The storm hadn't lessened by morning. Sheets of rain blurred the windows, turning the world outside into a smear of grey. Empire High seemed to hold its breath, its old stone bones groaning beneath the weather's fury.
Seraphina moved through the corridors with her hood drawn low, shadows curling at her heels. Sleep had eluded her entirely — every time she closed her eyes, she saw Elijah's face in the fractured lightning, the too-close brush of his hand against her cheek, the almost-kiss Darian had ruined.
Darian.
Her jaw tightened. He hadn't said a word after his smug remark. He hadn't needed to. His eyes had said enough: he knew, and he would use it.
She hated him for it. She hated herself more for caring.
But most of all, she hated that the memory of Elijah's voice whispering her name lingered like a secret pressed to her skin.
Classes blurred. Mistress Soren scolded her for inattention during Hex Theory. Professor Vellum's voice droned on about defensive wards. Even Headmaster Thorn's announcement about increased patrols barely registered.
What did register was Elijah.
She felt him before she saw him — the way her shadows stirred whenever he was near, the way her heartbeat betrayed her. He stood across the Dining Hall, speaking to a cluster of House Ignis students, his storm-grey eyes flicking once toward her before sliding away.
The glance burned.
She forced herself to eat, though the food tasted like ash. When she rose to leave, someone fell into step beside her.
"Elijah said nothing happened."
Darian. Of course.
Seraphina didn't break stride. "Then believe him."
"Oh, I do." His voice was smooth, amused. "But the way you're bristling right now tells me more than he ever could."
Her shadows flared before she could stop them, a ripple of darkness skittering along the corridor wall. Darian's smirk deepened.
"Careful, Seraphina," he murmured, leaning closer. "Lose control like that in front of the wrong person, and they'll start asking questions you can't afford to answer."
She stopped abruptly, spinning to face him. "What do you want, Darian?"
For the first time, his smile faltered, replaced by something sharper. "To keep you alive. Believe it or not, not everyone here would mourn if the shadows devoured you."
And then, before she could respond, he walked away — leaving her with more questions and a storm raging in her chest.
That night, the storm worsened. The wards flickered faintly at the edges, their glow pulsing like a heartbeat under strain. Seraphina found herself drawn to the library again, shadows pulling her steps like an unseen tether.
She wasn't surprised to find Elijah already there.
He stood near the high windows, his cloak thrown over a chair, his damp hair catching the candlelight. He didn't turn as she entered, though she knew he'd sensed her.
"You shouldn't be here," he said quietly.
"Neither should you," she countered.
Finally, he turned. His eyes found hers instantly, holding her like a blade at her throat. "I needed to check the wards. After last night…" His jaw tightened. "They're weaker."
Her shadows whispered restlessly, echoing the truth of his words. "Then we fight again."
"Yes. But not tonight." His voice dropped, softer. "Tonight, we wait."
The silence stretched. Rain battered the windows, thunder rumbled above, and somewhere in the distance, the wards gave a faint hum of strain.
Seraphina moved closer, compelled. "Last night…" she began, then faltered.
Elijah's gaze didn't waver. "Last night, I lost focus."
Her chest tightened. "You think I was a distraction?"
His laugh was humorless, low. "You're more than that. You're dangerous."
The words should have cut. Instead, they sparked something hot and reckless in her veins. "Then why are you here? Why not stay away?"
"Because I can't."
The admission hung between them, heavier than thunder.
Her breath caught as he stepped closer. His hand lifted, hesitated, then settled lightly against her cheek. Warmth seared her skin where his fingers touched, a fire in the middle of the storm.
"Seraphina…" His voice was raw, stripped bare.
The shadows surged in her chest, urging her forward. She leaned into his touch, her pulse racing. Their faces were inches apart, the world narrowing to his storm-grey eyes, the tremor of his breath, the magnetic pull she couldn't resist—
The door banged open.
They sprang apart.
Mistress Soren swept in, her gaze like a knife. "What are you two doing here at this hour?"
Seraphina's heart slammed painfully against her ribs. Shadows fluttered desperately around her like startled birds.
Elijah's face had already shuttered, his expression smooth. "Checking the wards," he said evenly.
Mistress Soren's eyes flicked between them, sharp with suspicion. Then, with a dismissive sniff, she turned away. "See that you don't loiter. Trouble finds those who seek it."
When she was gone, the silence felt louder than thunder.
Elijah didn't look at her. He grabbed his cloak, pulling it on. "We should go."
Seraphina wanted to scream. To demand answers. To drag him back and force the kiss that had almost been. Instead, she followed in silence, her shadows a storm at her feet.
That night, sleep eluded her again.
Every time she closed her eyes, she felt his hand against her cheek, heard his voice whispering her name.
And though the wards hummed faintly, though danger prowled in the shadows of Empire High, the true battle raged inside her — a fire she couldn't put out, a spark that refused to die.