Jade
By the time Monday’s classes end, I’ve been turning over every detail I found in the library about the Lampades all day, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something crucial.
Logan will have answers. And proctor hours are held after classes on Mondays and Wednesdays. So, obviously, I bolt to the administrative building after my final class. It sits separate from the classrooms and dormitories, all stone walls and arched windows that catch the late afternoon light.
Logan’s the only student who has an office here. Perks of being the student proctor, apparently. However, unlike the other doors in the hall, Logan’s is closed. No light spills from underneath, and no sounds of conversation drift through.
Professor Thaddeus Morgrave’s nameplate gleams on the next office door, and I can hear the scratch of a pen on paper from inside.
I hesitate, then knock on the doorframe. “Professor Thaddeus?”
Thad looks up from a stack of paper, his expression shifting to something that might be mild interest.
“Jade. Come in.”
“Actually, I was looking for Logan. For proctor hours?” The words come out more uncertain than I intended. “Did I get his schedule wrong? His door’s closed.”
“He’s in there.” Thad sets down his pen and leans back in his chair. “Another student arrived before you. You’re welcome to wait in one of the chairs in the hall until he’s ready to see you.”
“Thanks.” I turn to leave, but his voice stops me.
“I noticed you in the library this weekend.”
My shoulders tense. Was everyone watching me research this weekend?
“Just doing some reading.” I brush it off, not wanting him to ask me any more questions.
“Curiosity is a valuable trait.” He reaches for his pen again, turning it in his fingers. “Those who dig deeper, who question what others accept... they tend to excel.”
The words hang in the air like an invitation. Or maybe a test. It’s probably about his advanced studies course, right?
I want to ask more. To understand what exactly they study. But something in his manner suggests I’ve been dismissed.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say instead, backing toward the door.
“I’m sure you will.”
His attention returns to his papers, and I escape back into the hallway, situating myself in the leather chair closest to Logan’s door.
Fifteen minutes pass, and the hallway’s silence presses in, broken only by the scratch of Thad’s pen and my own restless fidgeting.
I open a book and start one of my reading assignments, but it’s impossible to focus knowing I could be interrupted at any moment.
Not to mention that Logan is right behind that door, and soon, it’ll be just me and him, alone in his office.
Eventually, the door opens, and Callie emerges.
She looks terrible. Her usual golden glow has faded to something ashen, like expensive foundation trying to cover illness. Her eyes are glassy, and she’s gripping the doorframe with perfectly manicured nails, as if trying to stop herself from falling.
Then she sees me, and her spine straightens, her chin lifts, and that familiar sneer curves her lips.
“Well, well.” Her voice drips honeyed poison as she makes her way toward me. “The charity case is making house calls now?”
“Just waiting for proctor hours.” I stand, refusing to give her the high ground.
“Otherwise known as ‘chasing Logan?’” She smirks, continuing before I can answer. “It’s not going to get you anywhere, Jade. Because Logan and I have been having some very productive conversations lately. About working through the... complications that have been keeping us apart.”
Her fingers brush what looks like a promise ring on her left hand—delicate gold with a small fire opal that catches the hallway light.
“I knew him before the grief consumed him, before he built all those walls,” she continues.
“I knew him when he still smiled. When he still let people in. And I’ll be here when he remembers how to do those things again.
Because he and I understand each other in ways that.
..” She pauses, looking me up and down with obvious disdain.
“Well, in ways you could never comprehend.”
The promise ring catches the light, and my stomach twists at the implications.
But no. I won’t let Callie Bennett intimidate me. I won’t let her win.
“Good to know.” I keep my voice steady, despite the electricity crackling under my skin. “But I really am just here for—”
“Callie.” Logan’s voice cuts through the hallway from where he’s standing in his doorway, and he’s radiating vitality, power rolling off him in waves. “What are you doing?”
Callie doesn’t even flinch. “I was checking in with Jade about how she’s doing at Blaze so far, given her lack of magical knowledge beforehand and all,” she says, her fingers playing with that damn ring again.
His hand grips the doorframe, his eyes cold as winter storms. “No. You were just leaving.”
The dismissal is so complete, so utterly final, that even I feel the sting of it.
Callie just stands there, her face graying even more, before spinning on her heels and leaving the building in a way I think is supposed to look cool and collected, but that actually looks like she’s been beaten and rejected, leaving a trail of rose perfume in her wake.
Logan’s eyes are hard as he watches her leave… and they remain hard when he returns his focus to me.
I swallow, not getting a good feeling about this.
“Jade. Come in.” He steps back and gestures me into his office, but the movement is too controlled, like he’s measuring each action to make sure he doesn’t snap.
Slowly, I follow him in, the door clicking shut behind us with a finality that makes my nerves sing. But before I can open my mouth, he’s talking.
“Nothing’s happening between Callie and me.”
“Okay…” I say, watching him pace behind his desk like a caged animal. “I didn’t ask, but... okay.”
He stops mid-stride, running both hands through his hair. “Right. You didn’t. I just—” He takes a visible breath, composing himself again. “You wanted to talk?”
The whiplash from emotional vulnerability to professional distance makes my head spin, but I shake myself out of it, forcing myself to focus. “I found information about the Lampades. You know, the murder mermaids from the Drowned Tower?”
His expression doesn’t change, but something shifts in the air. “In the library?”
“No, on Google.” The joke falls flat between us, and I immediately regret it. “Sorry. Yes—the library. First-year section. With a little help from Miles.”
“You were spending time with Miles?”
“I bumped into him. He pointed me to the first-year section mythology texts.” I move closer to his desk, and he tracks the movement like a predator watching prey.
“Everything says the Lampades are supposed to protect witches, serve Hecate, and guide lost souls. But I couldn’t find anything about why they’d attack people they’re meant to help. ”
“Interesting.” His tone is neutral. Too neutral.
“That’s it? Interesting?” I study him, trying to figure him out and failing. “Logan, they attacked us. All I can think of is that my electricity magic made them believe I’m not a witch, and that’s why they were trying to kill me.”
For the first time since I walked in, he relaxes slightly. “You’re probably right.”
“Probably?” I plant my hands on his desk, leaning forward. “A group of divine torchbearers tried to drown us, and all you can say is probably?”
“What do you want me to say?” He meets my gaze steadily. “That you’re different? That your power isn’t normal? You already know that.”
“I want answers. The ones you promised to give me before I rejoined the party.” The words come out sharper than intended.
“Because I feel like there’s a reason why you’re not telling the professors about me, or the Headmistress about me, or whatever you’re supposed to do as proctor.
Which makes me wonder—do you know what’s happening to me?
Is there something you’re not telling me?
And why do you care so much about keeping my secret safe? ”
There’s more I don’t say. So much more. Because why do I matter so much to him? If I even matter at all?
He’s quiet for a long moment, studying me with those intense storm-gray eyes. “Has anything strange happened to you recently?” he finally asks. “Before coming to the academy?”
“You mean besides finding out magic is real and getting attacked by mythological creatures?”
“Jade.” There’s a warning in his voice. “You asked for answers. If you want them, I need you to help me help you.”
Unfortunately, he has a point.
“Fine.” I straighten, thinking back and pinpointing the big thing I haven’t talked with him about yet.
“When I was flying here with T—she’s been my family’s pilot forever—there was a storm.
Silver lightning everywhere, like the sky was made of electricity.
She touched my forehead, and then—“ I stop, the impossibility of it hitting me fresh.
“I passed out. Woke up in a car heading to the Hydra trial.”
“That’s... significant,” he says carefully.
“You know what it means.” It’s not a question. “You know what happened to me.”
“I have theories. But I need to look into some things before I can be sure.” He stands up and makes his way around his desk, the movement abrupt, like he needs to put distance between us. “Until then, don’t come to my office hours anymore.”
The words hit like cold water. “Why not?”
“If people start thinking we’re...” He gestures vaguely between us, his gaze lingering on my mouth in a way that makes my body warm at the possibilities of what he might be thinking. “There will be questions. The kind of scrutiny you can’t afford when you’re trying to stay under the radar.”
“So that’s it?” Anger sparks through me. “You’ll look into my magical disaster, but I should stay away?”
“For your own safety—”