I woke to the unpleasant sensation of damp cloth clinging to my shoulder. Wonderful. Either the mattress hated me, or I'd sweated through the night after yesterday's chaos. My shirt felt half-dry, half-cold—like it had given up and decided to impersonate seaweed.
My back ached from how many times I'd snapped awake, expecting monks, alarms, or steel. Soft beds don't fool old instincts.
My stomach protested the empty night.
I rubbed my face, fingers sliding over the two halves of the broken bracelet under my sleeve. Still there. Still useless.
Checklist: boots, bad mood, empty hands.
I'd only ever had one weapon — my dagger — and that guy on the road took it before I even felt it go. Now I didn't have anything at all.
I curled my fingers into a fist. Walking around without a weapon felt reckless. Losing the only one I'd ever trusted felt even worse.
And of course that dragged up the one thing I couldn't afford to forget:
Find the target.Finish the job.Don't die.
Simple on paper.
Rhea shifted on her bed, then sat up like a dramatic corpse climbing out of a crypt, hair sticking out in directions known only to chaos.
"Rise and crumble, Farrell," she announced. "You look like you slept inside a damp bookshelf."
"I slept," I muttered. "Barely."
"You flinched six times," she said. "I counted."She stretched, bored and elegant at the same time. "Anyway— breakfast. Also, tiny detail: the Equinox Party is tomorrow."
I blinked. "Equinox what?"
"The Equinox Party," she repeated, pressing a hand to her chest in exaggerated tragedy."Crestborn event. Music, masks, too much perfume. East Wing, near the old gallery. Right next to the abandoned offices."
My fingers froze on my coat.
"Which offices?" I asked too casually.
"Three-something. 3C? That cluster."She waved a hand. "You're coming. We'll stand in a corner and silently judge everyone. It'll be therapeutic."
My heartbeat stumbled once.
3C — the number from the note.
Wonderful.
"I'll think about it."
"No you won't," she said cheerfully. "I'll drag you."
Rhea pulled on her boots and released a sigh so pointed it could've cut stone.
"Breakfast," she declared. "If we don't go now, I'm going to perish in the hallway. And starvation is an embarrassing cause of death."
"Hunger?" I asked, grabbing my coat.
"Hunger, despair, and bad food. A triple homicide."
My stomach growled in agreement.
"Fine," I muttered. "Let's go before you collapse dramatically."
"That's the spirit."She clapped me on the shoulder. "Come. Let's attempt survival."
We stepped into the hallway, our pace increasing without discussion. Pride was one thing; empty stomachs were another.
By the time we reached the stairs, the smell of stew and fresh bread hit us like a spell.
The Dining Hall was already buzzing.
Three long tables split the room into factions:
Right: nobles with polished boots and sharper expressions.Center: commons — loud, relaxed.Left: Nulls — quiet and invisible more by habit than choice.
Neutrality mattered, so I aimed for the center.
Some heads turned.
"Aether girl," someone whispered.
Wonderful.
I slid onto a bench with my back to the wall — habit, not paranoia. The stew tasted like boiled regret, but at least it was warm.
I'd barely taken two bites when a shadow fell across my plate.
The perfume hit first — sharp, expensive, louder than her footsteps.
A noble girl glared down at me like I'd insulted her entire ancestry.
"You're Leslie Farrell."
"Unfortunately," I said.
"You're sitting at our table."
"It's not labeled."
"Everyone knows the commons divide."
I raised a hand. "If you want the seat, take it."
A couple of students choked on their bread.Her badge read Mirenne. And she clearly wasn't used to being contradicted.
"You're insolent."
"And you're blocking my light."
A hush rolled across the table.
She leaned closer, voice sharp."You embarrassed several noble families yesterday. That seal stunt..."
"If the seal had objections," I said, stabbing my spoon back into the stew, "it can file a complaint."
Her cheeks reddened.She reached for the breadbasket—hand too fast, too close.
Instinct hit me like a whip.
Before thought caught up, my fingers closed around the nearest thing I could reach:
A fork.
Metal scraped wood as I brought it up — angled low, between us, a reflexive warning.
The hall froze.
Mirenne's eyes widened.Someone gasped.Someone whispered, "She's insane."
And then I felt it — a change in the air, quick and sharp, like someone had turned up the heat without touching a flame.
Kael stepped into view.Of course it was him.
He looked as he always did: hands in his pockets, coat sitting wrong, hair a mess that suggested he'd slept through an explosion and refused to fix it.A relaxed slouch, the picture of someone who didn't take anything seriously.
Except it wasn't real.
Not when he was looking at me.
His eyes went to the fork first, then to my face — still lazy on the surface, but there was a flash beneath it, a pressure, like he could snap the entire table in half if he ever stopped pretending to be bored.
It lasted a second.Maybe less.Just long enough to make the air feel heavier.
Then the mask settled back into place, smooth as a breath.
Kael turned sharply to Mirenne.
"Walk away," he said.
Mirenne bristled. "This isn't your business."
Kael barely lifted an eyebrow. "It is now."
The words were soft, almost polite — yet somehow sharper than a shout.
Mirenne froze for a heartbeat, jaw tight.Then she muttered something bitter under her breath and swept off, her skirt snapping behind her like an offended banner.
Mirenne was gone, but the tension she dragged in with her took its time leaving.
Kael didn't look after her.He looked at me — briefly, directly, like he was checking if I was still two seconds away from stabbing someone.
"You should be smarter than that," he said.
The tone wasn't mocking or scolding.Just… blunt. The kind of blunt that comes from someone used to being heard the first time.
I set the fork down and kept my voice steady.
"I reacted. That's all."
Kael turned to me sharply, one eyebrow lifting — not calm, not patient, just amused in that oh-really? way of his.
"Sure," he said. "But here? No one cares what actually happened. They'll run with whatever makes the best drama."
There was nothing relaxed about him now. His posture straightened, the usual lazy look wiped clean. For a moment he seemed like someone completely different — someone used to being obeyed, not questioned.
He didn't move closer or raise his voice, yet something in the way he stood settled between us, like the air had thickened for a second. I felt it before I understood it — a strange, quick pull that made no sense.
Then it was gone. Fast, neat, as if he'd quietly locked that part of himself away.
Kael stepped back, letting the room take him in again. The easy, careless act settled onto him so naturally it was hard to believe it had slipped at all.
"Don't make it worse, Farrell," he said over his shoulder.Not an order.Not a warning.Something in between.
And then he walked away, leaving me with nothing but a cooling bowl of stew and a dozen stares I chose not to meet.
I dumped my tray, fixed my sleeves, and walked out of the hall before someone decided staring wasn't enough and wanted a second round.
The corridor was buzzing with first-years spilling toward the classrooms. I'd barely stepped into the flow when Rhea snapped into place beside me like she'd been waiting to ambush someone.
"Farrell," she said, eyeing me up and down. "You look like someone chewed you and forgot to spit out the bones."
"Breakfast was… eventful," I muttered.
"That's one word for it."She narrowed her eyes at me, then at the dining hall door. "Let me guess. A noble tried to establish 'territory' again?"
I didn't answer, which apparently was answer enough.
Rhea snorted. "Was it Mirenne? Please tell me it was Mirenne. That girl wakes up offended."
I glared at her sideways. "You weren't even there."
"I don't have to be," she said, flipping a lock of hair behind her shoulder with dramatic disgust. "Mirenne hates when someone breathes in her radius. You breathing in her seat? That's a holy war."
I rolled my eyes. "I didn't pick a fight."
"No, no," she agreed with a wicked grin. "You just existed. That's usually enough."
We turned down the main stairwell with the rest of the crowd, boots echoing against the stone. My stomach still felt too tight, my pulse too fast. Rhea kept glancing at me like she was waiting for me to explode or faint — possibly both.
"If she bothers you again," Rhea added, voice dropping, "tell me. I'll handle it."
I blinked. "Handle? How?"
"Oh, I don't know," she said sweetly. "A few well-placed rumors. Maybe a strategically embarrassing incident. Nobel brat deterrent." She wiggled her fingers like casting a spell. "I'm very community-minded."
I couldn't help it — a short laugh escaped me.
"Don't encourage her," someone muttered behind us. Rhea ignored them entirely.
We spilled out onto the balcony of the east hall. Sunlight washed over the courtyard, all banners fluttering like the Academy was trying too hard to impress us.
Rhea nudged me with her shoulder. "Come on, fork-warrior. First lesson. Foundations. If we're late, the instructor will turn us to dust. Or worse — ask us to introduce ourselves."
"That's cruel."
"Exactly," she said darkly. "Stick close. If you wander off, I'm not rescuing you."
We headed toward the classroom doors.
I tried to focus on the moment — on the hallways, the voices, the weight of magic humming faintly under my skin.
None of it helped. My mind kept circling back to the fork, Mirenne's glare, and Kael's… whatever that had been.
Rhea walked beside me with the tragic dignity of someone forced to exist among people who clearly weren't meeting her standards.
She sighed like the hallway personally disappointed her.
"Foundations Class," she said, flicking her hair back. "The grand tradition of forcing first-years to sit still while professors measure our patience and slowly destroy our hopes."
"That sounds optimistic," I muttered.
"I'm known for it," she deadpanned.
Students gathered ahead of us, buzzing like insects with too much sugar. Rhea elbowed me lightly.
"You know Mirenne's going to come after you later, right? Nobles bruise faster than fruit, but the bruises are louder."
"I didn't do anything."
"You existed," she said. "Some people find that threatening."
Great.Apparently breathing was a political statement in this place.
We stepped into the classroom — rows of desks, high windows, dust motes doing their dramatic dance in the morning light. The room smelled faintly of old books and older egos. Whispered conversations swirled the second we crossed the threshold.
"Aether girl."
"The one who fought Valcorin."
"Did you see Kael..."
I tuned them out. Noise never mattered. Faces never mattered. Only targets did.
Rhea took the seat beside me and exhaled through her nose.
"Relax," she muttered. "By evening they'll be obsessed with something else."
"I don't care," I whispered back.
"You say that," she said, "but your jaw is about to snap in half."
I unclenched it — barely.
The professor marched into the room, and the chatter died instantly. He began scribbling on the board: Aether theory, channel stability, proper restraint. I tried to focus, but my attention drifted almost immediately.
Not out of boredom.Out of instinct.
A slow tension crawled up the back of my neck — that old, unwelcome signal I had learned never to ignore. Someone was watching me.
Not the noisy first-years.Not the gossips.
Something quieter.Heavier.
I didn't look back. That's the mistake people make right before something hits them. Instead, I stared at the edge of my desk, counted to five, then let my eyes angle just enough to see the last row.
A hooded figure sat there. Too still. Too calm. Real students tap their pens, rub their faces, lean on their elbows, breathe like humans. This one stayed stone-still, as if carved out of the chair.
A thin line of frost tightened under my ribs.
Rhea leaned closer. "You're doing the murder-eyes again," she murmured, sounding entirely too entertained.
"Someone's watching."
"They all are. You terrorized breakfast."She took one look at my face and the humor dropped. "You mean someone else."
I didn't bother replying.
Rhea let her gaze drift — smooth, casual. Her expression didn't change, but her fingers tapped once against the desk. A quiet warning.
In the back row, the hooded figure didn't budge. They didn't need to. Their attention locked on me again, cold and steady, like a weight placed between my shoulder blades.
I turned forward. Kept my breathing even.
Fine. Watch all you want.
I'd lived with monks who trained us to hear footsteps in our sleep. I'd survived cages, blind corridors, and people who smiled while planning to gut us. Whoever sat back there wasn't bored. And they weren't here for class.
For the first time since I arrived, something became very clear:
I wasn't the only person hunting someone in this Academy.
Someone had already marked me — and they weren't planning to wait politely.