Jade
The dining hall doors swing open, but instead of plastic tables and fluorescent lights, I’m met with long stone tables radiating out from a massive central fire pit like spokes on a wheel.
Floating chandeliers drift overhead, casting dancing shadows across stone walls.
Although I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything less, given that Blaze Academy is a luxurious gothic castle that’s over a thousand years old.
However, I don’t have time to look around, because the room suddenly erupts, everyone rushing forward like it’s Black Friday at Bergdorf’s.
“Move!” Garrett practically bodychecks me as he sprints past.
I spin in a circle as people shove past me, claiming chairs with triumphant expressions. By the time I spot an empty chair and start toward it, someone else—Lauren, who introduced herself to me at the sigil ceremony—slides in first.
“Over here!” Evie waves from the end of the table farthest from the fire pit.
I weave through the chaos and collapse into the metal chair beside her. A guy across from us is already drawing patterns on the table with his finger, charcoal smudges decorating his ceremonial robes.
“I’m Felix,” he introduces himself, adjusting wire-rimmed glasses that have scorch marks on the frames. “Velasco. Yes, like the carnival family. No, I don’t juggle flaming batons anymore—there was an incident. And before you ask, the insurance claim is still pending.”
“I wasn’t going to ask,” I reply, even though now that he’s said it, I really want to know.
“Okay, so, here’s how this works.” Evie leans close, lowering her voice like she’s telling state secrets. “Where you sit at the table reflects your social standing. Closer to the fire means higher status… which means we’re in social Siberia right now.”
I stare at her. Then at the table arrangement. Then at Garrett, who’s practically sitting in the fire pit’s lap, preening like a peacock.
“You’re joking.”
“Welcome to Blaze Academy.” Felix grins. “Where even mealtime is a power play.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say, although isn’t it the same as high school cafeterias? Popular kids in the middle, outcasts at the edges.
Witches and humans apparently aren’t so different, after all.
But instead of making a big deal about it, I reach for the breadbasket making its way down the table, needing to eat something to calm my nerves after that disaster of a sigil ceremony. At least the food hierarchy hasn’t reached the carbs. Yet.
The older years start filing in, and the energy in the room shifts. Second-years walk with newfound confidence. Third-years strut like they own the place.
Then the fourth-years...
Logan enters like a looming storm cloud—sharp, quiet, and inevitable.
He doesn’t even glance at the seating arrangement before claiming what’s clearly the best spot at the fourth-year table, right next to the fire.
People shift to give him more space, not just out of respect, but something more instinctive.
The way you’d edge away from a barely sheathed blade.
My heart jumps into my throat, because I can still feel the purple fire from earlier, curling between us like a spilled secret.
Felix follows my gaze and waggles his eyebrows. “Everyone’s talking about how he saved you during the Hydra trial when the wards broke. Must have been terrifying, having him swoop in like—“
“Can we not?” My fingers tingle with that familiar electric sensation, and I clench them under the table.
“Touchy subject?” Felix tilts his head. “Or touchy because of those purple flames when you were inside the fire together during the sigil ceremony?”
Before I can respond—or electrify the table—a girl with sleek, copper-blonde hair approaches our little corner of social exile with an unmistakably smug look on her aristocratic features.
“Well, well.” Her voice drips like honey over poison. “The famous Jade Harrington.”
I sit back in my seat, knowing better than to let this girl think she has anything over me. “And you are…?”
“Callie Bennett.” She doesn’t offer her hand. “I had to meet the clueless witch who needed Logan Ashford to save her from the Hydra for myself.”
My spine straightens.
Here we go.
“How, exactly, does someone from a dead bloodline get invited to Blaze?” She tilts her head, studying me like I’m a particularly fascinating bug. “The Harringtons haven’t produced real magic in, what, five generations?”
“So I’ve heard.” My palm buzzes with energy, the bread in my hand burning and crumbling into black ash onto my bread plate as my grip tightens.
“I suppose that explains why you struggled so much during the trial.” Her smile could freeze fire. “No one’s ever had to intervene before.”
Felix glances at my bread plate and faces Callie. “Didn’t you hear—”
“Shouldn’t you be juggling something, circus trash?” Callie doesn’t even glance at him.
His cheeks flush, and the chandeliers flare brighter.
“But the truly embarrassing part?” Callie leans closer to me, her flowery perfume almost making me choke. “Broadcasting your little crush to everyone during the sigil ceremony.” She straightens, smoothing her skirt, and sparks snap at my knuckles under the table.
The chandelier overhead flickers like it’s about to come crashing down.
“You know he was just doing his job by helping you, right?” she continues, unaware that she’s seconds away from having her perfect hair fried to a crisp.
Because the power is building and building, and I’m clenching my fists under the table to contain it, but the longer Callie goes on, the more the sparks are threatening to push through.
“Although I’m sure for someone like you, any attention from him must feel—”
“First-years.” Logan’s suddenly standing next to Callie at the end of the table, his voice slicing through her words, surprising me so much that the sparks in my hands die instantly.
“Your class schedules are posted by the door. Including your combat assessments with Professor Cross that will happen first thing tomorrow morning.”
A collective groan rises from my classmates.
Someone whispers “oh shit” a few tables down.
“I suggest you prepare accordingly.” Logan’s eyes sweep over our table, and each person he looks at shrinks back slightly. “Kieran doesn’t appreciate students who demonstrate themselves to be incapable from the start.”
Callie does a small flip of her hair, apparently determined to get attention. “Logan.” Her hand lands on his arm, although the moment she touches him, his whole body goes rigid. “Perfect timing. I was just—”
“Return to the third-year table, Callie.”
She blinks at the dismissal, but recovers quickly, her fingers trailing down his sleeve. “Right. Of course. We’ll catch up later, okay?”
His jaw tenses, and he nods, the movement sharp and mechanical.
Callie throws me one last smile, all victory and venom, before gliding away.
Logan’s eyes finally meet mine for exactly one second. There’s something there—a flicker of... concern? Warning? Then it’s gone, and he turns away, walking to the fourth-year table without another word.
The chandelier above us dims back to normal.
“Well.” Felix lets out a long breath. “Anyone else feel like they just survived another trial?”
“Circus trash?” Evie’s voice shakes with indignation. “Did she really just—”
“Forget her,” I say, but my hands are still trembling, from magic, adrenaline, or both. “We have bigger problems. What’s a combat assessment?”
Felix and Evie exchange a look that makes my stomach sink, then turn their attention back to me.
Evie, of course, takes it upon herself to be the first to explain.
“Combat assessment means Kieran will test our physical fighting abilities,” she says. “No magic allowed.”
Dread tightens in my stomach. “But I can barely make fire on a good day. Now I have to fight without it?”
“The Void Pit,” Felix adds helpfully, even though I have no idea what he’s talking about. “That’s where he’ll put us. It’s the arena in the Scorched Circles that suppresses magical abilities, forcing you to rely on physical combat alone.”
“Why would we need that?” I take a sip of water, trying to wash down the sudden dryness in my throat. “We’re witches. We have fire.”
“Fire doesn’t work on other witches,” Evie explains. “So, if you’re ever fighting another witch—”
“You need steel,” Felix finishes.
“Great.” I huff. “So tomorrow morning, I get to humiliate myself in front of everyone by proving I can’t fight with magic or without it.”
“Stop catastrophizing.” Evie nudges me. “Maybe you’ll surprise yourself.”
“Right. Maybe I’ll discover I’m secretly a ninja.” I push my ash-covered bread plate away. “That seems about as likely as me suddenly being good at magic.”
“Stranger things have happened,” Felix says. “I mean, you survived having your crush on Logan Ashford broadcasted during the sigil ceremony. That’s got to count for something.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “Can we please never mention that moment again?”
“Are you talking about the purple flames?” A new voice makes us all turn as a guy with Evie’s same amber eyes and easy smile approaches her chair, moving with the casual confidence of someone who belongs everywhere and is loved by everyone.
“Oliver!” Evie’s face lights up. “What are you doing over here?”
“Can’t I check on my little sister after her first day?
” He ruffles her hair, and she swats at him, grinning.
“Especially when I hear Callie’s already making her rounds.
Sorry about that, by the way.” He turns to me, his smile genuinely warm.
“She’s got issues with anyone who breathes near Logan. You must be Jade.”
“Guilty.”
“Oliver Thorne.” He extends his hand, his sleeve riding up to show the intricate flame sigil that extends from his palm up his wrist. “Pro tip: the third-year desserts are usually the best. I’ll sneak you some later.”
“My hero,” I deadpan, but warmth creeps through me despite myself.
Evie also seems fascinated by the mark on Oliver’s wrist. “Who did you emberlink with?” she asks him.
“Avery.” He gestures toward the third-year table. “Speaking of, I should probably get back to her before she sends a search party.”
I follow his gaze to see a pretty blonde watching our table. When Oliver waves, her whole face transforms with a smile.
“See you later, E.” Oliver stands, dropping a kiss on top of Evie’s head. “And Jade? Don’t worry about tomorrow. Kieran’s bark is worse than his bite.” He pauses. “Actually, no, that’s a lie. They’re both pretty bad. But you’ll survive.”
“Comforting,” I mutter, but I’m smiling despite myself.
He heads back to his table and sits next to Avery, who immediately angles her body toward him like a flower seeking sun.
“What’s emberlinked?” I ask, watching them.
“Oh!” Evie perks up, clearly thrilled to have something else to explain. “Third-years get to pick magical partners—their fire literally links together forever. It’s a huge deal, and most everyone spends almost all of first and second year trying to figure out who they want to partner with.”
“Wow.” I glance back at Oliver and Avery. “So, are they... together together?”
And who’s Logan’s partner? I think, although of course I don’t ask. I don’t need anyone thinking I’m more obsessed with him than they already do.
“It’s frowned upon for emberlinked pairs to be romantically involved.” Evie brings my focus back to her. “It can mess with emotional—and therefore magical—balance. But...”
“Avery’s completely in love with him,” Felix finishes. “Anyone with eyes can see that.”
He’s right. The way Avery leans into Oliver’s space, how her hand finds excuses to touch his arm, the soft look in her eyes—it’s painfully obvious. If the two of them entered the Emberhearth together, the flames would blaze purple and shoot straight up to the rafters.
But before I can ask anything else, the chandeliers flare brighter, their flames angling toward the elevated head table like spotlights.
Headmistress Constance rises from her seat, and the room falls silent.
“First-years.” Her voice rolls through the space, quiet and commanding. “It’s time for you to meet your instructors.”