That hit like a punch to the sternum.

  My breath caught. My vision wavered at the edges.

  He wasn’t just gone. He was the reason I was even here. The reason Toru had dragged me into this mess.

  He was everything I had left.

  And she knew exactly what she was doing.

  I gripped the sides of my desk, nails biting into the wood, trying to swallow the wave of fury clawing up my throat⁠—

  —and that was when the heat surged.

  It started as a flicker under my palms, a low hum of something ancient and furious uncoiling beneath my skin. Then came the crack—a sound like lightning splitting the air—and suddenly, fire.

  It erupted across the desk in a violent bloom of orange and gold.

  For one suspended heartbeat, I just stared at it.

  At what I had done.

  Someone screamed. The sound tore through the classroom, breaking the spell.

  The flames climbed higher, licking at the books, the ink, the air itself. The heat blistered against my skin as I stumbled back, reaching out—instinct, panic—to smother it.

  Bad idea.

  The flames followed. Crawling up my arms like they knew me.

  “Ms. Hawthorne!” Professor Nightshade’s voice rang out, sharp, panicked. “Stop this at once!”

  “I—I can’t!” I choked. The words barely made it past the smoke burning my lungs.

  The fire was alive—thinking, almost. It didn’t obey me. It didn’t even feel like mine. It was using me.

  Desks toppled as students scrambled away. Screams blurred into the roar of the inferno. The smell of scorched parchment and burnt ink filled my nose—bitter, acrid, final.

  Then—as suddenly as it came—the flames vanished.

  Gone.

  A suffocating silence followed.

  Smoke drifted in curling tendrils through the air. The room was a ruin of blackened desks, blistered books, and terrified faces.

  My hands trembled as I stared at them. The skin was red, raw—but unburned.

  Professor Nightshade was coughing, waving the smoke away, her perfect hair dusted in ash. “Ms. Hawthorne,” she snapped, voice hoarse and full of venom, “do you have any control over your magic?”

  Magic?

  I stared at her. At the destruction. At my hands.

  I didn’t have magic.

  Not like this.

  You have Blood Magic, a voice whispered, low and knowing. This is what Toru was warning you about.

  My stomach twisted.

  Professor Nightshade’s eyes glittered, cruel satisfaction hidden behind concern. “Well?” she pressed.

  I swallowed hard.

  I didn’t answer her.

  I couldn’t.

  The world had gone muffled, every sound filtered through the rush of blood in my ears. All I could do was stare at my hands—trembling, raw, and alive with something that wasn’t supposed to exist.

  The energy was still there.

  Buzzing. Humming. Crawling just beneath my skin like it was alive.

  Like it was waiting for another chance to get out.

  I flexed my fingers, half afraid I’d see embers fall from my palms.

  The room was dead silent.

  When I finally looked up, I realized every eye was still on me. Dozens of faces—wide, pale, horrified. No one dared breathe. Even the air between us seemed scorched.

  I swallowed hard and forced myself to stand, though my knees felt like water.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, voice cracking. “I don’t… I don’t know what happened.”

  Professor Nightshade’s heels clicked against the charred floor as she crossed the room. Her expression was composed—too composed. A delicate smile ghosted across her lips, but her eyes gleamed like sharpened silver.

  “Ms. Hawthorne,” she said, her tone low, dangerous, almost pleased. “I think it’s time we had a talk.” She turned toward the door, not waiting to see if I followed. “Let’s take a walk, shall we?”

  My throat was tight. My pulse drummed against my ribs. But I obeyed.

  Each step echoed down the marble corridor, the sound of her heels sharp and unyielding. I trailed behind her, my fingers twitching with leftover tremors of power. I could still smell the smoke clinging to my clothes.

  I’d never lost control like that. Never even known I could.

  It wasn’t magic—not like theirs. It was wilder. Hungrier. Something that didn’t ask permission.

  It felt… wrong.

  But stars, it also felt alive.

  Professor Nightshade didn’t look back as she led me through the long hall of celestial sigils and sunlit arches.

  She stopped abruptly in front of a towering oak door marked with a polished brass plaque: Headmistress

  The letters gleamed like judgment itself.

  “Go in,” she said, gesturing toward it with a flick of her wrist.

  I hesitated. Just a heartbeat. Then I pushed the door open.

  The room inside was vast and suffused with soft, golden light. Shelves lined every wall, packed with ancient tomes, rolled parchment, and artifacts that pulsed faintly with celestial energy. The scent of old paper and sandalwood hung thick in the air.

  At the far end sat the Headmistress.

  Her silver-white hair was coiled neatly at her nape, and her eyes—bright and clear as starlight—fixed on me with unnerving precision. She didn’t need to raise her voice. The power in her stillness was enough to command the room.

  “Ms. Hawthorne,” she said. Her tone was calm, but there was no mistaking the steel beneath it. “Please. Sit.”

  I sank into the chair opposite her desk, my hands clasped so tightly they ached. The silence stretched until I could hear my own heartbeat echoing against the walls.

  Finally, she spoke.

  “I understand you started a fire in your first class,” she said softly, as if testing the words. Her gaze didn’t waver. “And that it was… spontaneous.”

  I couldn’t tell if it was disappointment or fascination in her eyes.

  “It seems,” she continued, leaning forward just slightly, “we have much to discuss.”

  The words sent a chill through me.

  Because for the first time, I realized she didn’t sound afraid of what I’d done.

  She sounded interested.

  Sixteen

  The headmistress of the Celestial Institute, Astra Veridien, was everything the whispered rumors claimed—poised, perceptive, and impossible to lie to. Her office was more than just a workspace; it felt like stepping into a sanctum. Ancient tomes lined the curved walls, their spines glowing faintly with residual enchantments. Moonlight spilled in through the arched windows, bathing everything in a silvery wash that made the starlight crystal on her desk hum with quiet power.

  “So,” she said, voice calm and cutting. “The fire. What happened?”

  I hesitated, suddenly hyper-aware of every twitch of my fingers. “Honestly… I don’t know.”

  Her gaze narrowed slightly. Not cruel, just observant. Dissecting.

  “I was in Professor Nightshade’s class,” I added, shifting my weight. “She asked me a question, and I—I didn’t have an answer she liked. The next thing I knew, there were flames.” I shrugged helplessly. “That’s it.”

  “What kind of question?” Veridien asked, her tone deceptively mild.

  The one that backed me into a corner, I wanted to say. The one that made me feel like I didn’t belong here. Like I was nothing.

  “Something about affinity,” I said instead. “About how I couldn’t speak to my parents or grandparents about it because they were dead.”

  Her expression didn’t change, but I felt the shift in the air.

  “I’m not trying to cause trouble,” I said, the words rushing out faster than I could filter them. “I came here to learn. To figure out where I come from. What my grandfather protected me from. But I’m not here to embarrass the Institute, if that’s what this is about.”

  She leaned back in her chair, studying me like I was a half-written prophecy.

  “You’re not here to embarrass us,” she said. “You’re here to awaken what’s been dormant too long.”

  My stomach twisted. “What if I don’t want to awaken anything?”

  A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Magic doesn’t ask for permission, Elara. It answers to blood. To lineage. To need.”

  I looked down, suddenly feeling like the floor beneath me might give way.

  “I’m just a scribe,” I whispered.

  “My dear, this is exactly what matters,” Headmistress Veridien said, her voice calm but firm, like the eye of a storm. “You were placed in a situation that provoked fear, discomfort, and instinct—and your response revealed something critical. That is precisely why the Celestial Institute exists. Not simply to teach magic, but to cultivate mastery of self.”

  Her tone was measured, but it resonated. Not cold. Not kind. Just… resolute.

  I nodded, shoulders slowly loosening. Maybe she wasn’t the enemy I thought she was.

  “But,” she continued, eyes narrowing slightly, “we must also be realistic. Uncontrolled magic—especially yours—can be catastrophic. Tell me, Elara, are you at all familiar with Ignis Magic?”

  I hesitated. “No. Not really.”

  “As expected.” Veridien tilted her head, a flicker of disappointment—or was it curiosity?—in her gaze. “You’re fire-born, which makes your connection to Ignis elemental and inherent. I’m surprised your grandfather never trained you in it. Unless…” Her lips quirked faintly. “This was your first experience?”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. As much as Toru drove me insane, I suddenly wished he were here—just to help me make sense of all this.

  “Yes,” I said quietly.

  Veridien gave a single, precise nod. “Then we cannot afford to waste time.”

  Her words hit like a weight.

  “Spontaneous manifestation of magic at your age is exceedingly rare,” she went on. “Typically, it begins around seven or eight, with gradual development. What happened today was not only unexpected, it was public. Volatile. Dangerous. And it places this entire academy in a precarious position.”

  My breath caught. Dangerous. Precarious. The words echoed louder than I wanted them to.

  “You must understand, Elara,” she said, standing now, her silhouette outlined by the silver glow of the moon through her window. “I have a responsibility—not just to you, but to every student here. I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to continue within the standard curriculum until we are certain your powers are contained.”

  I nodded stiffly. “What happens now?”

  “Beginning tomorrow,” she said, walking back to her desk, “you’ll receive private training under a specialist. Someone capable of navigating the complexities of Ignis Magic.”

  I frowned. “Who?”

  She looked up from her desk with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Hideo Toru.”

  My stomach flipped.

  “I believe your… history with him may provide a foundation for your training. And frankly,” she added, with a hint of dry amusement, “it will remind him that his duties here extend beyond fieldwork. It’s time he remembered that some fires are worth tending—especially those on the verge of consuming everything.”

  I wasn’t sure why she thought that. I didn’t know much about Toru’s past—only that his parents had died in the war, and my grandfather had taken him in. By then, Toru was already of age. Their history wasn’t something either of them talked about. I had no idea how the Celestial Institute factored in.

  “Is that a problem?” she asked, watching me too closely.

  My brain scrambled for something to say. I didn’t want to train with Toru—not after last night. The man practically radiated contempt. But I didn’t really have a choice, did I? This was my shot. My chance to learn how to control the fire clawing beneath my skin and maybe—just maybe—prove I had what it took to become a Guardian of the Zodiac Stones.

  So I forced a smile. “No, it’s not a problem. Just… surprising.”

  The Headmistress nodded like she knew exactly what I wasn’t saying. “Understandable. But rest assured, Miss Hawthorne—Toru is one of the finest Ignis Masters we have. He’s demanding, yes, but his results speak for themselves.”

  I nodded, but unease coiled in my stomach. He might be a brilliant instructor, but that didn’t mean he’d treat me with anything close to kindness. If anything, I was betting he’d be harder on me than anyone else. And something told me he wouldn’t bother pretending otherwise.

  “Thank you, Headmistress,” I said, steadying my voice. “I’ll give it everything I’ve got.”

  “Good.” She stood, her robes swishing softly with the motion—a silent signal the meeting was over. “I expect you to take this seriously, Miss Hawthorne. The safety of the students here is paramount. We cannot afford another incident.”

  “I understand,” I said quietly.

  She hesitated, then added, “Your grandfather had more nerve than most. If he’d allowed us to intervene sooner, I imagine you’d already have your powers under control. With your lineage, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see you leading one of the Celestial Circles by now. Perhaps even a Sentinel.”

  Her words dug deep. I bit the inside of my cheek, trying not to rise to it. She didn’t know him. Not really. And she definitely didn’t have the right to cast blame while he wasn’t here to defend himself.

  We stared at each other for a beat too long. If she expected me to echo her criticism, she’d be disappointed.

  “My grandfather made the decision he thought was best,” I said, careful to keep my tone even. “I’m grateful for the opportunity to be here now. However it happened.”

  She raised a single brow but let the silence hang.

  I dipped my head politely. “Thank you for your time, Head Mistress.”

  Then I turned and walked out, spine straight, pulse thudding in my ears.

  I didn’t slow down until I reached the end of the corridor. Toru. Of all people.

  It didn’t matter how smug or dismissive he was—I’d do whatever it took to master this magic. Even if that meant training with a man I couldn’t figure out.

  Was that what he’d meant—when he told me to protect myself?

  But the Head Mistress hadn’t mentioned anything about Blood Magic. She’d talked about Ignis Magic like it was routine, expected. Like it made perfect sense for someone born under my star sign.

  That had to be a good sign… right?

  If everything seemed normal, then maybe they didn’t suspect a thing. Maybe no one thought I had Blood Magic at all.

  I was halfway through convincing myself of that when I turned a corner and nearly collided with a wall of muscle and tension.

  Toru.

  My heart lurched. I barely managed a step back before he caught my arm in a firm grip.

  “There you are,” he muttered, voice low and sharp around the edges. Then, without waiting for permission—or even a full breath—he dragged me into the nearest empty classroom and shut the door behind us.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  “For what?” I shot back.

  “To go,” he said. “I heard about the fire. That changes everything. It’s not safe here anymore.”

  I yanked my arm from his grasp. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He stared at me, unmoving. “Tell me what happened.”

  I opened my mouth, ready to snap that it wasn’t his concern. Because it wasn’t. Not really.

  But then… I saw it.

  Just for a moment, something passed over his expression. A flicker—not of anger, but of fear. Not for himself. For me.

  I looked away before it could settle into something more complicated.

  Toru was infuriating. Condescending. Borderline impossible to deal with.

  But he cared. In his own messed-up, emotionally constipated way, he cared.

  “And leave nothing out,” he added after a beat. “Because we’re not leaving this room until I know exactly what happened.”

  Seventeen

  I heaved a sigh. The second he used my name, I knew he was being serious.

  I dropped my book bag to the floor and crossed my arms over my chest, ignoring the way his penetrating blue eyes followed my every move.

  "I don't know what you want me to say," I said, glancing over to the window. "I started a fire. Apparently, I have Ignis magic, something you never told me I had."

  "We didn't think you had any magic besides..." He let his voice trail off, not wanting to vocalize the truth. "We expected any magic to manifest normally." He cocked his head to the side, and I hated how arrogant such a simple gesture could be when he was the one making it. "And anyway, magic doesn't manifest for no reason. Something triggers it, usually a strong emotion."

  My cheeks turned red, and I turned away from him, walking back over to a desk, any place where he didn't see my face. Because if he saw my face, I was positive he would be able to read me.

  "Well?" he asked. "Do you truly have nothing to say?"

  I whirled around. "What do you want me to say?" I asked, throwing my arms out. "That you were right? That we shouldn't have come here?"

  Toru continued to look at me with those eyes, and I hated it.

  I hated it so much.

  "I want to know what happened so I can make sure it doesn't happen again," Toru said in a voice that was surprisingly calm and void from the playfulness that usually accompanied it.

  "Why don't you ask Professor Nightshade?" I snapped before I could stop myself.

  He jerked his head back like I had slapped him until his gaze narrowed. "What do you mean?"

  I sighed. This wasn't what I wanted to have happen. "Look," I said. "It doesn't matter –"

  "It does matter," he insisted. "Lar, tell me what happened with Professor Nightshade." His tone brooked no argument.

  I knew I had to tread carefully. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I was also aware that there was something between her and Toru. Or, at least, she thought there was.

  "Honestly? She was being a bitch," I said. It was petulant, I knew, but I didn't want to put in the effort of trying to nice up my words for his sake. "She was going over what her class was about and we were supposed to be making our astrological charts. I didn't know the time, and she said something cruel, about how I couldn't ask my parents or... or even my grandfather. When she said that, I lost it."