-Alexia-
When Morgan finally stepped back, she did it like a queen leaving a throne room—no drama, no flourish, only that deliberate, final cadence that meant business was done. I watched the violet runes at her coat hem wink once as she crossed the courtyard, and then, with one last look that had more weight than any spoken sentence, she turned and went.
"Thank you," I said, because I had to say it aloud. The words felt small in the wide, still air, but they were honest. Morgan's jaw tightened the most minuscule fraction; she inclined her head.
"You earned it," she answered, not soft, but not unkind either. "You held this place. Don't let the Council forget why Whisperwind is not theirs to command."
She left, and the courtyard exhaled. The lamps' violet light settled back to a steady glow. The ivy uncurled, as if shaking off the last of a cold. Standing there with Jasper, Finn, Soren, and Zeus—the five that mattered in that moment—I felt every tight thread of tension finally give.
Zeus nudged my hand as though he needed his thanks too, and I laughed, fingers tangling in his fur. He was still huge, ridiculous, and utterly unbothered by Council decrees. His warm weight against my knee grounded me in a way words never could.
Jasper stayed close, his palm still warm where it had been pressed against mine through everything. The gold in him was softer now, less a glare and more a steady light. He didn't speak; he didn't have to. The way his profile relaxed, the steadiness in his breath—those were words.
Finn was grinning like the world had just handed him permission to torch something, which, after the morning we'd had, was fair. Soren looked like he might snap at anyone who breathed the wrong way near me; his shadow clung close to the courtyard stones, fingers twitching against the curve of his thigh. They both looked at Jasper with that infuriating mix of affection and menace that only old friends share.
"I—" I started, feeling the words climb behind my ribs, clumsy and sudden. I looked at Jasper, then at Finn, and then at Soren. "I cemented it."
They both blinked, though they'd already felt it—felt the braid of silver and gold settle into the runes, felt the wards thrum differently. They had been part of the weave in ways they might not fully understand. But I had to say it. I wanted to say it. It felt like closing a book and kissing the first page.
Finn's grin split wider. "You did what?" he said, half-teasing, half-triumphant. "You and Jasper officially wrote your names on Whisperwind's walls?"
"I didn't carve names anywhere," I said, huffing a laugh. "It didn't have to be public. It was quiet—a one-moment thing. I wanted us to be sure. To know it was not just a spark." I reached out and curled my fingers into Jasper's hand, feeling the familiar, steady hum where our magics had braided. "I wanted him to know I meant it."
Soren's jaw worked. He let out something that was very nearly a relieved exhale. "We felt it when it happened," he said, voice low. "Like the stones themselves turned toward you."
"You're welcome to take credit for sensing the obvious," I teased, but my throat tightened with gratitude I didn't have a better word for. Their presence—Finn's heat, Soren's quiet—had been part of whatever had held that bond steady. They were my watchers and my shields, whether they liked the title or not.
Finn stepped forward and fake-cracked his knuckles, face set in mock menace. "Listen up, Jasper Light—" he began, and both Soren and I tensed the tiniest bit because Finn's jokes were never only jokes when it came to me. He continued, "—if you so much as look at her the wrong way, we will kick your butt. Hard."
Jasper let out a laugh that was almost a bark; the corner of his mouth quirked. "Noted," he said. "I will be sure to avoid the 'wrong ways'."
Soren's shadow moved like a whisper across the flagstones, a tight, dark cord that slid up beside Finn's elbow. "And if you break her heart," Soren added, voice flat as stone, "we'll bury you in the ivy."
"Cheerful," Jasper said, and there was genuine heat in the humor now—an unvarnished affection that made my chest ache in the best way. Those two had been something before I arrived—something like brothers, messy and permanent. I'd felt the thin threads of that friendship coil around me the day I joined them, half-annoyed and half-relieved. And now they stood here, grinning and threatening in equal measure, their loyalties braided into the same tapestry.
My smile flared; I felt bold and ridiculous all at once. I lifted my chin and draped my fingers through Jasper's, the gesture small and monumental. "You better keep those boots on the ground," I told him. "Because I won't—Jasper, listen. I won't ever ask you to choose me over everything that matters to you, but I will ask that you never—" My voice caught, and I squeezed his hand. "—never hurt me."
The warning hung there, jagged and sincere. He swallowed. The gold around him brightened—affection, apology, and something more, less easily named.
"I won't," he said simply, and that one syllable carried centuries of meaning. He leaned in and pressed his forehead to mine, an old promise made new.
Finn pretended to gag. "Ugh. Enough mush. Back to kicking-butt mode," he said, but his eyes were wet at the corners; he didn't wipe them. Soren's mouth twitched; his shadow curled protectively across my toes. Zeus made a sound like a huffing approval and pawed at the ground.
The thing about promises is you can hear when they are true. Jasper's answer felt like that—plain and unadorned, the kind that is given when words have been tried and found wanting. Behind us, the school settled, the ivy relaxed, the lamps dimmed their violet glow. Whisperwind wasn't done speaking; it had offered itself that morning as a witness and a shield. Now it hummed like contentment.
We stood like that for a long beat: five figures in the courtyard, a tangle of magic, menace, and warmth. The day that had begun with a decree over the gates had ended with a different kind of proclamation—one made of woven hands and shared light.
"Come on," I said finally, tugging at Jasper's sleeve. "Zeus needs breakfast, and Finn needs an excuse to set something on fire."
"Hey—" Finn protested, but he came, shoulders loose, laughter already bubbling. Soren followed, shadow folding into skin, impossibly steady. Jasper's grip on my hand tightened a fraction and then eased, as if to prove he could be trusted to hold and to be held.
We walked back through the archway, not as a collection of wounded things but as a small, ridiculous family that chose to stay together. Whisperwind's stones had witnessed many alliances; I liked the sound of our names now braided into that long story.