Page 40 of Embers of Midnight
Ronan watches my face like he’s trying to decide if he needs to step in. He won’t. He knows I’ll break if anyone hugs me. He steps close enough that his warmth edges the cold anyway.
“I—” I aim for sarcasm and miss. “Thanks,” I say, a little rough. “This is… a lot.”
Ash’s grin softens. “Get used to people giving a shit, Little Flame.”
“Never,” I shoot back, which sounds braver than it feels.
We sort. I claim the sweater shamelessly. The book slides under my palm and settles like a cat. I don’t look at the cover long enough to memorize it; I don’t want to ruin the quiet of choosing later. Caelum shows me the anchor plate he installed just inside my door while I was busy not crying—touch the disc to it, it logs me in. Darian sets the lockbox on my shelf and steps back like it might spook.
For lunch, we forage. Bread. Cheese. A bowl of fruit that looks like it auditioned for a magazine. The morphsigil sits under myskin like a shield I can pretend is fashion. The ID anchor is light against my chest. Breathing stays easy.
“Weekend,” Ash says around an apple slice. “No missions if we can help it. Tonight: low-key. Movies, games, the kind that end friendships.”
“Your friendship is fragile,” Caelum notes.
“Fragile like a grenade.”
Ronan drops two bags of popcorn on the counter like that’s settled. He has lines in his hands I didn’t see last night. Not scars. Work. The kind of wear you get from holding axes and people.
“What movies?” I ask, stealing a slice from Ash the way he stole my toast.
“Bad ones,” Darian says immediately.
Ash looks personally offended. “Excuse me?”
“The worse they are, the easier you laugh,” Darian replies, face smooth. “Laughter heals.”
I blink at him. Ash blinks at him. Caelum blinks at both of them like they coordinated it and forgot to tell him.
“Fine,” Ash says, recovering. “We’ll start with something with explosions and questionable science.”
“I’ll allow it,” I say, because apparently I have veto power now.
Ronan glances at the clock and nods toward the stairs. “Room, then?” he asks me. “Put things away. Breathe.”
I nod, because if I try to be cool for one more minute, I will burst into flame in a way that ruins the rug.
My room recognizes me now. The air shifts when I open the door. The wards hum like someone tuned a guitar and then didn’t play so it could keep the note in its bones. The hook takes my coat with offense that a hook can feel; the bed makes a small, content sigh I pretend I don’t hear.
I set the book on the nightstand, the lockbox under the bed, the clothes in the closet where rails glide on command like someone bribed them. The sweater I don’t put away. I pull it on. It hugs the edges the room learned last night. The morphsigil is quiet. The anchor is warm against my sternum. I sit on the edge of the bed and curl around a pillow for thirty seconds that I absolutely do not call a hug.
When I stand, the mirror in the corner catches me. The eyes are still wrong and still mine, and I hate how that feels like a victory. I square my shoulders at the stranger. She squares back. We make a truce that lasts exactly one breath longer than yesterday.
A soft knock at the door—two beats, a third, the rhythm they made up without telling me it would work.
“Yeah?” My voice doesn’t crack.
Ash cracks the door with exaggerated politeness. “Field trip,” he announces. “Not far.”
I grab the chain at my collarbone like a reflex and then let go. “Lead the way.”
Not far is the study nook at the top of the stairs. It has no business being this cozy. Two chairs that forgive you for existing. A window bench with a cushion that will ruin you for lesser benches. A shelf of board games that look like they have opinions. A small cart with tea things, and yes, coffee, and yes, a jar of sugar shaped like lightning bolts because Ash is a menace.
Caelum flips open a laptop and tilts it so we can both see. “Enrollment final step,” he says. “Not forms. Just a ping so the network stops screaming.”
“I can’t hear it screaming,” I say.
“You will when it stops,” he answers, amused, and taps a few keys. “There.”
