Keep up?

Keep up?
The festival!

Asrid POV

The courtyard had been transformed into something almost unrecognizable. Lanterns glowed scarlet and gold, strung high in the trees like captured fireflies, their light shimmering against polished marble floors. The academy banners hung proud and heavy, every sigil stitched into silk. A stage throbbed with the beat of drums and the pulse of string instruments, and laughter spun wild in the air.

Students filled every inch of space—some already flushed with wine, others spinning each other beneath the moonlight, gowns flaring, boots stomping. Tables groaned under platters of roasted meats, glazed fruits, sweet breads dripping with honey. The scent of it all tangled together—spiced, warm, intoxicating.

Everyone looked so alive.

Everyone except me.

I stood near the edge of the crowd, my fingers knotting in the fabric of my dress as the laughter swelled louder and louder. It should have been perfect—music, dancing, food, friends—all of it meant to chase away the heaviness that had pressed down on us these past days. But beneath the lantern glow and the blood moon hanging swollen and red above, something felt…off.

Wrong.

My chest tightened as if the air itself had grown too thick.

And then—like a thread pulled too taut—came the whisper.

“Little Star…”

I froze, my head snapping to the left, to the right. Nothing. Just students laughing, Dove tossing her head back as Hera teased her, Killian pouring himself another drink while Jason rolled his eyes. Zora and Elsie already twirling near the stage, skirts swirling as they laughed together.

But the voice came again, softer this time, curling around my ear like smoke.

“Little Star…”

My skin prickled. My hands trembled.

The music swelled louder, the beat pounding like a second heartbeat in my chest, but underneath it I swore I could hear something else—a murmur, a chant, a low hum threading beneath the celebration. My vision blurred, the lanterns stretching too long, the figures in the crowd smearing at the edges.

And then I saw it.

A shadow slipping between bodies. Moving slow. Deliberate. No one else noticed—the dancers kept spinning, laughter carried on—but I couldn’t look away. Its outline rippled, almost human but wrong, wrong, wrong. The moment I tried to focus on it, it melted back into the throng.

My knees wobbled. I dragged in a shaky breath, trying to tell myself it wasn’t real, that I was imagining it. But the dread in my stomach curdled, spreading like frost up my spine.

I had to do something—anything—to snap myself out of this spiral.

My eyes landed on the long table of drinks, goblets lined up like soldiers, their jewel-bright contents catching the light. I pushed through the crowd, ignoring the way my friends’ laughter felt too far away, muffled like it came through water. My palm still burned faintly beneath the glove I wore, the mark thrumming like a hidden drum.

I snatched the nearest glass of dark wine and tipped it back too fast, the tang of it burning my throat. The second glass went down easier, warm spreading in my chest, dulling the edges of panic.

For a heartbeat, it worked.

The blur softened. The music sounded less like pounding, more like rhythm. I let out a shaky laugh, clutching the edge of the table as if the wood itself could anchor me.

But then—so close I swore the breath brushed my neck—the whisper returned.

“Little Star…don’t you see me?”

My hand tightened on the goblet until it nearly slipped.

Because this time, I wasn’t sure it was in my head.

Dove POV

The courtyard was alive—music crashing, wine flowing, skirts spinning like a blur of color—but I couldn’t stop glancing toward Astrid. She sat apart from the madness, a smile plastered on her face that I knew was faker than Hera’s “I’m fine” attitude when she’s clearly not.

Hera nudged me with her elbow, balancing her cup of red wine like it was an extension of her hand. Her eyes flicked toward Astrid, unimpressed.
“What’s up with Astrid? She looks like she’s at a funeral, not the damn Blood Moon Festival. Don’t tell me she’s still mopey over…whatever doom-cloud is following her around.”

I sighed, setting my own cup down. Hera’s blunt as always, but she wasn’t wrong. “It’s not just her being mopey. There’s…something else. You know that mark on her palm?”

“The cute star-looking thing? Yeah, what about it?”

“It hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s darker now. And since she mated with the brothers… whenever they touch her, Hera, it burns. She can’t stand it.”

For once, Hera didn’t have a quick comeback. Her lips pressed tight, her sharp eyes softening just a little. “So that’s why you asked me to train with her. Because the great, golden Alphas can’t even lay a hand on their mate without frying her like bacon on a pan.”

I gave her a look. “Exactly.”

Hera huffed, leaning back in her chair, her braid slipping over one shoulder. “Well, shit. That’s messed up. Whatever this curse, mark, bond—whatever the hell it is—someone better break it. She’s already got the weight of half the academy on her back, now this? It’s cruel.”

“It has to end,” I murmured, echoing her own thought.

Hera tipped her wine back, then pointed with her chin toward the far side of the courtyard. “And yet, look at that.”

My eyes followed, and there she was—Astrid, curled a little too small in her chair, Killian sitting right beside her. His usual sharp-edged confidence was dimmed, his body angled toward her like he couldn’t help himself, even though touching her only hurt them both.

I let out a sigh, heavy enough to empty my chest. Hera’s smirk faded, and even she looked almost…sad.

“She’s going to break if this keeps up,” Hera muttered. “And so are they.”

I nodded, clutching my cup again like it might steady me. “Yeah. And none of us are ready for what comes after that.”