Chapter 37
Nova
The living room has become my classroom.
I’m on the floor with my back against the couch, textbooks spread around me like a fortress.
Territorial law. House history. Mark theory—which is ironic, given that I still don’t have one.
The words blur together after the first hour, but I keep going because stopping means thinking, and thinking means remembering that someone tried to burn me alive three days ago.
Trey’s on the couch behind me, close enough that his knee brushes my shoulder when he shifts. Rane’s in the armchair pretending to read something on his phone. Beckett’s by the window with an actual book, though I haven’t seen him turn a page in twenty minutes.
The front door opens.
Kyron comes in looking like he’s been chewing on something bitter. He drops onto the couch beside Trey, lets out a long breath, and stares at the ceiling.
“That bad?” Rane asks.
“I filed the report on Monday. Apparently administration had additional questions.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “Took two hours.”
“What kind of questions?” I close my textbook.
“What caused it. What was damaged. Whether we’d noticed anything suspicious beforehand.” He shakes his head. “But the whole time she’s just looking at me like we did it to ourselves.”
The room goes quiet.
I look up. Rane’s jaw is tight. Trey’s gone still beside me. Beckett’s watching me again—that steady gaze that sees too much.
“What did you tell her?” Locke’s voice comes from the kitchen doorway. I didn’t hear him come in.
“What we decided. Overloaded outlet. Room was damaged, part of the ceiling collapsed. We’re still living here, just avoiding that area.” Kyron exhales, jaw tight. “She was already writing her report before I even finished talking.”
“Think they bought it?”
“Who knows.” He sounds tired. “She wrote everything down. Said they’d be in touch if they needed anything else.”
Vaelor appears behind Locke, dish towel over his shoulder. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
We migrate to the kitchen. It’s become routine now—Vaelor cooks, someone sets the table, we eat together like a family that chose each other.
It feels almost normal now. I don’t hate it.
I end up between Trey and Beckett, across from Kyron. The food is good—some kind of pasta with vegetables and chicken—and for a few minutes we just eat.
“I’ve been looking into some options,” Kyron says eventually. “Places we could go if things get worse.”
“Like what?” Rane asks around a mouthful of bread.
“There’s a property not too far from here. Off the main grid, but close enough that we could still get to campus if we needed to.” He spears a piece of chicken. “It’s not ideal, but it’s something.”
“What about asking the school?” I hear myself say. “There are other cluster houses, right? Empty ones?”
Locke snorts. “They’d never give us another house. We’re already flagged.”
“We could tell them about Trey,” Rane says. “Make it official. Say we need more space.”
Trey shifts beside me. “Would that even work?”
“Probably not.” Kyron shakes his head. “They already know something’s happening with him—orientation made that clear. But asking them to acknowledge it means more scrutiny. More questions about why our cluster keeps expanding when it was supposed to finalize two years ago.”
“Any attention we draw right now just makes things worse,” Locke adds. “Better to have our own backup plan.”
Under the table, Trey’s hand finds my knee.
It’s light at first. Almost casual—just his palm resting against my leg, warm through the fabric of my pants. A small point of contact that shouldn’t mean anything.
My pulse picks up anyway.
I take another bite. Try to focus on the conversation—something about sleeping arrangements and who’s taking which nights—but Trey’s thumb is tracing a slow circle against my knee and my skin is starting to feel too tight.
It’s just attraction. That’s all. The same pull I’ve been feeling since I got here, the one I’ve been trying to ignore.
Except it’s getting worse.
The heat starts low, spreading up from my chest into my throat. I reach for my water glass, drain half of it. The cold helps for about three seconds before the warmth rushes back, stronger than before.
Trey’s hand stills on my knee. Shifts from casual to concerned.
“—and if the Order starts asking questions about the fire, we need to have our story straight,” Kyron is saying. “Everyone says the same thing. Outlet overload. Nothing suspicious.”
I nod along but I’m not really listening. My shirt is sticking to my back. There’s sweat at my hairline and I don’t know when that started. The chair feels wrong against my skin—too close, too much contact.
I pick up my fork. My hand trembles slightly.
I glance down at my wrist without meaning to. The skin flickers—gold, red, gone. Heat pulses once, sharp and sudden, right where everyone else’s mark sits.
Then nothing.
I curl my fingers into a fist and don’t look again.
“Nova?”
Beckett’s voice. Quiet, but it cuts through the noise in my head.
I look up. He’s watching me with that careful expression, the one that means he’s already figured out something’s wrong.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” I reach for my water again, drain the rest of it. “I think so.”
“You don’t look okay.”
“I’m fine. Probably just tired.”
Trey’s hand tightens on my knee. Like he’s trying to anchor me to something solid.
It doesn’t help. If anything, the contact makes it worse. Heat pulses under my skin like a second heartbeat, too fast, too loud. I can hear my pulse pounding in my ears.
“Nova.” Vaelor this time, leaning forward. “You’re flushed.”
“I’m fine, I just—”
A knock at the door.
Everyone freezes.
We don’t get visitors. We especially don’t get visitors at eight o’clock at night, three days after someone threw flaming trash through my window.
Locke pushes back from the table. “Stay here,” he says to me, and the command in his voice leaves no room for argument.
He and Vaelor move toward the front door. I hear it open. Low voices—Locke’s rumble, someone else’s clipped professional tone. Words I can’t quite make out.
Trey’s hand is still on my knee. Beckett hasn’t looked away from my face. Kyron and Rane are both watching the doorway, bodies tense.
Footsteps returning.
Locke appears first, jaw tight. Vaelor behind him, his expression carefully blank.
“That was someone from Nightmare Order Security,” Locke says.
My stomach drops.
“They want to have a conversation. Tomorrow. Eight AM.”
“A conversation,” Kyron repeats flatly.
“That’s what they said.”
“And if we’re not interested in having a conversation?”
Vaelor’s mouth twists. “This would be a required conversation.”
“Fantastic.” Rane drops his fork onto his plate. “Love those.”
I should say something. Ask questions. Figure out what this means, what they want, how we’re going to handle it.
But I can’t focus. The heat is still building, pressing against my skin from the inside, and my hands are shaking and I don’t know how to make it stop.
“Nova.” Trey’s voice, close to my ear. “Hey. Look at me.”
I turn my head. His gray eyes search my face, worried.
“We’ll figure this out,” he says. “Whatever they want, we’ll handle it together.”
I nod because that’s what he needs. Because that’s what they all need—to see me hold it together, be part of the team, not fall apart over a conversation.
“Do you think this is about the fire?” My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
Locke and Vaelor exchange a look.
“It’s not just about the fire,” Kyron says quietly.
The room settles into heavy silence.
Trey’s hand is still on my knee. The others are still watching the door to the living room, like someone might knock again.
But all I can feel is the burn behind my ribs.
And the echo of that pulse in my wrist.
I don’t look down. I don’t want to know.