Chapter 35 35- Do Not Let Him Tuck You In Like That
LEXI
When I wake up, it’s dark. Not DARK dark, but definitely not daylight. I groan softly and sit up, squinting toward the window. It’s morning… Technically. The sky is just beginning to shift, that faint pre-dawn blue creeping in before the sun actually commits to rising. It is definitely far too early to be conscious. Which, I suppose, makes sense. I went to bed ridiculously early. And I spent most of yesterday lying down, resting, half-napping in between conversations and medical check-ins. Apparently my body decided that meant we were now switching to some unholy dawn-creature schedule. The good news is, I feel fine. Completely fine. No lingering numbness. No pins and needles. No pain. In fact, I feel so normal that I don’t even notice how I feel anymore, which is probably the best sign possible. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and a soft light turns on. Not harsh. Not bright. Just enough to see. I blink, staring at the glow that seems to come from… Nowhere in particular.
“Thanks.” I mumble automatically, still half asleep. The light pulses, just slightly brighter, then settles back again. I freeze.
“…Was that a response?” I ask the empty room.
“Or just a coincidence?” I add. The light pulses again. Okay… Right. So the Academy DEFINITELY has some level of awareness. Cool. Great. Totally fine. Not unsettling at all.
“I appreciate it.” I say carefully, deciding politeness is still the safest route. The light warms subtly, like approval. Well. At least now if I’m muttering to myself, I can claim I’m talking to the building. I glance around for my phone, already bracing myself for the disappointment of a dead battery after falling asleep mid-movie… But it’s plugged in. And not where I left it. I shuffle over, unplug it, and check the time. 4:12 a.m. I stare at the screen in disbelief. Ugh. That is criminal. Then I notice the message notification. From Blake.
Blake: I stayed until midnight to make sure you were stable enough to be left alone. Your phone is plugged in. Your door is locked. The key is on the bedside table, within reach. My phone is with me and turned up loud. If anything feels wrong, ANYTHING, you call me immediately. Not later. Not after you decide whether it’s serious enough. IMMEDIATELY. You missed dinner, but I figured you needed the sleep. I’ll pick you up in the morning for breakfast.
I read it once. Then again. My chest feels… Warm. Sure, he didn’t say goodnight. He didn’t say sleep well. But what he did do was so much better. It was just… Thoughtful. He made sure everything was handled. He stayed. He prepared. He left instructions like rules carved into stone. And somehow, none of it feels smothering. It feels… Safe. I glance at the bedside table. The key is exactly where he said it would be. Of course it is. I sink back onto the bed, pulling the blankets up around me even though I’m not cold, phone still clutched loosely in my hand.
“Well, I guess I’m being looked after.” I murmur softly to the quiet room, to the Academy, to myself.
After a few minutes, I get out of bed, shower, and then wander over to my closet. Today, I am apparently wearing a white tennis skirt and a pale blue t-shirt. It’s a simple outfit, but it fits me perfectly. I read somewhere once that the reason actors always look so good in their clothes is because everything they wear is altered exactly to their measurements. I’m starting to think that might be true here too. I own an outfit back home that’s almost identical to this, but somehow it never looked nearly this flattering. This one just… Works. I smooth the fabric down thoughtfully.
“Thanks. I love it.” I murmur in the general direction of the closet. There’s no dramatic response, no flashing lights or anything, but something about the room feels quietly pleased. Maybe that’s just me projecting. Or maybe not. I dry my hair and tie it into two loose ponytails low by my ears. My hair has settled into soft waves as I dried it, it’s behaving well today, and paired with the outfit it actually looks kind of cute. There are no shoes waiting for me yet, but that’s fine. It’s barely five in the morning. I don’t think anyone expects me to be going anywhere important at this hour. I’m ready way too early. With nothing better to do, I drift over to my bookshelf. Most of the books are lined up neatly, but one is sticking out just a little farther than the rest, enough to catch my attention without being obvious about it. My Basic Spellcasting textbook. Of course.
“Well… I probably should catch up on that one.” I admit quietly.
“Sure. Why not.” I agree. I slide it free and carry it back to the bed, settling myself comfortably against the pillows before opening it. Immediately, I notice something odd. There’s a bookmark tucked inside? I pause, frowning slightly. I definitely didn’t put that there. Curious, I flip to the marked page. It’s well past where we are in class, midway through the book at least. The title at the top of the page makes my eyebrows shoot up. Repelling Spells. I skim the page, then snort softly. The entire section is dedicated to spells designed to block things. Liquids. Physical contact. Environmental annoyances. Charms to make clothing resistant to spills. Shields against rain so your hair doesn’t get wet. Barriers that deflect minor impacts before you even realise something hit you. Basically… A very thorough guide to preventing someone from ‘accidentally’ spilling a potion on you. Well. That feels pointed. I don’t even know if I’m capable of any of this yet. I haven’t successfully cast a single spell so far. Still, reading through it, my interest sparks. These are practical. Sensible. Protective. The kind of magic I’d want to know. I glance around the quiet room, a smile tugging at my lips.
“Thanks again. These are… Really useful.” I say softly. The room remains still, calm, quietly present. It’s so odd. I know I am here by myself. But between the message from Blake and the Academy’s soft presence, I don’t feel alone at all.
I read the entire chapter from start to finish. Then I read it again. Some of it makes sense in theory, but I can tell I’m still missing a few foundational skills to actually do any of these spells. There are references to control, intent, and shaping magic that I don’t fully understand yet. Still, I’m hopeful. Maybe in a few weeks, once we actually start casting, these will feel less abstract and more achievable. By the time I close the book, the sun is well and truly starting to rise. Pale gold light creeps in through the window, washing the room in soft colour. I’m pretty sure Blake will show up any minute now. I wander back to the closet and find a pair of sparkly silver sandals waiting for me. They’re comfortable, flat, and just fancy enough to feel intentional. I slip them on, wiggling my toes slightly. With nothing better to do. and absolutely no good reason to do it. I pick up my phone. Almost against my will, I open SCRI. It’s annoying, because I know it’s going to be awful. I know checking it will put me in a bad mood. But it’s like picking at a scab or scratching a bug bite. you KNOW you shouldn’t, you know it’ll make things worse, and somehow you do it anyway. The first few posts almost lull me into a false sense of security. A soft, aesthetic photo of sunrise taken from someone’s bedroom window. A neatly arranged dinner plate. A blurry picture of a pet rabbit curled up on a bed, although… That could very easily be someone shifted into a rabbit. Hard to tell around here. Then I see it. A video captioned simply ‘Oops.’ My stomach sinks. I don’t even need to hit play to know exactly where it’s from. The lighting. The angle. The potions lab benches in the background. I sigh quietly and press play. The footage shows Mallory circling the table. The exaggerated stumble. The deliberate arc of the container as it flies, not dropped, not fumbled, but thrown. The moment it hits me, steam and liquid splashing everywhere. Somehow the incident looks a lot worse from this angle. Like if it wasn’t numbing stuff, I should have been screaming in pain or something. The post is anonymous. Of course it is. Why SCRI even allows anonymous posting feels like a disaster waiting to happen. My jaw tightens as I stare at the screen. My chest feels tight, not just from embarrassment or anger, but from the certainty that this will only make things worse. Fuel for gossip. I close the app before I can read the comments. I REALLY don’t need to see them. Almost immediately, there’s a knock at the door. Blake. Perfect timing.