Her fingers traced the crescent birthmark behind her left ear. The opalescent sheen of her magic, the way she’d connected with the grimoire, how easily she’d slipped through the Fold that first night with Rafe…

  The signs were there, but she refused to acknowledge them. Being Selene’s friend had already painted a target on her back. If she truly was a Resonant…

  Her reflection in the mirror on the inside door of the wardrobe caught her attention—grey eyes that sometimes took on an otherworldly gleam when she cast spells. She’d blamed it on tricks of the light, convinced herself it was normal. But deep down, she knew better.

  The grimoire pulsed again, stronger this time, and she stepped away from it. Its magic called to her in a way that went beyond simple spellcraft. The book hadn’t just chosen her; it’d recognised something in her.

  “I’m just a librarian,” she whispered to her reflection. But the words rang hollow, even to her own ears.

  Being connected to Selene’s death already made her dangerous enough. If the Concordat discovered she was a Resonant on top of that… She’d become too valuable to ignore, too dangerous to leave alone. And valuable, dangerous things in Nightreach had a habit of disappearing.

  Rafe leant against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching Vesper make her way down the stairs. Each step betrayed the ache in her muscles, yet her chin remained lifted, shoulders squared. Not a whisper of complaint had passed her lips these past days, despite the bruises he knew marked her skin.

  Morning light caught in her dark hair, lending it an almost gossamer quality. The sight tugged at something in his chest—a feeling he promptly squashed. She wasn’t here for him to admire. She was here because she needed protection, training, and guidance through the Concordat’s trials.

  “Your stance is better,” he noted, keeping his voice neutral. Even exhausted, she carried herself with the beginnings of a fighter’s awareness. “But you’re favouring your right side.”

  “Am I that obvious?” A wry smile played at her lips as she reached the bottom step.

  “Only to someone who’s been watching.” The words slipped out before he could catch them. Rafe cleared his throat. “How are the exercises I showed you? They helping with the muscle soreness?”

  “They help.” Vesper rolled her shoulders as if to demonstrate, wincing slightly. “Though I’m starting to think you enjoy throwing me around the room.”

  “If I enjoyed it, I wouldn’t be teaching you how to avoid it.” Rafe pushed off from the doorframe, gesturing toward the mat. “Ready?”

  “Sure.”

  She moved past him, close enough that he caught the scent of lavender from her hair. His fingers twitched with the memory of adjusting her form during yesterday’s session, the warmth of her skin through thin clothes. Professional distance, he reminded himself firmly. Anything else would be a distraction neither of them could afford.

  “Let’s go over defence to begin,” he murmured.

  He circled Vesper as she moved through the defensive forms he’d taught her. Her movements flowed smoother now, each block and counter precise, if somewhat predictable to an opponent. Still, watching her progress stirred an odd sort of pride in his chest.

  “Better,” he said, stepping into range. “But your eyes give you away. You look where you plan to strike.”

  He demonstrated with a slow punch. Vesper’s gaze dropped to his extending arm before she moved to block. Too predictable.

  “An experienced opponent will read that. They’ll know your next move before you make it.”

  Vesper huffed in frustration, loose strands of hair falling across her face. “How do I stop doing it?”

  “Practice. And adding another layer to your defence.” Rafe moved to the centre of the room they’d cleared for training. “Watch.”

  He reached for his magic, letting it pool in his palm before spreading outward. The air before him shimmered like heat waves rising from summer asphalt, forming an invisible barrier.

  “A personal shield,” he explained. “First line of defence against both physical and magical attacks. But it has limits.”

  To demonstrate, Rafe manifested a small orb of force and launched it at his shield. The barrier flashed bright before shattering into magical fragments that dissolved in the air.

  “One solid hit and it breaks. Some mages can maintain multiple layers, but that takes considerable power and concentration.” He turned to face her fully. “The shield buys you seconds at most, but sometimes seconds means life or death.”

  Vesper’s grey eyes focused intently on the space where his shield had been, that familiar spark of determination lighting them. Rafe found himself wondering, not for the first time, what she might be capable of once she fully came into her power.

  “Show me how,” she said.

  Rafe stepped closer, studying the way Vesper’s magic flickered beneath her skin. The past days had shown him glimpses of raw potential that both thrilled and troubled him. Her power felt different from any he’d encountered before—wild yet precise, like lightning in a bottle.

  “Close your eyes,” he said. “Picture your magic as a current flowing through you.”

  Vesper obeyed, her lashes dark against her cheeks. Her breathing steadied as she focused inward.

  “Now direct that current outward, like water spreading over glass. Let it form a barrier between you and everything else.”

  Magic stirred in the surrounding air. Rafe circled slowly, watching the shimmer trying to take shape. The shield flickered, barely visible, before dissolving.

  Vesper’s eyes snapped open. “It won’t hold.”

  “You’re trying to force it.” Rafe moved behind her, careful to maintain space between them. “The shield isn’t separate from you—it’s an extension of your will. Here.”

  He raised his hand near her shoulder, not quite touching. “May I?”

  At her nod, he guided her arm upward, palm facing out. “Feel how my shield works.”

  Rafe manifested his barrier again, letting the magic brush against her fingertips. Her sharp intake of breath told him she’d sensed it.

  “See how it flows? Like a membrane rather than a wall.” He let his shield fade. “Now you try. Don’t push—let it unfold naturally. Magic is your will made manifest…”

  Vesper’s magic rose again, this time spreading outward in a smooth wave. The air before her crystallised into a translucent barrier that caught the morning light like soap bubbles.

  “Hold it,” Rafe murmured. “Feel its edges, its strength.”

  Her shield pulsed once, twice, then stabilised. His lips parted at the look of quiet triumph on her face.

  The shield itself caught him off guard. Unlike the clear barrier he’d demonstrated, hers rippled with an opalescent sheen, like moonlight on water. The sight made his stomach clench.

  “That’s…” He swallowed hard, forcing his voice to remain even. “Different.”

  Vesper opened her eyes, pride lighting her face as she examined her handiwork. “Good different or bad different?”

  “Just different.” The lie tasted bitter.

  The shield pulsed gently, responding to Vesper’s movements as she moved. Each ripple cast prismatic shadows across her face, highlighting the wonder in her expression.

  Rafe’s chest tightened. He’d agreed to help her because she needed protection, because Selene would have wanted him to. Now, watching her magic unfold, he feared others might see his continued involvement differently. The last thing he wanted was for Vesper to think he stayed close only to exploit her abilities.

  “Is it supposed to look like that?” Vesper asked.

  “Everyone’s magic manifests differently,” he said carefully. Not technically a lie, but far from the whole truth. “The important thing is that you managed to create it at all, given the time crunch.”

  “Maybe it’s because of it,” she murmured. Their eyes locked briefly until she cleared her throat and glanced aside. “What now?”

  Rafe flexed his fingers, gathering a measure of force. “We test it, of course.”

  He struck at Vesper’s shield with calculated precision, expecting it to shatter like glass. Instead, her barrier flashed with blinding intensity. The impact rebounded, raw power surging back through his arm. Before he could brace himself, the force lifted him clean off his feet.

  The world spun. His back slammed against the far wall, knocking the breath from his lungs. Books toppled from nearby shelves as he crumpled to the floor.

  “Rafe!” Vesper’s footsteps pounded across the room.

  He raised a hand, halting her approach as he pulled himself upright. His muscles protested, but nothing felt broken. His pride, however…

  The shield still rippled before her, unchanged despite the power it had just displayed. Such defensive strength should have drained a novice completely. Yet Vesper stood steady, barely winded, concern rather than exhaustion marking her features.

  Rafe studied her with new understanding. The opalescent sheen of her magic, the raw power beneath her uncertainty—all of it pointed to capabilities far beyond what he’d initially assumed. He’d been training her like any other beginner, when clearly she was anything but.

  “Are you all right?” Worry creased her brow.

  “Fine.” He straightened, brushing dust from his clothes. “You’re going to do fine tomorrow.”

  The words came out gruff but sincere. For the first time since agreeing to mentor her, Rafe truly believed them. There was more to Vesper than either of them had been willing to admit. He just regretted not recognising it before taking her to the Concordat.

  And now she was locked into the trials and more at risk than ever.

  Rafe rubbed his shoulder, masking his unease as he watched Vesper’s shield shimmer. “We should work on controlling that feedback.” He kept his voice steady despite the churning in his gut. “A shield that powerful could draw unwanted attention.”

  Vesper’s brow furrowed. “You mean during the trials?”

  “Among other things.” He approached her shield carefully, studying how it responded to his proximity. The magic pulsed like a living thing, far more sophisticated than the rigid barriers most mages conjured. “Try letting it fade slowly, like closing your eyes.”

  The shield dissolved in a cascade of prismatic light. Vesper swayed slightly, the effort finally showing in her stance. Rafe resisted the urge to steady her.

  “Cool.” She flexed her fingers, examining them as if searching for visible signs of her power. “I felt everything—the magic, the impact…”

  “Let’s work on dialling it back.” He moved into a ready stance. “The shield is meant to deflect, not drain.”

  Vesper nodded, determination replacing uncertainty in her expression. As she raised her hands to try again, Rafe silently prayed he could teach her enough control before tomorrow’s trials. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about.

  Chapter 6

  Grey clouds scudded across the dawn sky as Thornhallow Manor’s spires pierced through the morning mist. Vesper’s boots crunched on the gravel path as she approached, each step punctuating her anxiety.

  The manor’s presence felt different today—more oppressive, its Victorian facade twisted into something altogether more sinister. Windows stared down at her like empty eyes tracking her progress across the magenta heath.

  Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She tugged at her blazer lapels, smoothing non-existent wrinkles. Perhaps she should have worn something more athletic, or that black dress⁠—

  Warm fingers wrapped around her trembling hand. Vesper’s breath caught as Rafe’s touch pulled her to the present moment. She lifted her gaze to meet his, finding steady reassurance in his dark eyes.

  “You’ve mastered more in a week than most manage in months.” His thumb traced a small circle on her palm. “Your shield work is exceptional, and your combat forms are solid. You’re ready for this.”

  The manor’s wards rippled across her skin as they drew closer, raising goosebumps along her arms. Her magic responded, the now familiar opalescent shimmer dancing beneath her skin.

  “Whatever they throw at you in there,” Rafe’s voice dropped lower, intimate against the morning chill, “I’ll be watching. You’re not alone in this.”

  Vesper squared her shoulders, drawing herself up to her full height. The trembling in her hands stilled under his touch, replaced by the steady thrum of her magic.

  Before she could form a response, a flash of amber caught her eye. Ember stood at the gates, her Concordat robes a deep midnight blue that seemed to absorb the morning light.

  “Good morning,” Ember’s voice carried across the grounds. “I trust you’re well-rested, Vesper?”

  The question held genuine concern that eased some of the tension in Vesper’s shoulders. Rafe’s hand slipped from hers as Ember fell into step beside them, her robes whispering against the gravel.

  “I’ve been appointed as your official escort for the trials,” Ember explained, leading them through the grounds. “Standard protocol—all candidates must be accompanied by a member of the Concordat.”

  The doors opened of their own accord, letting them inside Thornhallow.

  “To ensure no funny business, I assume,” Vesper mused.

  Ember smiled, sweeping her hand toward the doors. “Precisely.”

  The entrance hall stretched above them, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadow. Vesper’s boots clicked against the marble floor, each step amplified in the vast space. The sound bounced off ornate pillars and gilded archways, creating an echo.

  Ember guided them to the sweeping staircase, its carved banister cool beneath Vesper’s palm. They descended one level, then another, the air growing cold. Floating orbs of light lined their path, casting elongated shadows that marked their path.

  Vesper’s gaze caught on the portraits lining the stairwell. Stern-faced witches and warlocks stared down at her, their painted eyes following her descent. Each face bore the weight of centuries of magical tradition, their judgement as heavy as the surrounding air. One witch, her silver hair gleaming in the eternal candlelight, seemed to track their movement with particular interest, her painted lips curved in an unreadable expression.

  “Don’t worry about the portraits,” Ember said, noticing Vesper’s gaze. “They’re spelled to move, but hold no sentience.”

  “That you know of,” Rafe muttered.

  Ember chuckled, but didn’t disagree.

  The temperature dropped with each step deeper into Thornhallow’s depths. Vesper’s breath misted in front of her face as they left the grand staircase behind, entering corridors that seemed hewn from living rock. The walls held a peculiar sheen—smooth as glass, yet textured like rough stone, reflecting the light of the floating orbs in mesmerising patterns.

  Her magic stirred beneath her skin, responding to the ancient power that thrummed through the passageways. Each stone seemed to pulse with centuries of accumulated magical energy, making the opalescent shimmer dance across her arms.

  “The first witches shaped these chambers with pure will,” Ember’s whispered words carried in the silence. “No tools touched these walls—only magic strong enough to bend stone like clay.”

  Vesper traced her fingers along the wall, feeling the echo of that ancient power. The stone was cool to touch, yet seemed to hum with an inner warmth that reached for her magic.

  “The Concordat began here,” Ember continued, her amber eyes reflecting the floating lights. “Seven witches sought refuge in these caves during a time when magic users were hunted. They formed a pact to protect and preserve our knowledge.”

  Vesper had read about the seven witches in one of her books. Persecution in the human world had driven them into the reality Nightreach inhabited and they were among the first to shape this place as a safe haven for magical people and creatures.

  The corridor opened into a wider chamber, and Vesper’s breath caught. Before them stood a set of doors that seemed to drink in the light. The obsidian surface rippled like liquid shadow, etched with silver runes that shifted and changed as she watched. The symbols sparked recognition in her mind—though she’d never seen them before, something in her blood remembered their meaning.

  “The trial chamber,” Ember announced. The runes pulsed in response to her words, casting silver reflections across their faces.

  The obsidian doors swung open without a sound, revealing a vast circular chamber that was yet another marvel. Vesper’s footsteps echoed off walls of bare stone that rose into darkness, the rough-hewn surface glinting with veins of crystal that caught the light.

  Floating orbs drifted lazily through the air, casting ever-shifting shadows across the faces of assembled Concordat members. Their robes rustled as they turned to watch her entrance, a sea of midnight blue that rippled with contained power.

  Marina stood to one side, flanked by her supporters. Their faces held the same cold disdain as their leader, who tracked Vesper’s progress with narrowed eyes. The weight of their collective disapproval was impossible to ignore when it fixed on her all at once.

  Other members arranged themselves in a circle, their movements precise and practised. The air grew thick, making it harder to draw breath. Her magic responded to the charged atmosphere, stirring beneath her skin.

  The chamber itself seemed alive with magic. Ancient power thrummed through the stone, vibrating through Vesper’s boots and up her spine. The sensation intensified with each step deeper into the room until her teeth ached with it. This wasn’t just residual magic accumulated over centuries—this was something older, something woven into the very foundations of Thornhallow Manor.

  A shimmering archway dominated the chamber’s centre, its surface shifting and flowing like liquid moonlight. Vesper’s magic surged in response, drawn to the construct that towered before her. The arch seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat, calling to something deep within her blood.