Evie
When reality reforms, I’m lying on a bed.
It’s not my bed. The sheets are darker and softer, and there’s warmth pressed against my back—arms wrapped around me, a solid chest rising and falling against my spine, and the scent of smoke and steel filling my lungs.
Kieran.
I know it’s him before I even open my eyes, thanks to his heat signature that burns hotter than anyone else’s at the academy. It’s fierce and steady, like a forge that never goes cold.
But I’ve only read him this close twice before. The most recent was this morning in the dining hall, when he dug his nails into my skin and told me to focus. The first was in the Fury Loop, with his weight pressing me into the stone and his body doing things neither of us have acknowledged since.
The memory hits so fast my breath catches, and the heat radiating off his chest against my spine might as well be that burnt red rock all over again.
Then there’s the most important question—how am I in bed with Kieran Cross?
As the reality of this impossible situation continues to set in, my heart launches into my throat and starts hammering so hard I can feel it in my teeth.
Heartbeat elevated but steady. Approximately seventy-two beats per minute. That’s… wait. No. Stop cataloging his vital signs like he’s a research subject.
Except cataloging is what I do when I’m panicking. And I am definitely, absolutely, catastrophically panicking right now.
“You’re awake,” he says sharply enough to make me suck in a breath.
This is a dream. It has to be a dream. In what other universe would I be waking up in Kieran Cross’s bed, with him talking to me as if I belong here, and not like a colossal, career-ending mistake has been made?
At least I’m still clothed. That’s one catastrophe averted.
At the same time, it doesn’t explain why I’m here, in his bed, with his arms around me.
But I can’t stay like this with my brain short-circuiting. I have to say something. Do something. Anything.
So, I roll over and find myself looking into the deep green eyes of the man who pinned me to the ground in the Fury Loop and counted to five while the entire class watched.
His hands on my hips. His weight pressing me into the stone. Those green eyes holding mine while he counted, his voice dropping low, like the words were meant for a room with a locked door and not a training circle full of first-years.
Heat floods my cheeks at the memory.
Is that even possible? I’m already at maximum capacity. My face might actually combust. Especially because I’m suddenly, viscerally aware of how solid he is—all lean muscle and controlled strength, the kind of body that’s been forged from years of weapons training instead of magical shortcuts.
Focus, Evie. Data points. Why are you here? How did you get here? What’s the last thing you remember?
I pull away and sit up, and just like that, the memories flood back.
Searching for Oliver.
The Crown.
The explosive heat signatures scorched onto the stone.
The man who found me, put his arms around me, and fire traveled me out of there.
It was him. Kieran Cross.
“How…” I clear my throat and try again, but the words come out stammering anyway. “How did you… I mean, where did you…”
“Find you? I go to the Circles every morning before dawn to check on each one.”
Right. Of course he does. Kieran Cross probably hasn’t slept past five in the morning since he learned how to hold a blade.
“You were on the Crown,” he says, harder now, sitting up as well. “Lying on the volcanic rock in the freezing cold.”
“I found Oliver.” The words tumble out. “On the Crown. Well, I didn’t find him. I found his heat signature burned into the rock, and there’s no trail leading away, no evidence of departure, just this blast pattern, like a bomb went off, and I can’t… I don’t…”
“Evie,” Kieran cuts through my rambling. “Stop.”
“I need to report what I found.” My words are coming out faster now, more panicked. “If the faculty knows, they can investigate.”
“You can’t tell anyone,” he says, sharp enough to cut. “No one can know you were on the Crown.”
“Because I’ll be expelled. I know. But Oliver—”
“Not because you’ll be expelled.” He runs a hand through his dark hair and takes a long, deep breath. “There are things about the Crown that students aren’t allowed to know. Things that would cause problems.”
“What kind of problems? What don’t students know?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. I can practically see him weighing options, calculating risks.
He finally meets my eyes, and there’s resignation in his expression. “The Crown doesn’t just amplify magic while you’re standing on it,” he says slowly. “The amplification is permanent.”
I run the words through my brain, looking for alternate meanings, context clues, anything to make sense of them.
Permanent.
Definition: lasting or intended to last indefinitely.
As in: not temporary.
As in: forever.
“You’re saying that anyone who steps onto the Crown gets stronger. Forever.”
“Yes,” he says, and the word comes out flat, like he’s handing me a blade and waiting to see which direction I point it. “Your magic leveled up when you stepped on that rock, and it won’t go back down.”
I blink a few times, taking in the implications.
Because if the Crown permanently amplifies magic, the competitive advantage would be enormous.
Students would risk anything to access it.
Faculty would exploit it. Families would fight over it.
The entire structure of magical society is built on inherited ability, bloodline power, and natural talent, so if anyone could climb to the top of a volcano and get stronger. ..
“That’s why the Crown is forbidden,” I breathe. “It’s not because of the danger, but because it would destabilize the world as we know it.”
“Among other reasons.” He stands, moving to the window.
The sun is almost finished rising, pale pink light spilling across his room.
A weapons rack hangs on one wall, each blade arranged by size and function, just like he instructed in his lecture on weapon maintenance.
His desk holds only whetstones and a polishing cloth.
There are no personal touches, no softness, and nothing to suggest anyone actually lives here…
minus the worn violin case sitting in the corner.
Kieran Cross plays violin?
I bite my lip, filing that away for later analysis. Much later. When I’m not sitting in his bed trying not to stare at his perfectly sculpted arms while my entire life falls apart around me.
“The truth about the Crown is restricted to faculty,” he continues. “When any faculty member leaves the island permanently, their memories get rearranged. They remember that the Crown is dangerous and forbidden, but knowledge of the permanent amplification is erased.”
I frown. “But witches can’t compel witches.”
Kieran turns from the window, and the darkness in his expression cuts deeper than any blade on his weapons rack.
“Most witches can’t compel witches,” he says carefully. “Someone here can.”
I stare at him, waiting for him to take it back.
He doesn’t.
“That’s not possible,” I finally say.
“That’s why I prefer steel. It doesn’t change the rules on you.” His gaze doesn’t waver. “Old magic does, and this island is soaked in it. Especially on the Crown.”
A witch who can compel other witches. At this academy.
“Who is it?” I ask.
“That information is classified.” He moves back to the bed, and my heart rate spikes as he sits on the edge, close enough that I can see the individual lines of the crossed swords tattooed on his back. “No one can know you were on the Crown. If they do, you’re a walking target.”
The threat settles over me, heavy enough to feel in my bones.
I went to a forbidden location. Discovered a secret that could destabilize magical society. Also, my brother is missing.
This can’t be real. Any moment now I’ll wake up in my bed and realize I had too much fire wine at the Halloween Ball, and that none of this ever happened.
As it is, I close my eyes and reach for my heat sensing magic, wanting to test the extent of the Crown’s amplification.
Kieran’s heat signature blazes beside me. His core temperature is elevated, there’s an increased blood flow to his extremities, and his magic boils hot beneath his skin.
Normal. I’ve always been able to sense someone who’s this close to me. Usually that person isn’t Kieran Cross, but the principle remains the same.
Curious, I reach further, and it’s like someone turned up the volume on a radio I’d grown used to keeping low.
Heat signatures flare throughout the buildings. Faculty milling around in their quarters. Students beginning to stir. The kitchen staff moving around the dining hall.
Not normal. It’s not anywhere close to normal.
“Evie,” Kieran says, yanking my focus back into the room. “You can’t tell anyone what you know.”
I open my eyes and find him watching me with an intensity that makes my heart rise into my throat.
“I won’t tell anyone.”
“Not even Jade.”
My stomach twists. Because Jade’s my closest friend here. We’re roommates.
But this knowledge would put her at risk too, and I won’t put her in the same position I unwillingly landed in. One full of secrets and lies and…
Oh, gods. I’m not meant for this.
“Evie,” Kieran repeats, and when I look at him, he’s watching me with so much intensity that I half expect him to produce a blade out of thin air.
“Okay. Not even Jade,” I repeat, the words scraping like glass in my throat.
“Not your family. Not Felix. Nobody.” He leans forward, each inch deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine. “Every person you tell becomes a liability.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” He nods once, sharp and final.
“But by helping me keep this secret, you’re risking yourself too,” I realize. “If anyone finds out that you know I was on the Crown and didn’t report it…”
“I’m aware.”
“You could be fired. Memory-wiped. Your career here would be over.”
“I said I’m aware.” His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping beneath the skin.