3. Dante
3
Dante
H is boots scuffing against the polished floor, Dante paced the length of the conference room back at MAGIIC headquarters. MAGIIC—short for the Ministry of Arcane Guardians for Investigation, Intervention and Control—was the government department responsible for overseeing and regulating all magical affairs. Protective wards glimmered along the edges of the walls, metallic lines of enchanted sigils were etched into the room’s corners, humming with contained energy. A space of quiet authority—a blend of arcane precision and bureaucratic functionality. This was where plans were made, problems solved, and where Dante currently wanted to be anywhere else.
He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, trying to tamp down the fire itching to flare at his fingertips. He hated waiting—and whatever this was about, it wasn’t good.
Professor Amara Silverthorn stood near the room’s wide windows, her sharp gaze fixed on the city skyline. Moonlight glinted off her dark braids, a soft contrast to the hardened lines of her expression. She always had that unflappable air about her, like she’d seen every storm and walked through each one without flinching. Even now, her presence filled the space effortlessly, grounding it.
“Care to share what’s got us all summoned here?” Dante asked. He stopped pacing but leaned against the edge of the table, crossing his arms.
Amara glanced over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing. “Patience, Reed.”
“That’s not exactly my strong suit,” he said, though he straightened under her sharp look.
Lucas was perched on the arm of one of the chairs, his spiky blonde hair falling into his electric-blue eyes as he fiddled with a small metallic object. Sparks of orange crackled around his fingers as he worked, his gloves on the table. “Relax, dude. You might even learn something if you sit still for once.”
Dante shot him a glare but stayed silent, jaw tightening as he shifted in his seat. Across the table, Aiden Hart sat stiffly, his shoulders drawn up as though trying to make himself smaller. The team’s nature mage looked out of place even among familiar faces, his chestnut hair falling across his freckled cheeks as if it could shield him from the room’s collective attention.
Emerald-green eyes darted nervously between Prof. Silverthorn and Dante, never lingering long enough to risk actual contact. Aiden’s fingers twisted together in his lap, his knuckles pale from the pressure. Social situations always unnerved him, even among his teammates, who knew him as both painfully shy and profoundly talented. His magic, capable of commanding vines, nurturing growth, and healing even the gravest injuries, had earned him the codename Branch. Yet here, surrounded by people instead of plants, Aiden looked like he’d bolt if anyone so much as raised their voice.
“Where’s everyone else?” Lucas asked.
“They’re still out,” the professor said, her gaze flicking back toward the skyline. “Orion and Tristan are containing fires in the east quadrant. Kaelen is coordinating containment strategies with local responders, and Ezra is tracking the source of an unusual energy spike near the docks.” She turned back toward them. “You three were the only ones I could pull in on short notice.”
Before Dante could comment, the door swung open, and the atmosphere in the room shifted. A figure stepped inside, like he owned every space he entered. The tailored precision of his dark suit clashed with the room’s utilitarian vibe, making him stand out even more than his cool, silver-gray gaze that scanned the room.
Sebastian Blackthorn’s eyes swept over each person before meeting his own. A flicker of recognition in those gray eyes was subtle—just the faintest pause—but it was there. Dante caught it, a jolt running through him as he worked to keep his face neutral.
MAGIIC HQ, with its muted grandeur and high ceilings, suddenly felt like it was shrinking, the air growing too charged to contain both men.
“You’re late, Mr. Blackthorn,” Prof. Silverthorn said, her tone sharp with authority as she glanced up from the briefing materials in her hand.
“My apologies,” Sebastian said, inclining his head. “A prior client meeting ran over. My assistant was supposed to send a message ahead—I hope it reached you?”
“No. It did not. In the future, know that we value punctuality here,” Silverthorn replied. “Especially when lives are at stake.”
“Understood,” Sebastian said. He stepped into the room fully, his composed demeanor a stark contrast to the tension simmering between Dante and the rest of the team.
Amara gestured toward the team, her tone steady. “These are members of ARC. Dante Reed, Lucas Rhodes, Aiden Hart. The rest of their team is currently out managing critical operations. For now, you’ll be working with these three. They’ve been instrumental in responding to the recent fires.”
Sebastian’s gaze flicked over them again, his expression unreadable but lingering a moment longer on Dante. The corners of his lips twitched, as if he were debating a comment but thought better of it.
He folded his arms tightly across his chest, his posture bristling with unspoken irritation. “What’s he doing here?” he asked.
Sebastian raised a brow, his smirk returning, this time more pronounced. “Good to see you too.”
“Wait,” Lucas cut in, his blue eyes darting between the two. “Do you two know each other?”
“No,” Dante said quickly.
“Yes,” Sebastian said at the same time.
Lucas’s brow arched higher. “Uh-huh. That’s not confusing at all.”
Heat rose to his neck. “We don’t know each other,” he snapped. “We’ve just…crossed paths.”
Sebastian’s smirk deepened, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “A memorable encounter, though.”
The words hung in the air, pointed enough to make Lucas glance between them, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and suspicion. His stomach churned, irritation and something else—something he refused to name—tightening in his chest. Whatever this was, it was already off to a bad start.
Amara’s gaze cut to him. “Mr. Blackthorn has knowledge that may prove invaluable in stopping these fires. He’s agreed to consult with us.”
Dante let out a sharp laugh, the sound more disbelief than humor. “Consult? You’re bringing him in as a consultant? You can’t be serious.”
Prof. Silverthorn’s expression didn’t waver. “I’m entirely serious. And you’ll extend him the same respect you do the rest of this team.”
“That might be a problem,” Lucas murmured, smirking as he leaned back in his chair.
“Not helping,” the professor said, her tone flat but pointed enough to make Lucas shrug and fall silent.
Sebastian stepped further into the room, meeting his gaze. “I assure you, this wasn’t my idea either.”
“Good to know,” Dante shot back. “Let’s keep it that way.”
“Enough,” Prof. Silverthorn said. She stepped forward, her commanding presence demanding attention. “The fires are spreading faster than we can contain them. The sigils fueling them aren’t just advanced—they’re layered with protections we’ve never seen before. Mr. Blackthorn has seen these sigils before and understands their intricacies better than anyone here.”
Sebastian nodded, his skepticism softening. “The sigils aren’t just amplifying the fires. They’re drawing energy from the environment, feeding on everything around them. Whoever is behind this knows precisely how to weaponize elemental magic.”
Aiden leaned forward. “Have you encountered this kind of work before?”
Sebastian nodded, his demeanor professional. “A few times. Mostly in the context of tracing magical artifacts and legal disputes involving them. My focus is on magical law and preserving ancient regulations tied to artifacts and practices.”
Professor Silverthorn stepped in, addressing the room. “Mr. Blackthorn is a Magical Legal Archivist. His expertise spans both magical law and artifact history, making him uniquely qualified for this investigation.”
Lucas tilted his head, skepticism evident. “So, what? You’re here to save us from a legal loophole?”
Dante scoffs, unable to resist. “Great. Just what we needed—a desk job consultant.”
“Enough,” Professor Silverthorn said. “Mr. Blackthorn’s expertise is why he’s here. Whether you like it or not, you will work together.”
Dante opened his mouth to retort but stopped short when her stern gaze landed on him. Instead, he looked away, irritation simmering beneath the surface.
Sebastian broke the silence. “I’ll consult, but I don’t take orders. My involvement is on my terms.”
Professor Silverthorn didn’t flinch. “Fair enough. But this mission demands cooperation.”
Sebastian inclined his head. “Understood.”
Silverthorn’s gaze swept over the room, lingering on Dante for a moment longer. “This isn’t a competition. It’s a mission with lives at stake. Remember that.”
With that, she left, her presence lingering even after the door shut behind her. Sebastian moved toward the door himself, pausing just long enough to glance at Dante. “Try to keep up.”
Heat flared in his chest, but before he could respond, Sebastian was gone. The room fell quiet, tension crackling in the air.
Lucas leaned back, smirking. “This is going to be fun.”
“Shut it,” Dante muttered, flames sparking at his fingertips. Working with Sebastian Blackthorn wasn’t just going to be a challenge—it was going to be hell.
***
Dante yanked open the fridge and glared at its contents like they’d personally offended him. “We’re out of everything that matters,” he said, grabbing a carton of eggs and slamming the door shut.
The ARC dorm common area, perched high in the Spire, was as chaotic as the team that lived there. The sleek steel and glass design of the space clashed with the worn furniture and mismatched rugs scattered across the floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a stunning view of Eryndia’s skyline, the city’s lights twinkling against the night sky. Despite its modern structure, the dorm felt more lived-in than the rest of MAGIIC HQ, a place where laughter and arguments were equally at home.
Lucas, sprawled across the couch with his boots propped on the armrest, glanced up. Orange sparks flickered lazily between his fingers as he smirked. “What’s everything that matters, exactly? Or are you just mad we’re out of hot sauce?”
Dante shot him a glare, slapping a cutting board onto the counter. “I’m mad because every time I try to cook, someone else screws up the ingredients list.”
“Someone,” Lucas repeated, grinning. “You mean Aiden?”
A soft cough came from behind the dining table, where Aiden stood sorting through a pile of papers he’d collected from the library earlier. He flushed under their combined attention. “I didn’t mess up the list.”
“You volunteered to make the list,” Dante pointed out, wielding his knife with unnecessary force as he started chopping onions. “And then you stocked up on tofu. Nobody asked for tofu.”
Aiden crossed his arms defensively. “It’s versatile.”
“It’s disgusting,” Lucas muttered, flipping over onto his stomach to watch the scene unfold. “And I’m still recovering from whatever that green thing was last week.”
“It was sauce!” Aiden snapped. “You all liked it!”
“No,” Lucas said flatly. “We didn’t.”
Dante smirked, grabbing a handful of peppers, and adding them to the pile. “It was edible, which is about the best I can say for most of your experiments. But I’m cooking tonight. No surprises.”
Before Aiden could reply, the dorm door slid open with a soft hiss. Orion entered first, his shoulders tense, and his black shirt streaked with soot. Behind him, Kaelen strode in, brushing ash from his hair with an irritated mutter. Tristan followed, and Ezra brought up the rear, wearing his usual grin despite the dirt streaked across his face.
Dante didn’t bother looking up from the stove. “You all look like hell.”
“Feel like it too,” Kaelen replied, throwing his jacket over a chair. “Elementals don’t play fair.”
His interest flared. “You encountered another one?”
“Yup,” Ezra said, dropping into the nearest seat with a groan. “You should’ve dodged. You almost became burnt toast.”
Kaelen glared at him. “I recovered.”
Ezra waved a hand dismissively. “Barely. And only cause Tris’ saved your ass.”
Kaelen frowned, already heading down the hallway. “Whatever. Taking a shower. Don’t let Ezra near my food.”
Ezra’s grin widened as he sprawled out in his chair, lounging like he’d just won a battle. “He loves me. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
Lucas chuckled, shaking his head as sparks danced at his fingertips. “One day, he’s going to punch you. And I’m going to enjoy it.”
Ezra’s indigo eyes glinted with mischief. “Meh,” he replied, snapping his fingers.
As if on cue, identical versions of Ezra shimmered into existence around the room. One reclined on the couch with an exaggerated yawn, another leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, and a third perched on the arm of Lucas’s chair, smirking down at him.
“Which one’s which?” Ezra asked, and it was as if his voice came from every corner at once. The real Ezra waved lazily from his chair, his grin wide enough to rival the Cheshire Cat. “Me, me, or me? Careful, though. Guess wrong, and I might take it personally.”
Lucas scowled, swatting irritably at the illusion beside him, which burst into violet sparks and vanished. “Gods, you’re exhausting.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” the remaining Ezras chorused before fading in synchronized swirls of shimmering energy.
Dante shook his head. “Idiots.”
Ezra tipped an invisible hat in his direction, his grin still firmly in place.
Aiden shuffled toward the kitchen. “Can I help cook?”
“No,” everyone said in unison, their voices overlapping perfectly.
Kaelen’s laugh echoed from down the hall.
Dante rolled his eyes, tossing peppers into the pan as the smell of garlic filled the air. “Sit down. I’m handling dinner.”
Ezra smirked, propping his chin on his hand. “See? Dante loves us. He just pretends not to.”
“Whatever,” Dante muttered, flipping the vegetables with a practiced flick of his wrist. He was careful to keep his face turned toward the stove, not trusting himself to keep his irritation from showing.
As Dante plated the food—pasta, roasted vegetables, and garlic bread—the team began gathering around the oversized wooden dining table. The table itself was as mismatched as the chairs surrounding it, an eclectic mix of sleek metal and scuffed leather.
The team settled into their usual spots around the dining table, the clink of forks against plates filling the silence. His cooking still lingered in the air, a welcome comfort after the chaos of the day. But it didn’t take long for the conversation to shift.
“So,” Lucas began, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed loosely. “Let’s talk about our new consultant.”
Kaelen raised a brow, pausing mid-bite. “New consultant?”
Dante let out a sharp exhale, his grip tightening around his fork. “Sebastian Blackthorn,” he said, spat the name like it left a bad taste in his mouth. “Professor Silverthorn’s genius idea to drag some suit into our mission.”
Ezra leaned forward, his indigo eyes glinting with unmistakable mischief. “Blackthorn?” he said, the grin spreading across his face. “Rich, posh, and painfully attractive—Blackthorn? Please tell me he was at least a little brooding.”
Dante shot him a glare that could’ve set something ablaze. “He’s not brooding.”
Ezra raised a brow, undeterred. “Not what Eryndia’s Most Eligible Bachelors said.” He waved a hand airily, his grin sharpening. “You know, that magazine spread last year? Named him one of the top ten sexiest men in the city. He’s gay, by the way.”
Lucas groaned. “You actually read those rags?”
Ezra shrugged, clearly unbothered. “Read? No. But I skimmed that issue. Couldn’t miss the pictures. That man can wear a suit.”
His stomach twisted in a way he didn’t quite understand. “You sound like you’ve got a subscription,” he said, shoving a forkful of food into his mouth.
Ezra smirked. “Jealous?”
“Of what?” Dante snaps, a little too quickly.
Kaelen chuckled. “Sounds like you might’ve met your match, Dante. Someone else to compete for Ezra’s undying affection.”
Dante scowled, setting his fork down with a sharp clink against his plate. “I don’t care who Ezra’s into. What I care about is that Blackthorn isn’t going to do anything but slow us down.”
Aiden fidgeted in his seat, glancing nervously between his teammates. “He didn’t seem… bad,” he said. “I mean, he was polite. Professional.”
“Professional,” Lucas echoed with a scoff. “Great. Just what we need—a consultant who thinks we’re his new project.”
“He’s a magical legal archivist,” Dante muttered, tone sour. “Apparently, he’s an expert on ancient magical laws or whatever. And for some reason, that means we’re stuck babysitting him.”
Ezra leaned back, still grinning. “Could be worse. At least we’ll have something nice to look at during all the chaos.”
Dante pushed back his chair, standing abruptly. “We don’t need him. We’ve handled worse without someone like him breathing down our necks.”
Orion’s gaze followed him, steady and unyielding. “And yet, here we are. Trust the professor’s judgment. It’s not about what we need—it’s about what the mission demands.”
His jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. Aiden glanced at Lucas nervously, as if searching for reassurance, but Lucas only sighed, his expression tight.
“Guess we’ll see,” Kaelen said, his tone neutral.
Ezra grinned. “I give it a week before Dante tries to set him on fire.”
The team broke into laughter at the table, and the conversation shifted back to lighter topics. Aiden quietly slid a plate of vegan brownies onto the table, his shy smile betraying his hope they’d go unnoticed. Groans erupted almost instantly.
“Hart, come on,” Lucas said, feigning horror. “Have mercy.”
Ezra leaned back, waving dramatically. “I’ve seen enough tragedy for one day. Someone get me real dessert.”
Tristan reached for a brownie without hesitation, biting into it with the same measured calm he brought to every mission. “It’s not bad,” he said, earning an incredulous stare from Lucas and a delighted grin from Aiden.
As conversation filled the room, his focus drifted. His fork hovered over his plate, forgotten, as his thoughts circled back to Sebastian—his infuriating calm, that polished air of control that seemed to press against every frayed edge Dante tried to ignore.
It wasn’t like he was thinking about him. Not really.
But the memory lingered, tugging at something restless and uncomfortable deep in his chest. He scowled, shoving the thought aside.
Even if he was thinking about Sebastian— and he wasn’t —it didn’t matter.
And no one needed to know.