My grip on my fork tightened, and I took a deep breath to quell the rising tide of emotions. I knew I needed to navigate this situation with grace and confidence, but the tension was palpable.

  “She’s Kennyth Browne’s granddaughter,” Orion said, leaning into me as he spoke to Lyra.

  “Oh.” She smiled at me. “Welcome.”

  I forced myself to smile back, but it was more like a grimace.

  Because she didn’t see me as a threat.

  And honestly?

  I shouldn’t want her to.

  I didn’t have feelings for Toru. I didn’t.

  And yet…

  I couldn’t help but feel a possession settle over me in regards to him, and I needed to get rid of it as quickly as I could. Before it consumed me in a way I couldn’t overcome.

  “You know,” Orion said. “Since this is your first time here, you need a tour. Why don’t you let me give you one?”

  “Yes, that would be⁠—”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Toru said with a lazy smile. “I’ll give her one after dessert. You stay there and lick your plate, like a good little pussy…cat.”

  “It’s fine,” I said quickly, turning to Toru. “You have a lot of people who want to catch up with you. Orion can take me.”

  “But—”

  “You heard her,” Orion said with a grin. He stood up, and I followed suit. “Catch up…and whatever else you need to catch to satisfy yourself, Toru.”

  Before Toru could say anything, Orion placed a hand on my back and led me out of the dining hall. Even though I needed space from Toru and Lyra, space to settle these random, unwanted feelings, I could feel Toru’s eyes on me the entire way.

  Orion led me through the halls of the Celestial Institute like he was guiding a royal tour, his boots clicking on the marble with every purposeful step. I had to practically jog to keep up—not that he noticed. Or cared.

  He didn’t glance back once to see if I was still following.

  Typical.

  “This,” he said, stopping abruptly and sweeping his arm toward a towering archway, “is the heart of knowledge.”

  I stepped through behind him—and okay, I’ll admit, it was impressive.

  The library stretched so far I couldn’t see the end of it. Shelves upon shelves climbed toward the vaulted ceiling, stuffed with ancient tomes, glowing manuscripts, and celestial charts that shimmered faintly in the light. Suspended orbs floated above us like miniature suns, casting a soft, golden glow across the rows. It smelled like old paper, stardust, and secrets.

  I kind of loved it.

  “As a Guardian participant,” Orion said, voice dipped in smug, “you’ll have access to all of this. The most profound celestial knowledge known to our kind.”

  He turned to face me like I should be gasping in awe.

  “I’ve been coming here for years, of course. I know it better than most.”

  Of course he had. And of course he did.

  He led me through rows of books, pointing out volumes on Guardian history and past accomplishments, which was cool—but every fact he shared came wrapped in a layer of self-satisfaction so thick I could practically feel it in the air.

  Eventually, we made it to the Celestial Garden.

  And I forgot how to be annoyed for a second.

  The garden glowed—literally. Flowers of every color sparkled under the night sky, petals glowing like they’d swallowed starlight. The air was warm and still, but it buzzed with energy, like the whole place was alive and watching.

  Orion stopped beside a bed of vivid orange flowers that pulsed with soft light. “Starfire Lilies,” he said, his tone gentling. “Their healing properties rival even celestial spellwork.”

  I crouched beside them, watching the petals shift like fire caught in slow motion. They were… breathtaking. And if this was a class? I was all in.

  “Come on,” Orion called, already halfway across the field.

  I sighed and followed.

  We cut through another series of elaborate halls, each one prettier and more unnecessarily ornate than the last, until we stopped in front of a pair of intricately carved double doors.

  “These,” he announced, with a dramatic flourish, “are your classrooms.”

  He pushed the doors open like he’d just revealed the gates to a secret kingdom.

  The room beyond glowed faintly, starlight-infused crystals lining the walls and casting shifting constellations across the stone. Charts, constellation diagrams, and chalk sketches moved faintly on the walls like they were alive.

  Orion launched into another explanation—celestial history, astrology, magic application. He spoke like a walking textbook, and I couldn’t deny he knew his stuff. But still…

  I kind of wanted to poke him just to see if he’d crack.

  By the time we reached the dormitories, my head was buzzing. Every classroom we’d passed promised secrets of the cosmos and a hundred ways to fall behind. I was both overwhelmed and weirdly excited.

  The dorms looked like mini celestial palaces—arched windows, silver accents, constellation-themed everything. Honestly? Not bad.

  “This,” Orion said, gesturing grandly, “is Auriga Dormitory. You’ll be staying here during your time at the Institute. All Guardian participants do. Girls’ wing’s that way, boys’ that way, and the common room’s shared.”

  He pushed open the ornate double doors, revealing a high-ceilinged space filled with deep blue couches, silver-threaded tapestries, and a fireplace that probably lit itself with moonlight or something equally dramatic.

  “Guests have to leave by nine,” Orion added. “Even if they’re renowned Sentinels.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I highly doubt Toru’s planning to hang out here like it’s a sleepover.”

  Still, I couldn’t help but be impressed. The place was luxurious, but not in a cold, museum way. It felt… safe. Like I could breathe here. Rest. Recharge. Maybe even belong.

  “Yes, well,” Orion said, stepping closer, “I never thought Toru would come back here after his brother. But he did.”

  He reached for the edge of my jacket, fingers brushing the worn leather before tugging gently. I froze, suddenly aware I was still wrapped in Toru’s jacket.

  “For you,” he added quietly.

  I blinked. “What?”

  “What are you to him?” he asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

  “What do you mean?”

  He exhaled and stepped back. “I’ve never seen him like this. Ever. He’s arrogant⁠—”

  “Wow,” I muttered. “Pot, meet kettle.”

  He ignored me. “—he thinks he’s some divine gift. He goes through women like they’re seasonal trends. Doesn’t remember names. Half-asses his duties. But with you?” His gaze pinned me. “He’s different. And I want to know why.”

  I swallowed hard. “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “You’ll have to ask him.” I cleared my throat, needing to change the subject. Fast. “So… is that it? For the tour?”

  Orion hesitated, jaw tight like there was more he wanted to say. But then he just nodded. “Come on.”

  As we stepped further into the common area, I curled deeper into Toru’s jacket without thinking. It still smelled like him—warm, woodsy, familiar.

  The Toru Orion described didn’t match the one I knew. Not completely. So which one was real?

  The one who kept his distance? Or the one who came back?

  And worse—what if I didn’t want to know the answer?

  I shook my head.

  It shouldn’t matter.

  Whatever Orion thought of Toru—or what I thought of Toru—didn’t change anything. I needed to focus. On the Institute. On the year ahead. On surviving.

  I turned my attention back to the common room, and yeah… it was stunning.

  The Auriga Dormitory’s shared space looked like a stargazer’s fever dream come to life. Everything shimmered under the soft glow of floating crystal lights. The walls were draped with massive tapestries, each one woven with silver thread that mapped out constellations mid-dance. They didn’t just hang there—they moved. Gently. As if the stars themselves were shifting behind the fabric.

  The furniture looked like it had been curated by a celestial interior designer with a flair for comfort. Plush, dark blue couches were dotted with constellation-stitched pillows. Polished wooden tables held vases shaped like stars, each filled with fresh blooms that gave off a light floral scent tinged with something… almost magical. Star maps and crystal spheres sat scattered like casual decoration, as if everyone here was just used to charting the sky from their living room.

  Then there was the fireplace.

  Wide. Warm. Glowing with soft celestial crystals embedded in the mantle. It didn’t just heat the space—it anchored it. Like the kind of place where secrets got whispered, friendships were formed, or someone could sit alone and finally exhale.

  Everything about the room radiated peace. Purpose. Possibility.

  And for the first time since stepping foot on Institute grounds, I felt something small but powerful settle in my chest:

  Belonging.

  “Your room’s this way,” Orion said, breaking the moment.

  We walked down a corridor lined with more tapestries—different constellations this time, ones I didn’t recognize but wanted to learn. I could feel them watching, waiting, welcoming.

  He stopped at a door with a delicate engraving of the Auriga symbol above it.

  Then—surprisingly—he turned to me with something that looked almost like warmth. The usual smugness had slipped away, just a little.

  “Welcome to your new home, Elara,” he said, and for once, there wasn’t a trace of irony in his voice.

  I blinked.

  Then smiled back.

  “Thanks,” I said softly.

  I wasn’t sure what kind of chaos was waiting for me beyond that door—or what kind of version of me I’d become inside it—but for now; I was grateful.

  And maybe… just a little excited.

  Thirteen

  I stepped into my dorm room with a strange mix of anticipation and full-body dread.

  This was it—my little corner of the Celestial Institute. My own space. A sanctuary, allegedly. The door clicked shut behind me, muffling the hum of the halls, and for the first time since I arrived, it was just me.

  The room glowed softly, lit by a star-shaped crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling like it had been plucked from a constellation. The light it cast danced across the walls, bouncing off silver-threaded tapestries that mapped out constellations I couldn’t yet name. They shimmered faintly, as if the stars were alive, just waiting for me to catch up.

  It was beautiful. Quiet. A little surreal.

  The bed had a canopy printed with stars—subtle, tasteful, not too princessy—which I appreciated. The mattress looked like it might actually be comfortable, and right now, that was enough to make me want to cry. A wooden desk sat beneath the window, carved with celestial motifs, already daring me to pull an all-nighter.

  Moonlight spilled through sheer curtains, soft and cool. I caught the scent of flowers on the breeze—from the celestial garden, maybe—and something in me finally unclenched.

  Against one wall stood a bookshelf filled with charts, atlases, and thick, ancient-looking texts. Not decorative. Real. Useful. Mine, for now.

  I stepped toward the mirror near the door. Its frame was delicate, etched with symbols I didn’t recognize. My reflection stared back—same face, same eyes—but something in me had shifted. Just a little.

  I didn’t look like someone pretending to be here.

  I looked like someone who belonged.

  With a quiet breath, I moved to the wardrobe and started unpacking. Clothes. My sketchbook. My necklace. Little pieces of home tucked into corners. Slowly, the space began to feel less like a catalog spread and more like something I could live in.

  Eventually, I sighed. Realized my face felt like it had been dragged through stardust and nerves. I needed to brush my teeth and wash off the day—whatever version of day this had been.

  I slipped out into the hallway and padded toward the shared restrooms.

  The bathroom, thankfully, was just as over-the-top celestial as the rest of the Institute. Soft lighting glowed from star-shaped sconces on the walls. The tiles were deep sapphire blue with flecks of silver, like I was standing on the night sky. Everything smelled faintly of lavender and something cooler—maybe starlight, if that had a scent.

  I stepped inside, suddenly aware of how tired I really was.

  There’d be time to process everything later.

  Right now?

  Toothpaste. Warm water. And maybe, finally, sleep.

  The mirrors above the sinks were framed in delicate silver, etched with constellations so fine they looked stitched in starlight. The soft light caught on the edges, throwing faint reflections of the wall tapestries behind me—each one embroidered with constellations that seemed to move when I wasn’t looking directly at them.

  The sinks were sleek; the fixtures polished silver, the kind you only saw in catalogs or fantasy novels. A bouquet of fresh flowers—probably from the celestial garden—sat on the counter, their scent floral and slightly spicy, softening the air. A shelf beside the mirror was stocked with soaps and lotions in glass bottles, each labeled in looping, silver script.

  I picked up my toothbrush and turned the faucet. The water sparkled. Not metaphorically. It sparkled.

  As I brushed my teeth, I found myself slowing down, actually noticing things. The scent of the flowers. The faint hum of starlight overhead. The quiet elegance in everything.

  The apartment I’d grown up in was small, cluttered, and always just a little too loud. This place? It didn’t just look different. It felt different.

  And I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.

  Back in my room, the soft light still glowed from the chandelier above. I padded to the wardrobe, my bare feet silent on the plush carpet, and pulled out a pair of pajamas. They were soft—like cloud-soft—and shimmered faintly under the light. Just putting them on made my body loosen in relief.

  I crossed to the canopy bed, its curtains gently tied back, waiting. The quilt was thick, the pillows perfectly fluffed. It was all too much, really. But also… exactly what I needed.

  I slid under the covers, exhaled, and let my body sink.

  The day had been a blur—tours, questions, introductions, Toru. But now, wrapped in warmth and silence, I could finally let go.

  Except—I didn’t fall asleep.

  Not right away.

  And then I really didn’t.

  A noise shattered the stillness.

  Sharp. Close. Too loud for a building this quiet.

  I jolted upright, heart in my throat. My eyes darted to the bedside table—weapon, weapon, weapon—but all I found was a book. Heavy, hardbound. It would have to do.

  I slid my legs over the side of the bed, the rustle of my pajamas suddenly deafening in the quiet.

  The soft blue glow that once felt comforting now cast strange shadows across the room, turning every piece of furniture into a potential threat.

  Something had disturbed the calm.

  And I needed to find out what.

  Every sense was on high alert as I crept across the room, book gripped tight in my hand like it was a weapon. My bare feet made no sound against the carpet, and I scanned the room like something might leap out of the shadows.

  I hadn’t imagined the noise. Something was here.

  Then I heard it—a soft voice, low and familiar, floating in from the window of all places.

  I froze.

  A chill ran down my spine. Not fear. Not exactly. Just… him.

  I turned slowly, heart pounding, and watched as the window slid open. Smooth. Intentional. Too graceful.

  And then—of course—he appeared, sliding into my room like this was perfectly normal.

  Toru.

  Smirking, cocky, and looking unfairly good for someone who just broke and entered. His expression was pure arrogance—until his eyes met mine. Then it softened.

  “Lar,” he said, voice quiet, soothing. Dangerous.

  I lowered the book. My body relaxed just a fraction. This was classic Toru—showing up uninvited, moving like a shadow, acting like the rules didn’t apply to him. Because they didn’t. Not really.

  “What are you doing here?” I hissed, voice low but sharp. My eyes flicked to the door, heart still hammering. “Are you trying to get me kicked out?”

  “Am I not allowed to check on my wife?” he asked as he shut the window behind him, like that was the problem.

  “Don’t call me that,” I snapped, arms crossing tight over my chest.

  He tilted his head. “That’s what you are.”

  His voice was soft, but the words landed heavy.

  Then he looked me over—really looked. Not the usual cocky once-over, but something slower. More searching. Like he was trying to find something in my face.

  “You okay?” he asked. “You disappeared pretty fast downstairs.”

  I hesitated.

  The image of her—Lyra Nightshade, all perfect hair and celestial confidence—flashed through my mind, and something twisted in my chest. Tight. Sharp.

  I looked away, eyes drifting to the open window like it might offer an escape.

  “I’m just surprised you managed to leave,” I said flatly. “You seemed pretty into your conversation.”

  I regretted it the second it came out.

  Toru wasn’t stupid. He played dumb sometimes—arrogant, careless—but it was a mask. A trick. And just like that, his eyes narrowed, the smirk curling slowly across his lips like he’d caught me revealing too much.

  Damn it.

  Why did I always underestimate him?

  “Are you jealous?” Toru asked.

  “No,” I said immediately—too fast—and crossed my arms like that would hide the heat crawling up my neck. The room was dim, but knowing him, he noticed anyway.

  “You are.”

  “I’m not,” I insisted. “Definitely not. You can do whatever you want with whoever you want. You’re not beholden to me, so don’t be a brat about it.”