Lanterns burned lower by the time the Prelude surrendered to the real celebration. The air thickened—warmer, louder, threaded with perfume and magic residue. Someone had opened the high windows, but the night pressed against the glass like it wanted inside.
Students spilled deeper into the ballroom. The shift in atmosphere was small but unmistakable: masks tilted up, posture loosened, etiquette softened. The Chancellor's polished Prelude was over.
This was the Equinox Party, where reputation mattered more than rules.
Rhea and I stood at the edge of the room. My head ached in a steady pulse; Aether simmered under my ribs, quietly offended by the noise.
Rhea shoved her mask up like a crooked crown. "Ah, finally," she said. "The portion of the evening where nobles pretend embarrassment is a personality trait."
I scanned the room. Exits. Clusters. Kael near the balcony. Lian not far from him, posture too calm for the rising noise. Selene already holding court with the Crestborn elite. Nothing physically dangerous—just socially inconvenient.
Aether twitched anyway. It didn't like crowds. Neither did I.
"Drink," Rhea said, passing me another glass. "Hydration is important. Especially when chaos follows you like a stray cat."
"I didn't ask for chaos," I muttered.
"No one ever does. It just adopts people."
Before I could respond, Kael materialized out of a cluster of upper-years—one of his many talents.
"Farrell," he said. "Ashford."
Rhea groaned. "Tragic. He continues to know our names."
Kael ignored her. "You stayed." His tone was light; his attention was not. "Most people flee after an East Wing incident. Some claim illness. Some claim superstition. The imaginative ones claim divine omens."
"I don't faint easily," I said.
"I noticed."
He stepped just close enough to make the conversation private while still visibly social. Eyes flicked from us to the corridor archway, then back again.
"There are already rumors," he said quietly. "About the scream. The door. Your proximity."
"I didn't cause it."
"I didn't say you did," he replied. "But the East Wing reacts to…stress."
Aether gave a short, irritated pulse. My palm warmed.
"I'm not stressed."
Rhea whispered, "Lie."
Kael's smile almost appeared. "The Wing doesn't care what you declare. It reacts to what you are."
Before he could say more, the musicians shifted into a faster set. A ripple moved through the ballroom—the beginning of the first dance of the Equinox Party. Selene approached with the confidence of someone used to being chosen.
Kael sighed internally—visible only in the tension of his jaw—then offered her his hand. "Shall we?"
She accepted with a satisfied smile, and they joined the forming circle.
Rhea sipped her drink. "Territorial. Predictable. Exhausting."
"Which one?" I asked.
"All of them. Especially the tall one."
The dance began—spinning, weaving, nobles performing alliances through choreography. Kael danced with practiced ease, which probably irritated him more than the dance itself. His attention drifted anyway, slipping toward the balcony, then toward the East Wing arch.
He didn't like whatever had happened behind Door 3C.He didn't understand it.Which meant he'd keep looking.
Rhea nudged me. "Relax your shoulders. You're doing the assassin version of glaring."
"I'm not glaring."
"You're absolutely glaring. Even your mask looks annoyed."
A burst of laughter erupted nearby—Mirelle's group. She leaned in conspiratorially to whisper something that earned gasps from her cluster. Her gaze slid toward me, pleased with itself.
Crestborn nobles had two talents: politics and weaponized gossip.
Selene caught that glance mid-turn and tightened her expression, as if rumors were beneath her but useful enough to tolerate. She finished the rotation, eyes flicking briefly to Kael—checking where he was looking.
He wasn't looking at her.
He was looking at the East Wing.
Aether recoiled sharply. I steadied myself against the edge of a table. Pressure pushed up my spine—hot, insistent, unwelcome.
Not now.
Rhea's voice dropped. "Leslie. Talk to me."
"I'm fine."
"You're about to fall over elegantly. Not a good look."
"I'm fine," I repeated. "Aether reacted."
"Because of the hallway?"
"Maybe."
"Wonderful," she said flatly. "More instability. My favorite theme."
Before I could answer, a quiet presence approached.
Lian Sorrel.
He didn't crowd us. He simply existed in our vicinity, calm as a well-balanced blade.
"Miss Farrell," he said. "Miss Ashford."
Rhea inclined her head. "Lord Sorrel. Enjoying the spectacle?"
"Enjoyment isn't usually my objective," he replied. "Observation is."
His eyes shifted to me. Not invasive—just precise.
"Are you well?" he asked.
"I'm fine."
"Mm." He didn't argue. "Something shifted. Not in the hall. In you."
Rhea sighed. "I told her that."
Lian continued, voice low enough that passing dancers wouldn't hear, "The Academy notices disturbances. And some would prefer assigning blame over finding causes."
His gaze flicked toward the East Wing arch.
He knew there was a problem.Not what.But that.
"Enjoy the evening," he finished, stepping back into the dance with effortless withdrawal.
Rhea muttered, "That was practically affection. Tragic."
"It was a warning," I said.
"Darling, everything here is a warning."
My headache sharpened. Too much noise, too much magic, too many eyes.
"I'm going out to the courtyard."
Rhea frowned. "Do not make me rescue you from another haunted door."
"I won't go near the East Wing."
"Oh good," she said. "A manageable lie."
I slipped away, weaving through dancers and hushed speculations. The air cooled the moment I left the ballroom. Lanterns lined the external walkway, pale and steady.
Better.
But not calm.
A soft metallic click echoed behind one of the columns—too deliberate, too controlled.
Training, not accident.
I stopped.
Aether rose in a slow, dangerous tide.
Silence stretched. Then: a shift of weight on stone.
Someone stood just outside the lantern glow—coat dark, posture patient. Not a student. Not a noble.
Not here by invitation.
The watcher didn't approach. He simply waited, measuring distance, reaction, possibility.
Testing.
My hand drifted toward my sleeve out of habit—where a weapon should have been. Empty. The Academy didn't allow blades, and I hadn't smuggled one tonight.
Perfect.
Aether pulsed again, hot enough to blur my vision for a beat. I forced it down. An uncontrolled flare in front of an observer was worse than being unarmed.
Another shift. They knew I'd seen them.
I took one slow step backward—never turning, never exposing my spine. The figure didn't follow. Didn't retreat. Just watched.
Testing boundaries.Assessing reflexes.The first probe.
When I reached the ballroom threshold, the lanterns behind me flared a little brighter with the shift of air as someone opened a door. Conversation washed out like water.
I glanced back once.
The watcher was gone.
No footsteps. No cloak movement. Just absence.
Aether tightened painfully under my ribs, like a knot pulling too fast.
Rhea appeared at the edge of the doorway, hands on her hips. "Darling, you were gone for nine minutes. I was about to send Kael as a punishment."
I exhaled, slow and even. "Don't."
"Then get inside," she said. "You look like you fought a ghost."
"Not a ghost."
"Oh good. Real threats. My specialty."
Noise swallowed us again as we stepped back into the ballroom. The dance had shifted to something slower, the lights softer, the gossip louder. Nothing in the room acknowledged the wrongness outside.
But Kael looked toward the courtyard door the moment I entered—as if he'd been waiting for something to happen.
His mask was back in place. His posture easy.But his eyes sharpened when they found me.
I looked away first.
Rhea slipped me another glass. "Drink," she said. "You're vibrating."
"I'm fine."
"You're lying again," she replied cheerfully. "At least you're consistent."
The music swelled. The nobles laughed. The party continued as if nothing had cracked open behind Door 3C and nothing had watched me from the shadows.
But the watcher was real.
And the East Wing had not settled.It had only gone quiet.
I set the glass down, scanning the ballroom out of reflex.
Too many eyes.
Too few truths.
Rhea bumped my shoulder. "We survive tonight," she said. "Then tomorrow, you can tell me why you look like the architecture hissed at you again."
"Tomorrow," I said.
Not tonight.
The lanternlight flickered across the balcony rail as the wind pushed against the windows again—an old building breathing too evenly for comfort.
Something in the Academy had woken.
And it wasn't done watching.