Jade
Later that night, I step into the cool air of the passages, where Logan’s waiting for me about twenty feet in.
One look at his face, and I know I’m in trouble.
“What the hell happened during your duel?”
Hello to you too. Yes, I’m fine, thanks for asking. Just got slow roasted by my best friend in front of the scariest professor at the academy, all the other first-years, and a Council investigator. Typical Friday.
“I’m doing great,” I say instead. “Really wonderful. Never better.”
“Jade.” He closes the distance between us. “There was a lightning strike. Helen’s recording orbs were destroyed. The match was called for ‘safety concerns.’”
I open my mouth to make a joke about the weather being unpredictable this time of year, but I’m so damn tired that even making a joke sounds exhausting right now.
So, I tell him everything.
“I didn’t mean to do it,” I say when I’m done. “But her heat was sucking all the air from my lungs, and the storm responded, and now Helen’s surveillance system is a pile of smoking ash.”
Logan’s quiet for a long moment.
Then, he smiles.
It’s not his polite proctor smile, or his careful I’m-hiding-something smile. It’s an actual, genuine smile that makes him look almost boyish.
“You destroyed her entire recording system.”
“I—yes? But I didn’t—”
“In the middle of a duel.” He sounds almost delighted. “While being recorded by a Council investigator.”
“It was an accident.”
“It was brilliant.” His eyes are bright, and he’s looking at me like he’s seeing an entirely new version of me.
“Reckless as hell, but brilliant. Helen has no footage of your electricity manifesting. No proof of anything unusual about your magic. She just has a freak lightning strike that destroyed her orbs.”
Warmth blooms in my chest at the pride in his voice, even though I should probably be more concerned about calling down lightning in front of my entire class than about making Logan proud.
Priorities, Jade. Priorities.
“I’m glad you approve.” I laugh nervously and take a relieved breath, since I’d been preparing for a lecture all day. “Anyway, are we hitting the Siphon Sphere tonight? I need to be ready for Felix next week, and after today I’m pretty sure my emotional control needs some serious practice.”
“We’re not training tonight.”
I blink. “We’re not?”
“There’s a Forge Party.” Logan’s eyes narrow the way they do when he’s three moves ahead. “Everyone’s celebrating the ‘good news’ about Oliver and Thad.”
Right. The party. People were talking about it at dinner, but I was too busy replaying my near-death experience to pay attention.
“Where is it again?” I ask.
“The Obsidian Caves.”
The creepy underground lava tubes on the side of the volcano. Of course. Because why would witches ever throw a party somewhere normal, like a common room or a beach?
“And we’re going because...?”
“Drunk people talk.” Logan starts walking, and I fall into step beside him.
“With the Council breathing down our necks, I need to know what rumors are spreading. Who suspects what. Who’s been questioned, and what they said.
” He glances at me, his expression downright devious.
“Forge parties are where secrets spill.”
“You want to spy on our classmates.”
“I want to protect us.” His jaw tightens. “If someone witnessed anything on Halloween that they haven’t reported yet, I need to know before it becomes a problem.”
“Great,” I mutter. “We’re going to a party to eavesdrop on our drunk classmates and identify targets for your supercharged mind-control powers. Sounds like a blast.”
He shoots me a look that’s equal parts amused and exasperated. “Just try to blend in. Act normal.”
“Am I really capable of ‘normal?’”
“No.” He doesn’t break his stride. “Just don’t electrocute anyone.”
I look down at my training clothes—fitted black pants and a tank top. “Fine,” I give in. “But I’m not exactly dressed for a party.”
“You look great.”
“Easy for you to say. You always look like you stepped out of a magazine spread for Brooding Supernatural Monthly.”
His lips twitch. “That’s not a real publication.”
“It should be. You’d be on every cover.”
We eventually emerge through an exit that deposits us on the northwestern slope of the volcano. The crack in the rock is barely visible in the darkness, just slightly darker than the shadows around it. If I didn’t know to look, I’d walk right past it.
“Wait.” I grab Logan’s arm. “Should we stagger the times when we go in so people don’t see us arriving together?”
He goes still.
“Why would we do that?”
“Because...” I gesture vaguely between us. “People will talk? The proctor showing up with the least powerful first-year to a Forge Party?”
His expression turns dark and possessive, and my pulse quickens.
“We’re going in together.” He steps closer, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear that got caught in the wind. “Yes, they’ll see us together. Yes, they’ll talk. I want them to. I want them to know that if they accuse you of anything, they’ll answer to me.”
Oh.
My heart flips, and my skin goes hot despite the wind cutting across the slope.
I should probably have a problem with this. Should probably remind him that I’m capable of taking care of myself, that I don’t need a protector, and that the possessive alpha male thing is a red flag the size of a football field.
But I’m tired of carrying secrets that are crushing me, and the idea of Logan standing beside me feels less like ownership and more like safety.
“Okay,” I manage. “Together it is.”
His hand finds the small of my back as we approach the crack in the volcanic rock, and the touch sends electricity sparking through my veins. It’s the non-magical kind—mostly.
The path is narrow enough that Logan and I can’t walk side by side. But then it opens up, and I forget about the discomfort.
Because the Obsidian Caves are stunning.
Ancient lava chambers stretch out before us, their walls made of smooth black volcanic glass that reflect the firelight in a thousand glittering points. Flames float near the ceiling, and the effect is otherworldly, like standing inside a globe made of darkness and light.
The main chamber is a massive, natural cathedral where lava once pooled. Now it’s filled with people from all four years, their laughter and chatter echoing off the walls. Everywhere I look, they’re drinking, dancing, and celebrating.
Guilt squeezes in my chest, but I breathe through it. Because it’s time to be productive and spy on my classmates with my deadly, irresistible, time-traveling boyfriend who’s announcing our relationship to the entire school in a very unsubtle fashion.
The moment we enter the main chamber, heads turn.
A cluster of second-years near the entrance exchange glances. A group of fourth-years whisper behind their drinks. Even the flames in the torches flicker in our direction, like the whole cave is taking note of the proctor arriving with the most clueless first-year at the academy.
Logan’s hand stays firmly on my lower back, a silent statement that yes, we’re here together, and no, he doesn’t care what they think about it.
“They’re staring,” I mutter.
“Let them.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’s going to get cornered in whatever passes for a bathroom around here and interrogated about your love life.”
“If anyone corners you anywhere, they’ll regret it.”
“Like Alessandra at the last Forge Party?”
His eyes harden. “Yes.”
“Got it,” I mutter, even though my heart is flipping in my chest. “Don’t corner Jade in the bathroom unless you want the proctor to fire travel you to the basement and hold your own blade to your throat.”
A satisfied smile crosses his lips. “That was me being restrained. I won’t be so patient twice.”
“We really don’t need another person showing up—”
I stop myself before saying the final word.
Dead.
“—missing,” I finish lamely. “We don’t need another person showing up missing.”
Logan’s gaze sharpens.
“Agreed. Which is why we’re observing tonight and not acting,” he says, but he holds my gaze a beat too long, and the promise in it isn’t exactly reassuring.
Together, we move deeper into the chamber, and my gaze sweeps the crowd, cataloging faces.
Sam’s near a cluster of rock formations, accepting congratulations from a group of first-years. His win in the Void Pit today apparently elevated his social status from “quiet guy who does math in his head” to “quiet guy who does math in his head and isn’t totally hopeless with a dagger.”
He catches my eye and grins, raising his cup in a toast.
I nod back, managing a smile.
Nina’s positioned against the far wall, a drink in her hand that I’d bet money she hasn’t touched. Her sharp eyes track every conversation, every interaction, every stumble and whisper.
Garrett’s booming laugh echoes off the walls as he regales a group with a story that apparently requires a lot of arm-waving.
Vera’s nearby, pretending to ignore him while hanging on every word.
Felix is laughing at something Lauren and Deidre are saying, his easy charm on full display, while Elizabeth lingers at the edges of the group looking like she’d rather be literally anywhere else.
Everything looks normal… except that in an alcove near the back of the chamber, a man with dark, silver-streaked hair leans against the wall with a drink in his hand.
He could pass for just another partygoer, given that he graduated from Blaze only three years ago and looks younger than some of the fourth-years.
“Tobias Cane is over there talking to Avery,” I tell Logan, keeping my voice low.
She’s standing close to him, her head tilted up to look at him. His posture is relaxed and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world for whatever she’s saying. And Avery’s actually talking, while Tobias listens intensely, like every word matters.
Logan’s gaze lingers on Avery, his eyes turning haunted.
“When an emberlink snaps, it’s not grief.” He pauses, his jaw working. “It’s amputation. One second they’re there, and then…” He doesn’t finish.
I reach for his hand and squeeze it.
Because he’s not thinking about Avery and Oliver. He’s remembering Miles. And ever since his emberlinked partner’s death—minus his confession on the Crown—Logan refuses to talk about Miles. So, I say nothing, waiting for the moment to pass.
I’m still watching Avery and Tobias when a voice I really don’t feel like hearing cuts through the noise of the party.
“Logan. Jade.”
I turn to find Callie Bennett approaching, every muscle in my body tensing in preparation for whatever psychological warfare she has in store for us tonight.