Jade
The Starflare Ballroom looks wrong in the daylight.
Two nights ago, the enchanted dome displayed shooting stars, the seven massive fireplaces burned with purpose, and couples spun across the constellation-mapped floor while the orchestra played.
I walked through those towering doors on Oliver’s arm, dressed as the Persephone to his Hades, guilt burning a hole through my chest with every step.
Now the dome shows the gray November sky. The orchestra pit is empty. The air smells like cold stone and dead ash instead of champagne and cinnamon. And the fireplaces...
Six of them burn, their flames muted and subdued. The Passion Fire barely flickers. The Truth Fire has gone almost entirely still. The Memory Flame shows only shadows.
At the center of the room, where the Unity Flame has burned steadily for over a thousand years, there’s only cold, dead ash.
I did that. A thousand years of continuous fire, and I snuffed it out with my storm.
Static prickles along my fingertips, and I press my nails into my palms until it stops.
We’ve been here for a few minutes, clustered in groups while Helen Finchman’s recording orbs drift overhead. But I can barely focus on them. Because all I can see is Oliver.
“You look beautiful tonight. Persephone suits you.”
“Thanks. And you make a great Hades.”
“Without the kidnapping and forced pomegranate eating parts.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, but that just sharpens the memories.
Oliver’s smile was warm and genuine as he spun me across the constellation floor, unaware that Logan was watching from the Revelation Flame, wanting to kill him for touching me.
I spent every second of that dance looking over Oliver’s shoulder, counting down the minutes until I could escape to Logan.
Now, Sam’s droning on about magical theory.
Elizabeth and Francis are having the world’s most stilted conversation about weather patterns.
Garrett’s trying and failing to flirt with Vera.
No one’s saying anything real, because Helen’s orbs are watching, recording every word, every micro-expression, and every nervous fidget.
I’ve reorganized my rings three times already.
Helen stands near the Memory Flame, one hand resting on her pearls. Every few minutes, she tilts her head toward the fire, birdlike and curious, studying it with an intensity that doesn’t match her warm smile.
“Good morning, students,” she says through the forced chatter.
“I know this morning has been stressful, but these memory verification sessions are nothing to worry about. Councilman Cane simply needs to establish clear timelines for Halloween night. Each of you will speak with him privately for approximately ten minutes.”
Ten minutes of someone poking around inside my head.
My brain itches at the thought.
“If Councilman Cane needs additional time with any student, he’ll ask them to remain at the end for an extended session.” Her eyes sweep the room, and I swear they linger on me for a fraction of a second too long. Or maybe she was looking at Nina, who’s sitting next to me. I can’t tell.
I fidget with my gold bracelet, twisting it so hard the metal bites into my skin.
“Professor Carver will escort you to the Observatory one at a time.” Helen gestures at Delia, who’s examining a tapestry on the wall like it contains the secrets of the universe. “We’ll proceed alphabetically by surname. Any questions?”
No one raises their hand. Because what are we supposed to ask? Hey, Helen, quick question—what happens if the Council’s memory specialist discovers that one of us covered up a double homicide on a volcanic peak during a lightning storm she created with her goddess-given powers?
“Wonderful.” Helen claps her hands together once. “Nina Aldridge, you’re first.”
Nina moves forward with the kind of calm I genuinely can’t fathom.
Her face betrays nothing—not nervousness, not fear, not even mild discomfort.
She just smooths down her shirt and follows Delia out of the ballroom, like she’s heading to a routine doctor’s appointment instead of an investigation session where her mind will be invaded.
How is she so calm? HOW?
The minutes crawl by like hours.
I try to distract myself by counting the constellation patterns in the floor, watching the flames dance in their fireplaces, and listening to the murmured conversations that nobody means.
But no matter how hard I try not to let them, my eyes keep drifting to the empty brazier at the center of the room.
Delia returns ten minutes later without Nina in tow. “All went well,” she says to Helen, although she’s as fidgety as the rest of us. “The Councilman is ready for the next student.”
Helen gives Delia a curt nod. “Henry Baker,” she calls.
Henry goes. Delia comes back empty-handed fifteen minutes later.
“Elizabeth Bradley.”
Elizabeth goes. Delia returns.
“Caleb Chen.”
Caleb goes. Delia comes back.
Each name called is another step closer to my turn.
Maybe it’ll be okay. Maybe Tobias can only see surface memories. Maybe he won’t dig deep enough to find—
“Rebecca Gibson.”
Rebecca goes. Delia returns.
“Jade Harrington.”
The world narrows to a pinpoint.
Delia stands in the doorway, clipboard in hand, that same scattered expression on her face.
“Jade.” Evie’s hand rests on my elbow. “Your turn. You’ve got this.”
No. I really, really don’t have this.
But I can’t do anything except put one foot in front of the other, walk toward Delia, and follow her up the circular steps to the Observatory where Tobias Cane is waiting to crack my skull open and see every terrible thing I’ve done.
As we walk, Delia fills the silence with a stream of consciousness I can barely follow.
“Fascinating architecture, really, the way the Observatory connects to the main building. Most people don’t realize it was added during the third expansion in 1847, which was controversial at the time because the original architects believed that…”
Tuning her out, I visualize the glass sphere Logan told me to picture in my chest when I need to contain my magic. I’m supposed to identify my emotion, contain it, and seal it behind curved glass where it can buzz without breaking free.
Fear. Guilt. Oliver’s body hitting volcanic rock.
I imagine each emotion as a bright, terrible object and push it behind glass, sealing it shut one by one.
Thunder rumbles in the distance, cutting through my thoughts.
“Oh my.” Delia pauses on the landing, peering out a window at the darkening sky.
“The weather on this island, honestly—one moment it’s perfectly pleasant, the next the volcano is throwing a tantrum.
Did you know that volcanic islands often have their own unique microclimate patterns? It’s because the…”
She keeps talking, but I’ve stopped listening. Because outside the window, clouds are gathering, thick and dark, churning with the kind of storm energy that doesn’t come from weather patterns or volcanic microclimates.
They have to be from me, right?
Pressure builds behind my ribs, and the air tastes like metal. It’s that sharp, ozone tang that means my magic is leaking, the storm inside me reaching out to the one brewing outside.
Yep. Definitely from me.
“Here we are!” Delia gestures to a door at the top of the stairs. “Councilman Cane is waiting inside. I’ll be right here when you’re finished. It shouldn’t be more than ten minutes or so.”
“Thanks,” I manage, and then, somehow, I push open the door.
The Observatory is stunning under normal circumstances—a circular room topped by a massive glass dome that offers an unobstructed view of the sky.
A giant brass telescope sits in the center, astronomical instruments line the walls, and the floor is inlaid with a detailed star map that mirrors the one in the ballroom below.
But right now, all I can see is Tobias Cane.
He stands in the center of the room, his pale eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. Even though he looks only a year or two older than Logan, those eyes have a depth that makes it seem like he’s carrying the weight of centuries.
“Jade Harrington,” he says, softer than I expected. “Please come in. You can close the door behind you.”
I do as he says, my hands trembling as I push the heavy door shut. The click of the latch sounds like a death knell.
“I’ll try to make this as quick as I can.
” He gestures at a chair positioned across from another that I assume is his own, then adds, more gently, “There’s no need to worry—this isn’t an interrogation.
I’m just trying to figure out what happened to your teacher and friend.
So, I’ll ask questions, and you’ll answer.
The fire does the rest. That’s all. Okay? ”
That’s all. Sure. Just answer honestly about how I watched my roommate’s brother get murdered by my professor multiple times in a row—because oh right, time travel exists—and then called down lightning from the sky to destroy the evidence.
I sink into the chair, my legs grateful for the support.
Through the dome above us, the storm clouds continue to churn. They’re darker now, close enough that I swear I can feel their weight pressing against the glass.
“I always think it’s best to start with the basics.” He sits across from me, motionless in his chair. “Do you remember where you were when the Unity Flame went out?”
“I’d stepped outside for some air,” I say, steadier than I expected, thanks to how many times I’ve repeated this story. “It was getting stuffy in the ballroom, you know? All those people, the fireplaces, the… anyway. I was outside when the storm hit.”
Truth. Technically.
“You left your date alone at the ball?” He studies me with unnerving focus.
“Oliver was talking to his friends. Tyler and Avery, I think.” I grip the armrests of my chair, forcing myself to meet his unsettling gaze. “I told him I’d be right back.”
“And when the storm began?”
My fingers tighten on the armrests. Every question feels like a trap with a false bottom, and I can’t tell how far the drop goes.
“I got turned around.” The lie flows easier now from practice. “The wind was insane, and I couldn’t see anything. There was rain everywhere. I just kept moving until I found my way back to the ballroom.”
That explains the mud, the disheveled dress, and the time I was gone. At least, it should. If I say it with enough conviction, maybe the gap between what happened and what I’m describing will stop clawing at my ribs.
“By then, the Unity Flame was already out,” I continue, because silence feels more dangerous than talking. “People were crying, the decorations were destroyed, and I couldn’t find Oliver anywhere.”
“That sounds overwhelming.” He pauses, and I swear I see a flash of silver in his eyes. “Did you see Oliver after you left the ballroom? Or at any point during the storm?”
“No.” The word comes out fast and sharp. “I looked for him after everything calmed down, but I couldn’t find him. I assumed he went back to his dorm, or maybe he was helping with cleanup. I didn’t realize he was missing until breakfast the next morning.”
The lies are stacked so high I can barely see over them. My bracelet is going to have finger-shaped dents by the time this conversation is over.
“Your hands haven’t stopped moving since you sat down.” He glances at them, then back to me, with what seems to be genuine concern in his eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay? I know this must be harder for you than most, since you went to the ball with him and are friends with his sister.”
“My friend and a teacher are missing.” I manage a shaky laugh. “Of course I’m nervous.”
“True.” Tobias is quiet for a moment. “But there’s a difference between nervous and guarded. You seem guarded.”
My heart nearly stops. “What?”
“The mind protects itself by burying what it can’t process,” he says, softer now, his eyes going far away for a second. “My job is to find what’s been buried, and I always do my best to be careful. So if anything feels off, I want you to tell me. Okay?”
Do my best.
That’s… not reassuring.
Outside, thunder rumbles, closer now.
Glass sphere, I remind myself. Put it in the glass sphere. Maybe if I contain the truth enough, he won’t be able to see it. I’m powerful, right? Chosen by a goddess? And Logan’s compulsion doesn’t work on me, so I should absolutely be able to block Tobias from my mind.
“I’ll only be viewing surface memories from the night of the ball.
It won’t hurt.” He waits, and I realize he’s asking permission.
So, I give him a small nod, and he reaches for my temples, the golden fire around his fingertips casting his sharp features in warm light.
His fingers make contact, and the pressure is immediate and enormous, like a fist closing around the inside of my skull.
“You’ll feel a slight pressure, and then—”
The glass sphere shatters.