Chapter 4
CIARAN
Crossing the foyer, I catch a glimpse of the rain-dark hills beyond the glass wall and the pool stretching into the fading evening light.
Music greets me before anyone else.
Mom is standing by the bow window with the Noctis under her hands when I walk in, the last notes fading as evening rain taps softly against the glass.
Dad is at the sideboard, pouring whiskey into two glasses. Seeing me, he reaches for a third. “Thought you had a party to organize?”
“I have a party to attend,” I correct. “I let other people handle the organization.”
Dad grins. “Fair enough. I got the photo you sent.”
I glance toward Mom, her unseeing blue eyes tilted toward the ceiling, and lower my voice. “That’s the one?”
“It is.”
I take the glass from him and catch our reflections in the window, thinking, not for the first time, that Dad could still pass for my older brother. I’ve got the same black hair he does, though his is threaded with silver now, and I definitely inherited his height and build.
I drop onto the couch opposite him and take a sip of whiskey. “Are you going to tell me why I needed to keep an eye on him?”
Dad leans into the corner of the couch, studying me for a moment.
“Let’s just say the timing isn’t ideal. Maybe he’s exactly what he appears to be.
Maybe he’s just a scholarship student who picked the wrong year to arrive with the Reach event coming up.
You met him.” He glances toward Mom before looking back at me. “What was your first impression?”
He ran from me.
I hum into my glass. “Other than the fact that I found him at Black Chapel?”
One of Dad’s eyebrows lifts. “Oh? What was he doing there?”
“Don’t know. Yet.” I grin. “But don’t worry, his visit was cut short.”
Pinned against a wall, shaking hard enough I could feel it.
That earns the smallest flicker of amusement from Dad. “Anything else?”
Long lashes. Wide eyes. Looking at me as though I was the thing he should be afraid of.
I shrug. “Shy, scholarship student in the Music Department. He didn’t seem particularly dangerous, if you’re asking me.”
Dad waits. “And?”
Please stop.
I stretch out one leg as the memory flashes through my head so clearly it almost sounds real.
Please stop.
“That’s all?” Dad asks.
“For now.”
Dad studies me for another second. “Then for now, keep an eye on him.”
“I will.”
“And keep him away from places he has no business sticking his nose in.” He taps on his multi-slate.
“What are you doing?”
“Reporting it regardless.”
I glance past him, to where Mom is still by the bow window, the Noctis low beneath her hands, the sound carrying through the room, at home there.
And there he is again. Rowan. Pale hair catching the light, freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose, green eyes lifting to mine as if I was the problem.
Earlier today, they installed the Noctis downstairs in the mansion I share with my cousins on campus.
I find myself wondering how he’ll sound, whether he’s actually as good as everyone seems to think.
Whether he’ll look at the instrument the same way he looked at the exit every time I got too close.
I told him to be there at eight.
My mouth twitches against the rim of my glass. If he shows up, he’ll play for me. A private concert from the academy’s newest scholarship student—not a bad way to spend an evening.
I drag my attention back to Dad. “You never told me he wears a medical band.”
He considers me for a moment. “No, I didn’t. Never thought you’d care.”
My hand closes around Rowan’s throat again, my thumb brushing the warm skin there while the dark band flashes beneath his cuff.
I liked how quickly he stopped fighting me.
“What does he have?”
Across the room, Mom drifts into another phrase on the Noctis, the low notes carrying through the house.
“Autonomic regulation disorder.” Dad settles back into the couch. “Stress hits him harder than it should. Heart, blood pressure, the usual cascade.”
“What does the band do?”
His gaze follows the music toward the bow window before returning to me. “Tracks it. Warns him before it gets bad.”
“Bad how?”
“Dizziness. Fainting. Collapse, if he pushes too far.” His eyes settle on mine. “Which means he isn’t a threat to you, Ciaran, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I snort. “I wasn’t.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “He can pass out if he’s pushed too hard. That’s the part that matters.”
My mind goes straight to Black Chapel, of course. What the fuck was he doing there? He’s no gambler, and nothing about him says fighter.
One bad spell and he could’ve hit those floors hard enough to crack his skull open. Could’ve passed out in the wrong corner and woken up with somebody dragging him somewhere he didn’t want to be.
Instead, I find myself remembering the look on his face when he realized I was following him.
And I still chased him anyway. Still liked it too much.
If he’s a coincidence, he’s a useful one. If he isn’t, Dad can keep his secrets a little longer.
Dad pushes to his feet and crosses the room toward Mom. “Just keep an eye on him. If he leaves campus, I want to know. As soon as I know more, you’ll know more.”
The last note from the Noctis lingers in the room before fading into silence.
Mom lowers the bow, sets the Noctis beside her, and lets her fingers linger on the dark wood. “What do you think? I finished that yesterday.”
Dad is already beside her, slipping an arm around her waist. “Wonderful. Can’t wait to discover what you’ve hidden in this one.”
A smile tugs at the corner of Mom’s mouth. “You’re still talking about that love letter?”
“I’m still talking about an entire confession you encoded into a Noctis composition.”
“I was sixteen.”
“You were impossible.”
“And yet you figured it out.”
Dad laughs. “Because I returned your feelings, darling. And because Vera Orlov spent months trying to decode it first.”
That earns a soft laugh from Mom. “Vera never could mind her own business.”
Mom’s fingers drift over the Noctis. “The old composers hid all kinds of things in the phrasing. Whole letters, if you knew how to listen for them.” Her smile fades a fraction. “Most people have forgotten how.”
“Most people,” Dad agrees, and something older than the joke passes between them.
Dad’s multi-slate buzzes, and he glances down at the screen, releasing Mom as he starts typing a reply.
I’m already on my feet before she can reach for the slim black cane leaning against the chair. “Here, take my hand.”
Her smile softens. “You don’t need to do that, love. You know I can walk perfectly well on my own.”
“I know, Mom.”
Still, I offer my hand anyway. After a beat, she takes it, settling gracefully onto the couch and reaching for the whiskey waiting beside her.
“Darling, by the way.” She lifts her glass and smiles. “I already booked everything for Helion. Remember that conservatory event I told you about?” Then she tilts her head toward the hallway. “Ah. The party’s arrived.”
The front door slams open with a bang before Dad can reply, followed by voices.
“…I told you it’s fine.” Rafe’s voice reaches us first, annoyed.
“It’s bleeding through your shirt, dude.”
“That doesn’t mean it isn’t fine.”
“It literally does.”
A second later, my cousins barge into the living room. Rafe’s tie is gone, his collar open, dried blood at the edge of his mouth. One cuff is spotted red. Lucan looks untouched, which usually means he was closest to whatever happened.
Marius trails behind his older brother, Rafe’s jacket slung over one shoulder and the car keys hooked around two fingers.
Mom leans back into her seat and takes a sip of whiskey. “Rafe, your mother wants to know why you were fighting.”
He stops short. “I wasn’t fighting—”
Lucan walks straight past him and bends to kiss Mom’s cheek. “He was fighting.”
“Traitor.”
Mom smiles. “Call her before she calls me again.”
Dad leans back in his chair. “Good to see you all survived.”
“Barely.” Rafe drags a hand through his hair. “Marius drives like he’s personally offended by speed.”
“I was personally offended by you bleeding in the car.”
That gets a low laugh out of Dad.
Lucan drops into the chair by the fireplace and looks at me. “Are we actually going to your party, or are we pretending we still have time?”
“We’re going.”
Rafe drops onto the arm of the couch. “Good. They already started sending pictures. Someone’s going to break a neck before midnight.”
“Let’s hope it’s not one of ours.”
“Optimistic.” Marius tosses the keys onto the table.
Lucan groans. “Speaking of family disasters, my mother already started on me about next week’s reception.”
“The Halvern thing?” Rafe asks.
“The Virel thing,” Dad corrects dryly. “Halvern is handling the academy face of it. Our family is hosting.”
“Funny how many people suddenly want to be on Sero at the same time,” Rafe mutters.
Dad’s expression doesn’t change. “Nothing sudden about it. This reception has been in planning for months.”
Marius looks at his brother. “That means behave.”
Rafe closes his eyes. “Fantastic.”
“Your mother said attendance is not optional,” Dad adds.
“She always says that.”
“This time she meant it.”
Lucan’s gaze flicks to me. “Still don’t know why you invited the first years.”
Rafe looks over. “Yeah. That was weird, even for you.”
Dad says nothing.
That gets all three of them paying attention.
Rafe points between us. “Oh, no.”
“We’re leaving.” I push to my feet before he can start. “Before one of you gets curious and makes this worse.”
Rafe grins. “So that’s a yes.”
“Get out,” Dad says, dry as ever.
I grab my jacket. The others fall into motion a second later, Rafe still talking, Marius telling him to shut up, Lucan already halfway to the door.
By the time we hit the front steps, the cars are already waiting. The night is in motion.
And somewhere beneath the noise, the lights, and Rafe still arguing with Marius about the state of his face, I can still feel Rowan under my hand. The memory of him going still against the wall. The sharp catch of his breath.
Dad told me to keep an eye on him.
Oh, I intend to.