She also hates not being the most interesting person in every room.”
“Add that she’s a teacher’s favorite with a perfect portfolio,” Laz says, bored. “And that she wants to manage the social ladder like a spreadsheet. You’re a new cell that refuses to format.”
I blink. “So: status queen with a Caelum fixation and a vendetta.”
“Bingo,” Taya says, delighted. “But don’t panic; she’s more rumor than teeth when adults watch.”
