CH- 46
CH- 46
Aria’s POV
I’m still trembling when the doors creak open. My chest rises too fast, the remnants of that burning seizure twitching beneath my skin.
Lorien’s arms are locked around me, unyielding, Sebastian’s shadow angled close like he’s waiting to see me fall apart. Mireille lingers farther back, her eyes hungry, always cataloguing weakness.
And then she walks in.
Silver hair. Moonlight in strands, shimmering unnaturally against the torchlight. The girl looks no older than me, yet she moves with a poise that belongs to someone far older.
Calm. Serene. As though she’s untouched by the sweat, fear, and chaos still thick in the hall.
Her presence alone stills the room. And then the whispers ripple.
Because of what she’s carrying.
It looks like a book, but no book I’ve ever seen. The tome is bound in pale leather—skin, my mind whispers uneasily—and clasped with strips of silver that pulse faintly with light.
When she sets it down on a table, the room itself seems to exhale.
“I was sent for this.” Her voice is soft, but it cuts cleanly through the murmuring. “And for her.”
Her eyes land on me.
I suck in a breath. Because it isn’t just a stranger’s gaze pinning me—it’s his. The Third. The silver-streaked hunger I’ve felt haunting my veins, the phantom touch in my dreams. Alive in this girl’s stare.
Around me, the reactions are instant.
Lorien stiffens, every muscle turning to iron, as though his body recognizes the threat before his mind does. Sebastian’s grin falters, then returns sharper, lazier, as if he’s suddenly watching an interesting game unfold. Mireille tilts her head like a predator who’s just scented new blood.
Headmistress Voss steps forward, face drawn tight. “Cassia Vale. I did not summon you.”
The girl—Cassia—inclines her head politely. “And yet, here I am.”
Even her smile feels wrong. It’s too calm, too knowing, like she’s already read the last page of a story we haven’t even opened.
She moves past me. Nothing deliberate. Just a brush of her arm against mine as she passes.
It feels like lightning.
Heat lashes across my skin, curling straight to my thighs. My breath catches, betrays me. My knees nearly buckle, and the phantom memory of the Third’s mouth at my throat strikes so vivid, I almost moan.
Lorien grabs my wrist instantly. “What did she do?” His voice is a blade, sharp and accusing.
“Nothing,” Cassia says sweetly. Her smile widens. “Just passing by.”
But her eyes glitter. She knows.
And Mireille—damn her—sees it too. Her smirk curves slow and venomous, as though she’s already thinking of ways to use this.
The room never quite recovers.
Kael Thorne’s voice is low, gravel wrapped in steel, as he speaks with the Headmistress. His storm-grey gaze never wavers, steady and unyielding, like the weight of his words alone could crush weaker souls.
“The students aren’t ready. Their bonds are cracking faster than their training can reinforce. You’ll double their sessions. Immediately.”
Sera Duvall stiffens beside him, her sharp green eyes flashing with defiance. She doesn’t raise her voice—she doesn’t need to—but there’s an edge to it that cuts through the tension between them.
“They’ll collapse before they survive that load,” she snaps, her tone clipped but carrying enough heat to make even Kael pause for half a second.
“Then the weak shouldn’t remain,” he counters, his stance broadening slightly, shoulders rolling back like some latent predator preparing to strike.
When his gaze pins hers this time, it’s electric, sparking something neither of them seems willing—or able—to ignore. The air crackles around them, thick with unspoken things, histories tangled too tightly to unravel.
His body crowds hers now, deliberate or not, close enough that anyone watching might mistake it for intimacy instead of hostility.
Her lips part fractionally, as if she’s about to spit fire—or maybe plead—but the silence stretches too long for it to be only anger.
Whatever simmers beneath the surface isn’t just professional disagreement; it’s personal. Raw. Dangerous.
Sebastian chuckles under his breath from where he leans against the wall nearby, clearly enjoying every charged moment of the exchange.
His smirk widens, teeth flashing briefly in the dim light, as though he knows exactly what everyone else is trying desperately to deny.
And me?
I can’t breathe properly.
Because Cassia is still here. Circling. Always circling. Her silver hair catches every shard of light, gleaming unnaturally bright, almost otherworldly, as though she’s been dipped in starlight herself.
Every step she takes feels calculated, predatory, her movements fluid and deliberate, drawing attention without demanding it.
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Later, when sparring begins again in the training yard, I try to focus. Try to push everything else out—the whispers, the stares, the suffocating weight of knowing I’m being watched far too closely by people who want far too much from me.
The air is sharp with sweat and blood, the clang of weapons ringing out like alarms, the hiss of strained breath filling the spaces between strikes.
It should be simple: block, parry, counter. Muscle memory, instinct. But nothing feels simple anymore.
Lorien watches me from across the yard, his expression unreadable except for the faint tightening around his jaw. He looks like he’s afraid I’ll drop—not because he doubts me, but because he knows how fragile we all are right now.
Sebastian lingers near the railing, arms crossed, smirking like he always does, but his hungry eyes track every stumble, every misstep, feeding on my uncertainty like it’s sustenance.
Mireille pretends to help another girl refine her stance, offering pointers with practiced ease, but her glances keep darting toward me. Calculating. Assessing. Waiting.
Then Cassia glides near. Too near.
She moves like smoke, slipping into my space during a parry, her blade pressing just hard enough to force me off balance.
And then, leaning in closer than necessary, her lips almost brushing my ear, she whispers. Just one sentence. One cruel, perfect sentence that slides straight into me like a blade wrapped in silk.
“He’s already marked you where they can’t see.”
My stomach plummets, the world tilting sideways for a heartbeat too long. My sigil burns beneath my skin, searing hot and unbearable, flaring brighter than it has in days.
I stagger, barely managing to keep my grip on the blade as the words coil around me—around my ribs, my lungs, my throat—until I’m sure everyone can hear the pounding of my heart.
Cassia steps back smoothly, effortlessly composed, her smile calm and satisfied. Like she knows she’s struck her mark—and she’s certain it will bleed.
Something feels off with this Cassia girl, but I couldnt just place my fingers on it.
Not yet. But I will.