Jade
The infirmary cottage smells like herbs, gingerbread, and spices. It’s weirdly cozy for a medical space, like someone combined a bakery with a hospital and somehow made it work.
On the chair at the side of the wall, Nana’s wrapping someone’s ankle.
Callie’s ankle.
Of course it’s Callie. But I’d take running into her here any day, because at least it means she isn’t with Logan.
Nana looks up when Oliver and I walk in, taking in our blood and pumpkin guts splattered clothing. “What happened?” she asks.
“Pumpkin carving accident.” I hold out my arm, and her eyes widen slightly.
“Get a fresh towel and keep pressure on it. You can sit over there.” She gestures at a cozy-looking bench nearby. “I’ll check it after I finish with Callie.”
She turns back to Callie, but Oliver’s hand is already replacing mine on the towel, pressing with gentle insistence.
“I’ve got it,” he says, shifting closer on the bench.
“You really don’t need to—“
“I want to.” His eyes search mine with an intensity that makes my stomach drop, but I don’t fight him. Because Nana’s saying something to Callie, and I want to know what it is. I can’t listen to their conversation if I’m busy talking to Oliver.
“Have you been doing anything particularly draining with your magic lately?” she asks, examining Callie’s ankle like she can’t quite make sense of it.
“Not that I can think of.” Callie’s voice is softer than usual. It’s strange, as if she’s a different person than the girl who approached me in the dining hall the first day and then tried to intimidate me outside of Logan’s office.
Oliver’s voice stops me from hearing what Nana says next.
“You don’t have to make a decision about the ball yet,” he says, his fingers brushing my arm near where he holds the towel. “But you’re the only person I want there by my side. You fascinate me, Jade. You don’t try to impress anyone. You don’t play games. You’re just you. And I like you. A lot.”
The words are perfectly delivered. Soft and sincere, with just enough vulnerability to seem genuine. They probably are genuine. I can see why half the school falls at his feet.
But he’s so, so wrong about me. I’m constantly playing games. Hiding my electricity. Pretending I don’t sneak out every night. Acting like I’m not completely gone for someone who refuses to fully let me in.
Nana’s voice fills the infirmary before I can reply to Oliver.
“Rest that ankle as much as possible,” she tells Callie loudly, as if she can sense my anxiety and wants to help break up this awkward moment.
“Make sure you’re eating properly and staying hydrated.
The training and late night studying you have to do to stay afloat here can take more out of us than we realize. ”
“Of course.” Callie gathers her things, her gaze finding mine again. “I’ll make sure to... conserve my energy for what really matters.”
What really matters? Like the time she spends with Logan?
There’s the Callie I know and definitely don’t love.
When she’s gone, Oliver gently squeezes where he holds the towel. “Just think about it?” he asks me. “The reason I want to know by tomorrow is that I want to do this right. Coordinate our costumes, that sort of thing.”
Right. The dance.
“I’ll think about it,” I lie, since right now, I have to focus on slowing down my healing before Nana looks at my arm.
His face lights up like I’ve already said yes. “That’s all I ask.”
Nana chooses that moment to come check my arm, her fingers gentle as she peels back the towel.
Her eyes widen when she sees the wound. At least, what’s left of the wound. Apparently, I was distracted enough with Callie and Oliver that it healed more than it should have.
“Remarkable.” She runs a finger near the cut, not quite touching it. “Given how much blood there is, I’d say you heal faster than most.”
I steady my breathing, trying not to panic.
“Good genetics?” I offer weakly.
“Very good genetics, apparently.” She tapes fresh gauze that smells like cinnamon on the wound, even though an extra-large Band-Aid would be more than enough at this point. “It should be good as new before you go to sleep tonight.”
The moment she finishes, Oliver’s already standing. “I’ll walk you back to Phoenix Hall,” he says, offering a hand.
“That’s really not necessary.” I slide off the bench, testing my arm. It barely twinges.
At the same time, I don’t want to go back to the greenhouse, where everyone is probably talking about me.
What I need right now is space. Lots and lots of space.
Space from Oliver, from Logan’s voice in my head, from the fact that there’s a murderer wandering these halls, from the possibility that my pilot could be a goddess… from everything.
“You lost blood.” Oliver’s hand hovers at my elbow, and I move my arm away before he can touch me. “You need rest.”
“Oliver.” I keep my voice gentle, but firm. “I appreciate the concern, but I can walk across campus without fainting. I’m not a Victorian lady with the vapors.”
“I know that. But what kind of person would I be if I let you walk back alone after an injury?” he says with a charismatic smile.
The kind who listens when someone says no, I think, but don’t say aloud. After all, he’s Evie’s brother, he’s shown me nothing but kindness for weeks, and I don’t want to be rude. Especially since I truly do consider him a friend.
“Fine,” I agree, and thank the gods, he returns to normal chatter while we walk instead of pushing me to give him an answer about the Halloween ball.
We eventually turn into the covered walkway that leads back to Phoenix Hall, only to find Logan standing near the fountain, watching us as if he already knew we were coming.
And there’s something in his eyes as they sweep over us—specifically when he looks at Oliver’s hand that keeps drifting to my elbow—that makes electricity crackle beneath my skin.
“Ashford.” Oliver’s grip tightens slightly. “You always know exactly where to be, don’t you?”
“Let’s call it a perk of being proctor.” Logan’s voice is neutral, but I know him well enough to hear the edge underneath. “I’ll take it from here.”
Oliver bristles, and I can practically feel the testosterone poisoning the air between them.
“Jade doesn’t need—“
“What Jade needs,” Logan cuts in, “is to return to her dormitory without causing a scene. Which is exactly what will happen if you continue hovering over a first-year who’s capable of walking unassisted, even though you nearly mutilated her while carving pumpkins.”
He knows. Of course he knows. Logan knows everything that happens in this damn school.
I wave to get their attention. “I’m right here, and I can speak for myself.”
Both men turn to look at me, seeming surprised that I’ve reminded them of my existence.
Logan’s eyes soften—a rare occurrence, especially in public. “Of course you can,” he says. “Would you prefer to continue with Oliver, or should I escort you the rest of the way?”
Oliver’s hand tightens where he’s managed to touch my elbow again, Logan’s eyes burning into that point of contact.
I want to stay exactly where I am, to see how far he would go to stop Oliver from touching me. But it’s best to not cause a commotion where other students would see.
“I think,” I say carefully, extracting myself from Oliver’s grip, “that I’ve had enough escorts for one day. I can make it the rest of the way on my own.”
“Jade—” Oliver starts.
“However,” I continue, looking at Logan, “if the student proctor insists on doing his job, I suppose I can’t argue with academy protocol.”
Oliver’s jaw tightens. “There’s no protocol that says—“
“Actually, there is,” Logan interrupts smoothly. “Section 3, subsection 7 of the student handbook. Injured students should be accompanied to ensure safe arrival at their dormitory.”
“You’re making that up,” Oliver accuses.
“Am I?” Logan’s stoic expression doesn’t change. “Feel free to check. I’ll wait.”
Oliver looks like he’s about to release steam from his ears, but instead, he takes a deep breath and turns those charming eyes back on me. “Just think on it, okay?”
“Sure,” I say, and Oliver throws one last look at Logan—a challenge, or a warning—before heading back toward the greenhouse.
“Come on,” Logan says once Oliver’s gone, and we make our way toward Phoenix Hall, a careful two feet of space between us.
It’s weird to walk with him like this, so out in the open, as if we aren’t doing something wrong by being together.
But I hold my head high, trying to make it look like this is perfectly normal.
Just another Sunday afternoon at Blaze Academy.
I glance over at Logan, trying to get an idea about what he might be thinking, but his expression gives nothing away.
Then, after a long moment of silence, he speaks.
“How, exactly, did Oliver manage to cut you during pumpkin carving?” His tone is conversational, almost bored.
“The stem was stuck. He was trying to help, and...” I shrug. “His knife slipped.”
“His knife slipped.” Logan repeats the words like they taste bitter. “Oliver Thorne, who’s been training with blades since childhood, slipped while cutting a pumpkin.”
“His hands were covered in pumpkin-guts,” I jump to his defense. “They were slimy.”
“Pumpkin-guts-covered or not, Oliver wouldn’t have slipped unless he was distracted.” Logan’s voice drops lower, and even though we’re in public and other students are passing by, the intensity in his tone makes goosebumps rise on my arms.
“Are you upset that Oliver likes me?” I stop walking, amazed that Logan thinks Oliver could ever hold a candle to him.
“Upset?” He considers the word, like he’s tasting it. “No. Oliver Thorne is a good person. He comes from a respectable family. He has a bright future.”
Each compliment sounds like it’s being pulled from him with pliers.
“Wow, don’t strain yourself with all that enthusiasm,” I mutter.
“Would you prefer I list his flaws?” There’s a hint of dark amusement in his voice now. “Because I could. Starting with his inability to maintain basic knife safety when you’re within a five-foot radius.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m being practical. Student safety is my primary concern.” The fake sincerity in his voice is almost convincing.
Almost.
“You know,” I say when we start walking again, “you didn’t have to make up a fake handbook section just to get rid of him.”
“That would be a gross misuse of my position,” he says solemnly. “I would never.”
But there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes that makes me think he absolutely would.
And when he looks at me like that, I can’t help noticing how different things are between us during the day, when we’re not hiding in the cover of night.
Almost as if the sun is burning his walls down, just a little.
Or maybe it’s the forced normalcy of it all—pretending to be nothing more than a proctor walking an injured student home.
Maybe when we’re playing these roles, he can relax into something that feels less dangerous than what we become in the dark.
“What?” he asks, and I realize I’ve been staring.
“Nothing. It’s just... you’re different during the day.”
His expression shutters slightly. “Different how?”
“Well…” I pause, thinking. “You seem far less likely to spontaneously combust from suppressed emotions.”
He stiffens, his walls going up in a second, as if he never let them down in the first place.
Shit. I shouldn’t have said anything.
Maybe my secret power should be my ability to fuck up every good moment with Logan instead of being an electricity supercharger.
“I didn’t mean—“ I start, but he’s already looking away, jaw tight.
“It’s fine,” he says, but nothing about the way his shoulders have tensed and he refuses to look at me again is fine.
We walk the rest of the way in uncomfortable silence, and I mentally kick myself with every step. We were having a moment. An actual, normal moment where he was teasing me and I was teasing back, and it felt like we could be something other than this impossible secret.
Then I had to ruin it, just like I always ruin everything between us.
When we finally reach the entrance to Phoenix Hall, I expect him to leave. Instead, he just stands there, watching me, waiting.
My blood rushes so fast it feels like it’s trying to erupt out of the nearly healed cut on my arm.
“Tomorrow night.” Logan’s gaze locks on mine. “The Fury Loop. Don’t be late.”
“I won’t.”
His eyes dilate, his lips part, and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me, right here in front of Phoenix Hall, where anyone could see. Then he’s stepping back, his perfect control sliding back into place.
“Sleep well, Jade. You’ll need it for tomorrow.” He turns and walks away without another word, leaving me standing in front of the door trying to remember how breathing works.
Tomorrow night. The Fury Loop. The circle that amplifies emotions until they burn.
Because clearly, my totally stable emotional state is in desperate need of magical fire therapy.