5. Dante
5
Dante
D ante pushed the heavy oak door open, his shoulders tight with irritation. “You know, most people don’t get a free pass to MAGIIC’s archives,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at Sebastian. “Try not to break anything or I’ll have to explain it.”
Sebastian followed, his polished shoes barely making a sound on the marble floor. “You wound me,” he said, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt and leveling his gaze at the pyromancer. “I’d never break anything…unless it was worth my time.”
Dante froze mid-step, his brain tripping over the words. Was that…? No. Couldn’t be. His face warmed despite himself, and he quickly turned away, muttering, “Yeah, well, the last thing I need is Amara breathing down my neck because some consultant decided to go poking at the wrong artifacts.”
Sebastian’s smirk lingered as he moved past Dante, his tone light but laced with amusement. “Then I’ll be sure to poke responsibly.”
Dante clenched his fists and forced his gaze to the bookshelves ahead, ignoring the heat creeping up his neck. It was going to be a long day.
The MAGIIC HQ archive wasn’t like the libraries Dante had grown up with—no worn paperbacks or mismatched chairs here. Towering shelves carved from dark wood lined the walls, each filled with ancient tomes, glowing scrolls, and artifacts locked behind shimmering wards. The hum of protective enchantments filled the air, subtle but constant, a reminder that this was a place meant for precision, not improvisation.
“Besides,” Dante added, his gaze sweeping the rows of books as they made their way to one of the large reading tables near the center of the room, “this isn’t my idea of productive. But everyone else is out on missions, so lucky me, I get to babysit.”
Sebastian chuckled, his expression betraying no offense. “Babysitting? I thought I was consulting.”
“Yeah, well, call it whatever you want,” Dante said, dropping into one of the chairs with a huff. “Just don’t touch anything without asking first.”
“Understood,” Sebastian replied, pulling out a chair opposite Dante and draping his jacket neatly over the back. He surveyed the table, which was already laden with books and scrolls Amara had left for them. “Though if I may, it’s refreshing to see this level of dedication to preserving magical history. Most places aren’t this thorough.”
“Most places don’t have to deal with half the crap we do,” Dante said, flipping open a large book with more care than his tone suggested. The neat rows of text were crammed between complex diagrams, their annotations written in a spidery hand that made his head ache just looking at them. He frowned, squinting at the page. “What are we even looking for?”
“Patterns,” Sebastian replied, already scanning a book bound in deep green leather. “Anything that might connect these fires to known rituals or sigil practices. The marks left behind aren’t common, which suggests something older. Something specific.”
Dante grunted, turning another page. “Yeah, well, older doesn’t always mean better. Sometimes it just means harder to read.”
“Patience,” Sebastian said, not looking up. “I thought that was a virtue ARC valued.”
Dante snorted. “Patience is for people who like sitting around in libraries. I’d rather be out there finding the bastards lighting up half the city.”
“An admirable sentiment,” Sebastian said, the corner of his mouth twitching as he jotted something down in a small notebook. “Though not particularly practical.”
“You think this is practical?” Dante gestured at the pile of books in front of him.
“It’s called research,” Sebastian replied, his tone dry. “And considering how often your team ends up on fire, I’d say it’s overdue.”
His head shot up, a retort already forming on his lips, but Sebastian’s smirk stopped him short. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Immensely,” Sebastian said, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
Dante gritted his teeth and turned back to his book, muttering something about smug consultants under his breath. He forced himself to focus on the text in front of him, but the cramped writing and endless diagrams only added to his growing frustration. Minutes ticked by, each one more grating than the last, until his patience finally snapped.
“This is ridiculous,” he said, tossing his pen onto the table. “Half these books read like a drunk mage’s fever dream.”
Sebastian didn’t glance up from the notes he was meticulously compiling. “Perhaps if you approached it with less hostility, the material would cooperate.”
Dante rolled his eyes. “You talk about it like it’s alive.”
“Who’s to say it isn’t?” Sebastian turned a page in the tome he was studying, his gaze flicking across the lines. “Magic is rarely straightforward. Neither is its history.”
“And neither are you,” Dante muttered under his breath, grabbing another book from the stack.
Sebastian smirked but didn’t reply, letting the silence settle between them. The hum of the archive’s wards filled the air, broken only by the occasional rustle of pages and the soft clink of glass as Sebastian reached for a cup of water.
Dante slammed a book shut, the sound reverberating through the quiet library. “This one’s useless too,” he growled, shoving it aside. “Who needs thirty pages on the history of fire magic without a single mention of sigils?”
Sebastian glanced up from his notes, his brow lifting. “Maybe if you actually read those thirty pages, you’d find the context useful.”
“Or maybe whoever wrote this should’ve gotten to the point,” Dante snapped. “Why is this always such a damn puzzle?”
“Because magic is layered,” Sebastian said. “Unlike your preferred approach, which seems to involve charging headfirst and hoping for the best.”
Dante stiffened. “You think I don’t take this seriously?”
“I didn’t say that.” Sebastian’s smirk widened, his pen still moving across the page. “But it’s clear you prefer action to reflection. Admirable, if a bit…predictable.”
“Predictable?” Dante barked a laugh, leaning forward across the table. “Coming from the guy who just walks in and acts like he owns the place?”
“I do know my way around,” Sebastian replied without missing a beat. “That’s why we’re making progress.”
“Progress?” Dante gestured to the stack of unread tomes in front of them. “I don’t see progress. I see hours of wasted time.”
Sebastian finally set down his pen, fixing Dante with an unreadable look. “Do you really think this investigation is going to resolve itself in a single day?” His tone was calm, but there was something sharper beneath it.
Dante scowled, heat flaring in his chest. “I don’t want to sit around waiting for answers to fall into our laps, if that’s what you mean.”
“And yet,” Sebastian said, his gaze unwavering, “here you are. Sitting.”
The words hit their mark, and for a moment, Dante was silent, the tension between them crackling like a fire waiting for kindling. He clenched his fists, his mind racing with retorts he couldn’t quite voice.
“You don’t understand me,” Dante muttered. “People like you never do.”
Sebastian’s smirk faded, his expression shifting to something quieter, more discerning. “People like me?” he asked. “You’ve already decided who I am, haven’t you?”
Dante leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “It’s not hard. Fancy suit, perfect hair, grew up on the right side of the city. Bet you never had to scrape for anything in your life.”
For a moment, Sebastian didn’t reply, his gaze steady as if weighing his next words. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a pointed edge. “You think I’ve never dealt with a mess before?”
Dante snorted, the sound sharp and bitter. “Yeah, maybe the kind you can fix with a check and a phone call. People like me? We’re the ones left with ash under our nails, trying to fix the fallout.”
Sebastian’s brow furrowed, his smirk he usually wore fading into something unreadable. “And you think sitting here, doing this research, doesn’t matter?”
“It’s not about the research,” Dante snapped. “It’s about people who don’t know what it’s like to live in the middle of that mess. Not sit back in some cushy high-rise or read about it in a book and call it ‘understanding.’”
Sebastian’s gaze remained steady, unflinching against his anger. “And how’s carrying all that weight by yourself working out for you?”
The words landed with a precision that made His shoulders tense. He looked away first, grabbing another book from the stack and thumbing through it roughly. “You don’t know me.”
“Not yet,” Sebastian said. “But you could let me.”
Dante froze for half a beat before burying himself in the book, muttering something incoherent under his breath. He flipped through the pages, its words whispering against his fingertips as his frustration simmered just below the surface. A blur of diagrams and text passed before his eyes, none of it immediately helpful. “Why does everything written in old magic sound like it’s trying to confuse people on purpose?”
“Probably because it is,” Sebastian said without looking up, his pen moving steadily across a notepad. “Obfuscation keeps power in the hands of the few. It’s a common tactic throughout magical history.”
Dante frowned, his finger pausing on a sigil sketched in the margin of a page. It wasn’t exactly like the ones they’d seen at the fire sites, but something about its jagged lines felt familiar, like a melody he couldn’t quite place. “Hold up,” he said, straightening. “This looks…close.”
Sebastian glanced up, setting his pen aside. Instead of responding, he rose smoothly and came around the table, moving to His side with the same deliberate ease he brought to everything. He leaned over, close enough that Dante caught the herbal scent of whatever cologne he wore. “Let me see.”
Dante shifted in his chair, hyper-aware of Sebastian’s proximity as the other man bent over the book. Sebastian’s arm brushed against his, and though the touch was fleeting, it sent an involuntary spark of tension through his chest. He held his breath, unsure if Sebastian noticed—or cared.
“Similar,” Sebastian murmured as his finger hovered just above the sigil, careful not to touch the fragile page. “But not exact. It could be an earlier iteration, maybe even a prototype.”
“A prototype?” Dante echoed, his frustration mingling with the strange tightness in his chest. “What, like someone’s been doing arts and crafts with fire sigils?”
Sebastian’s gaze flicked toward him for a moment. “Hardly. But magic evolves, just like anything else. Techniques get refined. What we’re seeing now could be the culmination of older, forgotten practices.”
Dante leaned back in his chair, putting a sliver of distance between them as he stared at the sigil. It felt like it might reveal answers if he glared hard enough. “So, what does that mean for us?”
“It means,” Sebastian said, straightening with infuriating composure, “we’re dealing with someone who isn’t just throwing fire around for fun. They’re methodical. And they’re drawing from sources most people wouldn’t even know exist.”
Dante let out a slow breath, his irritation softening as the pieces started to align in his head. “Okay. That’s…something.”
Sebastian’s smirk returned, softer this time, as he leaned against the edge of the table. “Progress, even. Congratulations.”
Dante groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Don’t start.”
Sebastian chuckled, the sound infuriatingly pleasant as he pushed off the table. “What? I was going to compliment your excellent teamwork.”
Dante shot him a glare, but he couldn’t fully ignore the flutter of nerves that lingered where Sebastian’s arm had brushed his. Whatever this was, it was going to drive him insane. “I’m still not convinced you’re useful.”
“Of course not,” Sebastian replied, his tone maddeningly pleasant. “But that’s what makes this so enjoyable.”
***
Sebastian’s phone buzzing broke the quiet rhythm of the library, drawing his attention just as he was flipping through yet another book. Sebastian glanced at the screen, his brow furrowing before he answered with a smooth, practiced tone.
“Sebastian Blackthorn,” he said, his tone shifting into something sharper, more professional. He listened for a moment, his expression unreadable, before responding, “Understood. I’ll handle it.” With that, he slipped the phone back into his pocket.
“What’s that about?” Dante asked, trying to sound disinterested as he leaned back in his chair.
“I need to stop by my office,” Sebastian replied, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. “There are some files I need to pull for another case.”
“Another case?” Dante raised an eyebrow, tapping his fingers against the table. “Thought you were all in on this little fire hunt.”
“ARC doesn’t pay my bills,” Sebastian said, shrugging into his jacket. His gaze flicked to Dante, his expression softening just enough to add a teasing edge to his words. “You should come with me. It’ll be quicker with company—and more fun than sitting here glaring at books.”
Dante snorted. “Yeah, because watching you file paperwork sounds like a riot.”
Sebastian chuckled, unfazed. “Think of it as an excuse to get out of this library. Besides, we can grab dinner after. My treat.”
Dante hesitated, the automatic refusal catching in his throat. The thought of a decent meal—and a chance to understand what made Sebastian tick—nudged at his curiosity. “Fine,” he said finally, shoving the book away. “But if this there’s no food, I’m out.”
“Deal,” Sebastian said, his smirk widening as he started for the door.
***
Dante glanced up at the gleaming building Sebastian had led him to. “This where you work?” he asked. “Looks like the kind of place that charges you for breathing too hard.”
Sebastian glanced back. “You’re not entirely wrong.”
Dante stepped through the revolving doors after him, immediately hit by a blast of cool, clean air. The scent of polished wood and something antiseptic hung in the space, a sharp contrast to the smoky tang that still clung to his jacket off the streets. He glanced around, taking in the polished marble floors and the efficient hum of people who looked like they belonged here.
Professionals in tailored suits moved with purpose, their heels clicking sharply against the tiles. Dante resisted the urge to tug at the hem of his shirt, painfully aware of the contrast between his worn boots and the gleaming leather loafers sweeping past him as Sebastian guided them toward the elevators.
The elevator chimed as the doors opened, and he stepped inside, casting a glance at Sebastian’s reflection in the polished steel walls. The man looked at home here as though he’d been born knowing which button to press and where to stand.
When the elevator deposited them on one of the upper floors, Dante followed Sebastian through a quiet hallway lined with glass walls. Inside the offices, people worked in silence, their heads bent over papers and glowing screens. It was a stark contrast to the chaos Dante was used to in the field—or even the hum of MAGIIC HQ.
Sebastian finally stopped at a door marked with his name in elegant script.
“And is this where people go to sell their souls?” Dante asked.
Sebastian’s lips curved. “Depends on the day.”
Dante snorted.
Pushing open his office door, Sebastian gestured for Dante to enter. “Welcome to my humble workspace.”
Dante stepped inside, taking in the room with a quick sweep of his eyes. The office was immaculate, just like its owner, but not in the sterile way he’d expected. Shelves lined one wall, crammed with books on magical law and history, their spines worn with use. A collection of artifacts—small, tasteful, and undoubtedly expensive—sat in glass cases, their magical hum adding an undercurrent to the room. The desk was neat but lived-in, papers stacked in orderly piles and a notebook lying open beside a sleek quill pen.
“This is you, huh?” Dante said, wandering closer to the shelves. He ran his fingers along the edge of a book, careful not to disturb anything. “Thought it’d be more…Blackthorn-y.”
“Blackthorn-y?” Sebastian echoed and paused mid-motion as if the word had physically stopped him. A surprised laugh escaped him—short, sharp, and entirely unguarded. He set his briefcase down, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he looked at Dante. “That’s not even a word.”
Dante frowned. “Ya’ know—Fancy. Showy. Like how I imagine your family does things.”
Sebastian chuckled, pulling out a file and setting it aside. “I like to think I have my own style.”
Dante gave a noncommittal grunt, his gaze drifting to a framed certificate on the wall. “So, what’s the deal?” he asked, turning back to Sebastian. “Fancy office, top firm—seems like you’d have better things to do than playing consultant.”
Sebastian paused, the papers in his hands momentarily forgotten. When he looked up, his smile was still there, but it had shifted—smaller, quieter, and tinged with something harder to define. “Sometimes doing good means getting your hands dirty.”
His words landed heavier than Dante expected, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. Instead, he let his gaze wander back to the bookshelves, the room suddenly feeling a little less polished, a little more real.
“Yeah, well,” Dante said after a beat. “Hope you brought some gloves. It’s messy out there.”
Sebastian chuckled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Dante frowned, his eyes narrowing. “You’re an odd one, you know that? Posh clothes, this whole setup—it doesn’t exactly scream ‘selfless hero.’ What’s in this for you? A shiny promotion? More clients?”
Sebastian smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the desk. “If that were the goal, I’d have chosen something a lot less inconvenient.”
“So, this is what? A hobby? Something to make you feel better about yourself?”
Sebastian’s smirk didn’t falter, but his tone shifted, taking on a quieter edge. “Not everything is what it seems,” he said, his words laced with a challenge. “Though I suppose that’s something you already know.”
Dante bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sebastian shrugged, though the sharpness in his gaze remained. “Just that you don’t strike me as someone who fits into boxes either.”
Dante grunted, glancing at the shelves to avoid Sebastian’s gaze. “I don’t like labels.”
“Agreed,” Sebastian said. “Which is why I tend to ignore expectations and do what feels right.”
His eyes narrowed as he glanced back at him. “And working with ARC ‘feels right’?”
“If it didn’t,” Sebastian replied, his arms uncrossing in one smooth motion as he straightened, “I wouldn’t waste my time.”
“At least you’re consistent.”
“I aim to be.” Sebastian’s smirk returned, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes now. “Does that mean I’ve passed your assessment?”
“You’re not annoying me as much,” Dante admitted grudgingly, folding his arms.
Sebastian leaned back against the desk again, tilting his head. “Is that your way of saying you like me?”
His jaw tightened, a flicker of color rising to his cheeks. “I don’t like anyone.”
Sebastian chuckled, clearly enjoying the reaction. “Ah, so you’re single.”
It wasn’t a question. The statement hung in the air, pointed enough to make his brain stutter. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure whether to demand what Sebastian meant or why he’d even care.
Before Dante could piece together a response, Sebastian straightened, brushing past him with the same infuriating ease he carried everywhere. “Come on,” he said, gesturing toward the door. “Dinners on me. And I promise the food’s better than my company—though not by much.”
Dante muttered something incoherent under his breath, falling into step behind him. The smirk on Sebastian’s face as he held the door open for him only made the heat climbing his neck burn hotter.