Avery
For the past four days, I’ve watched Tobias Cane startle when someone says his name, as if he’s forgotten other people exist. I’ve watched his smile arrive a half-second too late, like he has to remember how to make his face do it.
I’ve watched him occasionally looking through people instead of at them, as if he’s trapped in a memory none of us can reach, only to snap back with an apology in his eyes, like he’s sorry for being somewhere else.
He said he’d be in touch, but he hasn’t gotten in contact with me since our conversation in the study room. Not a glance, not a nod, not even the polite acknowledgment you’d give a stranger. It’s like I’ve ceased to exist.
Tonight’s no different. He’s sitting three tables away, pushing food around his plate with the focus of someone defusing a bomb, and he still hasn’t looked at me.
Maybe I should take a hint and accept that he was lying to brush me off, like I was a fly he was trying to swat off his shoulder.
Maybe he was just pretending to like me because…
well, I don’t know why. I’m terrible at understanding what guys are thinking, which was exemplified by the way I held onto hope that Oliver secretly loved me as much as I loved him, even though he clearly never saw me that way at all.
I stab a piece of steak and chew without tasting it.
The dining hall hums around me, and all of it feels like it’s happening behind glass.
Every day, the void in my chest aches a little less, the magical wound scarring over the way it does when an emberlinked partner is permanently gone, and no one seems to care.
But I care, and that’s going to have to be enough. Because Oliver’s dead, the people in charge are lying about it, and I’m not going to sit in the background waiting for someone else to discover the truth.
Finally, dinner ends and people filter out in small groups, their conversations hushed, their glances nervous.
Tobias rises from his seat, and I time my path to intersect with his near the side door. Not the main exit where everyone’s streaming out, but the smaller one that leads to the faculty building, where there’s less traffic and fewer witnesses.
His shoulders tense, and his pace quickens.
I speed up.
“Tobias.” I catch him as he reaches the door, my hand landing on his arm.
He flinches like I burned him, but he doesn’t pull away.
The flinch isn’t new. I’ve watched him do it with everyone—a reflexive recoil from any contact, as if touch itself is a threat his body can’t override. Professor Rousseau touched his shoulder two days ago, and he went rigid for a second or two before his posture unlocked.
But he’s not rigid now. His arm stays under my fingers, warm through the fabric of his sleeve, and that tiny absence of flinch makes my stomach flip in a way I have absolutely no right to feel.
“Avery.” His pale eyes dart around the emptying hall. “This isn’t a good time.”
“You said you’d be in touch,” I say, low and steady, like the reasonable, dependable Avery who would never cause a scene. “That was four days ago.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” The apology comes out soft, almost pained.
“I wanted to, but I’ve been busy with the investigation.
” He tries to step around me, but I shift to block his path.
We’re close now. Close enough to see the silver threading through his dark hair and the shadows under his eyes that suggest he hasn’t been sleeping any better than I have.
“The hellhound attack, the missing people… it’s been a lot to process for everyone at this school. ”
“I know there’s a lot going on. I’m part of the ‘a lot going on.’” I hold his gaze, softening my eyes a moment later. Because Tobias is fragile in a way he tries to hide, in a way I recognize because I often feel the same way myself. “I need your help.”
Guilt flickers across his face. Then his gaze drops to where my fingers rest on his sleeve, and his throat works in a slow swallow before he drags his eyes back up to meet mine.
Heat swirls in my stomach, climbing all the way up to my cheeks.
Let him see it, Nina said. You don’t have to fake anything.
“Please,” I say, the word coming out raw and real.
“My memories are wrong. I can feel it. And the emberlink...” I press my free hand to my chest, where the ache used to be sharp enough to steal my breath.
“It’s healing. But if he’s really lost somewhere, it would still hurt. It wouldn’t be healing.”
His gaze drops to where my hand rests against my collarbone, then drags back up to my face, the careful concern giving way to naked vulnerability.
I step close enough that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact, and he takes a soft breath inward.
“I need to know what’s missing in my memories,” I keep going, unwilling to let it rest, especially since I believe Tobias meant it when he said he wanted to help. “When the emberlink bond broke, it broke something in me, too. I need to know what I’m forgetting.”
Tobias understands that word—broken. It’s the first thing we bonded over, and I’m going to keep that bond alive until I’m forced to let it go.
“Avery...” His hand rises, hovering near my elbow like he wants to steady me, then drops back to his side. “You need to realize that what you’re asking me to do—digging into your head that deeply—can be dangerous. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I understand,” I hold his gaze, refusing to look away. “But I trust you, and I want to do this. I need to do this.”
His breath shudders out, and for a long moment, he looks at me—really looks at me—and the warmth of being seen spreads through my chest.
Around us, the dining hall continues to empty, people chattering and laughing, unaware of the conversation happening in the shadows near the side door.
Tobias glances over my shoulder. When he looks back at me, the resistance behind his eyes fractures.
“Meet me tonight, at the start of the causeway that leads to the Drowned Tower. Helen’s orbs can’t go there, and Michael won’t venture across the bridge.
” He says it quietly, almost to himself, like if he speaks softly enough it won’t count as a decision he’s making.
“Be there at two in the morning, when the tide’s at its lowest. And tell no one. ”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
He holds my gaze for one more moment, like he’s promising he’ll be there, and that I’ll be safe with him. Then he turns and pushes through the door, disappearing into the hallway beyond.
I stand there frozen, my pulse pounding in my ears.
The Drowned Tower. Two in the morning. Tell no one.
Then there was the part about him not wanting me to get hurt. He said it like it was coming straight from his soul, and it’s playing in my head on repeat in a way it definitely shouldn’t be, especially while my body’s humming from a few minutes of proximity to him...
No. Stop this.
This can’t go anywhere. He’s Council, he’s investigating Oliver’s disappearance, and he might be the enemy, although he doesn’t look at me the way an enemy looks at a target.
Still, what if it’s a trap? What if Nina’s wrong about him? What if Nina’s wrong about everything? What if I’m just a pawn in whatever game she’s playing?
Stop. Breathe. Think.
But I can’t think. My brain keeps spinning, cycling through possibilities, each one worse than the last.
Tobias could be setting me up. Nina could be using me. My memories could be so twisted and wrong that I can’t trust anything I think I know.
I force myself to move before the spiral drags me down further.
The walk back to Hydra Hall feels endless. My feet carry me through the covered walkways, past the flickering torches and the obsidian walls, but my mind is somewhere else entirely.
You’re not a rule-breaker. You’re reliable. Dependable. The girl who colors inside the lines.
But Oliver broke the rules. Oliver discovered secret passages and endured dangerous trials to access them and never told me any of it. Oliver kept secrets from me for weeks, maybe months, and now he’s dead and I’m the one left behind with a healing bond and broken memories.
Following the rules isn’t helping me get any closer to learning what happened to him.
So maybe it’s time I stopped being so damn predictable.