Page 95 of Embers of Midnight
Her gaze finally cuts to me, sharp enough to nick. I keep my face neutral. My fingers curl under the table once and relax.
“Why would I waste time on—this?” She gestures, delicate and insulting at once.
Caelum finally speaks, voice even. “Because you like putting your hand on things that don’t belong to you and calling it admiration.” He slides his fingers across the table and laces them with mine where everyone can see. Warm. Steady. No apology.
The sound the room makes is small and vicious.
Cassandra’s eyes flick to our hands, then to Ronan’s bracelet at my wrist and the thread on the other. Her smile returns like a knife behind a napkin. “How convenient,” she murmurs. “Favoritism dressed as fate.”
Ronan doesn’t rise to it. He never does. He spreads butter with precision and says, without looking up, “Favoritism is breaking rules for someone. What you’re seeing is us following them after documenting yours.”
Taya leans her chin on her fist and looks Cassandra over like a plant with root rot. “You’re boring me,” she says. “And I get excited about compost, so congratulations.”
Laz slides a photo down the table with two fingers—the rotated tile, timestamp bright as a slap. “Independent confirmation,” he says pleasantly. “Professor Hyssop signed the chain-of-custody on this one. Want me to CC your conscience or just the Ethics board?”
Color touches Cassandra’s cheekbones. Not a blush. Heat. She rounds on me. “You think you can just arrive here and take what you want? Him, them, attention, training—”
I laugh. It comes out lower than I expect. “You think I asked for any of this? You think I didn’t spend twenty years being no one’s first choice?” The words are steady. “I don’t take. I’m taken in. Big difference.”
Something mean flashes in her eyes. “If you want a test—”
“Careful,” Ash warns, light and lethal at once. “You’re about to make a promise in front of witnesses.”
She straightens, chin up. “Fine. Sunday. Noon. The old quarry. No faculty. No rings. One to one. You and me.” She looks me dead on. “Unless you’re afraid of doing this without your entourage.”
Every instinct in me wants to stand. I don’t. I keep my seat and my hands visible. “No rings,” I echo. “No faculty. No audience rules. You and me.”
The room inhales. Somewhere, a tray clatters. Someone whispers oh shit and then pretends they didn’t.
“Done,” Cassandra says. A small, triumphant curl touches her mouth. “Try not to melt before then.”
Ash smiles like a shark that learned manners. “Bring your best,” he says sweetly. “Bring your therapist too.”
She pivots on her heel and leaves to a rustle of interest she thinks is respect. It isn’t.
Silence holds for three beats, then breaks loud. I breathe like Darian taught me. Two short. One long. The tremor in my hands fades.
“Are we doing this?” Taya asks, eyes bright with worry and admiration. “Because I have a calendar and snacks.”
“We’re doing this,” I say. My voice doesn’t shake. Good. “But I’m not dying in an abandoned rock bowl for her ego.”
“Correct,” Ronan answers. It lands like a decision, not a hope.
Darian’s mouth tugs—half frown, half approval. “We’ll walk the ground,” he says. “Tomorrow after class. Entry points, exits, loose gravel, blind corners. You will know the space like a pocket.”
Caelum squeezes my fingers once and lets go, so I can eat with both hands like a functional human. “And you’ll sleep,” he adds. “Because you’re cleaner when you’re rested.”
Ash leans back, finally letting the humor back into his face. “Also, if anyone asks, that challenge was a public service. I was two minutes away from juggling forks to distract the room.”
Vex steals a crouton and bows like a tiny felon. It breaks the last of the tension. I exhale and pick up my fork.
“Sunday,” I repeat, tasting the word, testing it for sharp edges. It feels like work, not doom. “We finish lunch first.”
Ronan’s mouth lifts a millimeter. “Finally,” he says. “A woman after my religion.”
I don’t make it to Combat before Draven finds me. He intersects my path at the bend where the corridor opens toward the arena wing and falls into step as if the hall asked him to be there.
“Is it true?” he asks softly.
