She’d tried everything—matching the symbols to ancient languages, attempting to channel her resonant abilities into the pages, even speaking random phrases in hopes of triggering something. The book remained stubbornly silent, holding its secrets close.

  A fresh wave of frustration surged through her. The grimoire’s pages rustled, responding to her heightened emotions, but revealed nothing new. Just the same maddening dance of text and shadow that had consumed her evening.

  Her fingers drummed against the worn leather cover. “What are you trying to tell me?” The opalescent sheen of her magic flickered across her skin, casting strange patterns on the walls. “What am I missing?”

  Vesper pushed away from the desk and began pacing the length of her room. Her magic surged beneath her skin like a living thing, demanding release. The exercises Rafe had taught her filtered through her mind—breathe in for four counts, hold for seven, release for eight.

  Her fingers trembled as another wave of power threatened to spill over. The surrounding air crackled with unreleased energy and her books vibrated in response, threatening to fall off their shelves.

  “Control. Focus.”

  Three steps to the window. Turn. Three steps back. Each movement measured, deliberate. The floor beneath her feet seemed to ripple with excess energy. Objects around the room began to float slightly, caught in her magical current.

  Vesper clenched her fists. The opalescent sheen of her magic flickered across her skin, casting ethereal shadows on the walls.

  “Seven breaths.” She forced herself to stop pacing.

  A soft knock interrupted Vesper’s spiralling thoughts. She turned to find Rafe leaning against her doorframe, a familiar pink and white packet dangling from his fingers.

  “Thought you might need these.” He stepped into the room, carefully avoiding the scattered papers. “Percy Pigs solve most problems, or so I’m told.”

  “Are those from your secret stash?” Vesper’s lips curved into a genuine smile. The first one all evening. The sight of the sweets sparked a warmth in her chest.

  “I have my sources.” Rafe’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Though I had to fight off three goblins and a particularly aggressive pixie for them.”

  “I thought I told you to stop making up stuff.” Vesper reached for the packet, her fingers brushing against his. The contact lingered, neither pulling away immediately. His skin felt warm against hers, and that familiar spark of energy danced between them.

  “I figured you needed a little sugar,” he murmured. “You were making the whole house rattle.”

  “Oh?” Vesper looked up, meeting his gaze. The air seemed to thicken around them, charged with something that made her breath catch. She found herself leaning forward slightly, drawn by that magnetic pull that always seemed to exist between them.

  But Rafe’s eyes kept sliding away, focusing on some distant point beyond her shoulder. His thoughts were clearly elsewhere, despite their proximity. Whatever moment had been building dissolved like morning mist.

  “These really are my favourite,” Vesper said, finally pulling her hand back with the sweets.

  Rafe took a step back, his shoulders tense. The warmth that had filled the space between them moments ago vanished, replaced by a sudden chill.

  “We should both get some rest.” His voice carried a forced lightness that worried her. “You’ll need a clear head.”

  But as he turned away, something caught her attention. A shimmer in the air around him. Her newfound magical sensitivity picked up on…something. An aura that hadn’t been there before. The colour was wrong somehow—not the usual gold and purple she’d come to associate with his magic. This was darker, more subdued, with edges that seemed to blur and shift when she tried to focus on them.

  Vesper blinked, unsure if she could trust what her developing magical senses were telling her. The foreign energy was subtle enough that she might have missed it if she hadn’t been standing so close.

  “Right. Clear head.” The words felt thick in her mouth as she watched him retreat. She wanted to ask about the strange aura, but her grasp of magical theory was still too limited. For all she knew, this could be perfectly normal—mages probably picked up all sorts of magical residue during their daily activities. Or it might be his mood. He seemed to be a little…cranky.

  Rafe paused at the doorway, his hand resting on the frame. “Try to get some sleep. The grimoire can wait another day.”

  She nodded, clutching the packet of Percy Pigs as he disappeared into the darkened hallway.

  The door clicked shut and a chill crept across Vesper’s skin. She pulled her cardigan tighter, but the cold seemed to seep from inside rather than out. The Percy Pigs sat unopened on her desk as she sank back into her chair, staring at the grimoire’s weathered cover.

  The symbols blurred before her tired eyes, refusing to yield their secrets. But her mind kept drifting to that strange aura she’d glimpsed around Rafe. In the few days she’d known him, she’d grown accustomed to the steady, warm pulse of his magic. This new energy felt wrong.

  Vesper rubbed her temples. The trial loomed tomorrow, another test she barely understood. She’d have to face Marina’s passive aggressive nonsense again and she wasn’t sure she’d have the patience to put up with it for much longer.

  Her fingers traced the grimoire’s spine. Those mages in the Bizarre hadn’t been there by accident—they’d moved with purpose, coordination. And now Rafe was acting strange. Was it the attack that had rattled him? Or something else?

  The memory of Marina’s smirk during the council meeting made Vesper’s stomach twist. The witch had watched them with such calculation, like a cat sizing up its prey. And now this change in his magical signature…

  Vesper picked up the grimoire, its familiar weight offering little comfort. Three problems, all potentially connected, all equally urgent. The book’s secrets could help her understand her own nature as a Resonant. The trial could secure her position—and protection—within the Concordat. And Rafe…

  She set the book down with a soft thump. Rafe was her anchor in this mad new world. If something was wrong with him, everything else could fall apart. She’d grown used to his steady confidence, his quick wit, the way he seemed to understand exactly what she needed—whether it was a magical lesson or just a packet of sweets.

  But tonight something had shifted. That brief moment when their fingers touched…she’d felt it then. Not just the usual spark between them, but something darker threading through his magic. Like whatever was affecting him had recognised her ability to sense it and pulled back, hiding in plain sight.

  The pendant he’d given her rested cool against her collarbone, its protective magic a poor substitute for his actual presence. Sleep felt impossible with so many questions swirling through her mind, but she forced herself to go to bed where her eyes closed anyway.

  Tomorrow, things would change again. And she had to be ready.

  Chapter 10

  The morning mist swirled around Vesper’s ankles as she followed Rafe through Thornhallow’s wrought-iron gates. The strange aura she’d noticed last night still lingered around him, though fainter now in the pale dawn light.

  Dew-soaked grass bordered the courtyard path, and the manor’s gothic spires pierced the low-hanging clouds above. The protective wards hummed against her skin as they passed through, their familiar resonance doing little to settle her nerves.

  Rafe’s shoulders were tense beneath his leather jacket. He hadn’t met her gaze properly since arriving at her door that morning, their usual easy conversation replaced by awkward mumblings.

  Halfway across the courtyard, he finally turned to face her. “Listen, about the trial⁠—”

  The great oak doors creaked open, spilling warm light across the misty stones. Ember emerged, her amber eyes bright despite the early hour. Her hair caught the morning light, shifting like living flame.

  “There you are.” Ember’s smile faded as she glanced between them, clearly sensing the tension. “Is everything alright?”

  “Fine,” Rafe said, a bit too quickly.

  Vesper’s chest tightened at the lie. Whatever was wrong, he wasn’t sharing it—not with her, and certainly not with Ember.

  Ember’s smile warmed as she ushered them into Thornhallow’s entrance hall.

  “Any hints about what I’m facing today?” Vesper matched the witch’s quick pace across the hall. Behind them, Rafe’s footsteps fell oddly silent.

  “The trial chamber decides what each candidate needs most.” Ember’s amber eyes sparkled with something between amusement and sympathy. “It will reveal itself when you arrive.”

  “That’s not very helpful.”

  “You know it’s not meant to be.” She chuckled. “The trials are infallible⁠—”

  “Until they’re not.”

  “We assumed the trial would be observable, but the labyrinth decided to obscure our vision.” Ember paused at an intersection of corridors, her expression softening. “The chamber won’t give you anything you can’t handle, Vesper. Trust in that, if nothing else.”

  Vesper glanced back at Rafe, who stood a few paces behind them, his expression unreadable. That strange dark aura was gone now, making her skin prickle. She turned back to Ember. “And if I’m not ready?”

  “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t. Selene saw something in you. Beatrice sees it, too. Perhaps it’s time you started seeing it in yourself.”

  Vesper felt a pang of guilt as Ember smiled at her. She wanted to tell the witch about her Resonant abilities, but it never felt like a safe time. And now the Concordat was saying that the labyrinth wanted to obscure her trial? She didn’t buy it.

  Ahead of them, movement caught her eye. Marina Sinclair glided across the hall, her elegant black robes sweeping the floor. Two other Concordat members flanked her, their faces partially hidden beneath raised hoods. They headed towards the grand staircase, their whispered conversation too low to hear.

  Marina’s steel-grey eyes flicked towards their group, but instead of the usual cold dismissal, her gaze fixed on Rafe. Vesper’s breath caught as she watched them exchange a loaded look. Marina’s chin dipped in the slightest of nods, so subtle Vesper might have missed it if she hadn’t been watching.

  Rafe’s shoulders stiffened. His face remained carefully blank, but his fingers twitched at his sides.

  The exchange lasted mere seconds before Marina and her companions descended the stairs on their way to the trial chamber, but it left Vesper’s stomach in knots. Had they been speaking behind her back? When would…? It had to be when she was talking with Beatrice yesterday. She’d had to wait for him in the entrance hall.

  Ember led them down the spiralling stone staircase, their footsteps echoing off the ancient walls. Vesper’s hand traced the cold stone bannister, her focus already splitting. Marina was trying to drive a wedge between her and Rafe, she was sure of it.

  She felt Rafe’s gaze on her back and wondered what Marina could’ve said to him in the ten minutes they’d been apart. What had she offered that had made him falter?

  The stairwell’s magical torches cast dancing shadows across their faces. Each step deeper towards Thornhallow’s heart sent a fresh wave of anxiety through her chest. What game was Marina playing?

  The air grew thicker as they descended, heavy with old magic that made her skin tingle—the chamber reading her in preparation for the second trial. Vesper’s fingers found the crystal pendant at her throat, its familiar warmth offering little comfort.

  “The chamber’s just ahead.” Ember’s voice bounced off the curved walls. “Remember, focus on your breathing. Ground yourself in the present moment. You did well on the first trial and the Concordat has faith you’ll succeed in the second.”

  Vesper nodded, forcing her attention away from Marina’s schemes and back to the immediate challenge. She couldn’t worry about Rafe now, not until the trial was over.

  The massive obsidian doors of the trial chamber came into view, their surface etched with intricate runes that danced in the torchlight.

  Two Concordat guards stood at attention, their silver-trimmed robes marking them as part of Beatrice’s personal security detail. They bowed slightly as Ember approached.

  Vesper’s steps faltered. The magical energy emanating from behind those doors pressed against her senses like a physical weight. Her Resonant abilities picked up complex layers of enchantment—protection spells interwoven with something older, wilder.

  The guards, the magic…it must be the increased security measures Beatrice ordered.

  Rafe cleared his throat behind her. “Trust your instincts, Vesper. Remember what we’ve been working on.”

  His voice sounded normal enough, but Vesper couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. She squared her shoulders, pushing aside her doubts. “I’ve got this,” she said, not looking at him, focusing on the doors ahead instead. “I know what I want to do.”

  The obsidian doors swung open, releasing a wave of raw magical energy that made Vesper’s skin prickle. Inside, the trial chamber had transformed. Gone was the arch and the ghostly mists of the labyrinth—in their place stood an ancient forge, its curved metal surface gleaming with strange symbols.

  High Witch Beatrice stood beside it, her silver hair catching the orange glow from the forge’s heart. The magical energy radiating from the structure hit Vesper in a wave of raw electricity, making her breath catch. She picked up layers upon layers of enchantment woven into the metal—spells of creation, binding, and something deeper she couldn’t quite grasp.

  The more she acknowledged her power, the easier it was becoming to tell what kind of magic lay around her. But the more complex spells, and the deeper things were wrought, she couldn’t quite make out. It reminded her of the grimoire, that infuriating blue book that refused to be read. Perhaps this was what her trial would be about.

  Along the chamber walls, dozens of unfinished magical artefacts hung suspended in various states of completion. She caught whispers from them—fragments of purpose and potential calling out to be fulfilled. A half-formed crystal sphere pulsed with divination magic. An incomplete silver chain sang with protective enchantments. Each item seemed to reach for her, seeking resonance.

  Vesper’s heart hammered. She’d have to be careful—very careful. If she responded too strongly to the artefacts or showed any sign of her Resonant nature, the Concordat would realise what she was and Marina would know for sure this time. The weight of her secret—Selene’s secret—pressed against her chest as she forced herself to look away from the array of magical items.

  But the forge’s pull was stronger, its ancient magic reaching for something inside her. Vesper clenched her fists, fighting the urge to reach back, to let her abilities surface and connect with the powerful artefact. The effort made her palms sweat.

  “Welcome to your second trial,” Beatrice said, her voice carrying easily over the forge’s deep thrum. Other Concordat members filed in behind them, including Marina, whose sharp eyes missed nothing.

  Beatrice’s voice carried across the chamber. “Your second trial will test your ability to craft magical artefacts.” Her silver robes caught the forge’s glow as she gestured to the workstations. “Each station contains an incomplete artefact and different materials that may or may not be used to complete the forging. You can only use what is provided at each workstation.”

  Vesper’s gaze swept across the three areas, her Resonant abilities picking up distinct magical signatures from each. The first station held crystalline components—raw quartz, moonstone, and obsidian fragments arranged beside delicate silver wire. The others—making three in total—contained metal implements and tools that hummed with stored energy.

  The forge’s presence dominated the chamber, its ancient magic reaching for her like tendrils of heat. A magical forge was the last thing she and Rafe had expected to be confronted with and a knot of panic began to form in her stomach. She’d been expecting combat, especially after the week they’d just had.

  “The nature of what you create is entirely your choice,” Beatrice continued. “But remember—intention shapes magic as much as skill.” Her gaze met Vesper’s. “You will be judged not only on the result but on the process itself.”

  Marina shifted among the observers, her dark robes rustling. The movement drew Vesper’s attention to the gallery above, where other Concordat members gathered to watch. Their faces were partially hidden in shadow, but their magical signatures created a tapestry of power that made Vesper’s skin tingle.

  Beatrice ascended the stairs to join them, her voice echoing. “You may begin when ready, Miss Ainsley.”

  Vesper approached the first workstation, her fingers hovering over the scattered components. An incomplete amulet lay at the centre, its silver backing carved with half-finished protection runes. Her Resonant abilities sparked at the proximity, sensing the latent magic woven into the metal.

  She picked up the amulet, turning it over in her hands. The craftsmanship was exquisite, but something was missing. The moonstone fragments caught her eye, their pearlescent surfaces reflecting the forge’s glow. Her magic recognised their potential before her conscious mind did—these stones would amplify protective enchantments. A reflection of the pendant she wore around her neck.

  Vesper selected a piece of moonstone, deliberately fumbling as she set it into the amulet’s empty setting. She could feel Marina’s sharp gaze on her back. Keeping her movements clumsy, she reached for the silver wire, letting it slip through her fingers once before catching it.

  But beneath her manufactured awkwardness, her Resonant abilities were already at work. She sensed the magical frequencies within each component, weaving them together with precise control. The moonstone’s energy merged with the silver, creating layers of protection that would shield its wearer from hostile magic.