I woke with a sharp jab to my ribs.

  My hand flew instinctively toward the spot—only to find the offending object wasn't a threat but a book, its spine digging uncomfortably beneath me. I blinked, eyes gritty, and pushed myself upright as pale morning light seeped through the curtains.

  I exhaled.

  Right. I'd fallen asleep mid-sentence while reading Principles of Etheric Restoration—chapter five, if the crumpled page beneath my palm was any indication. I'd wanted to finish the book in a single night, but sleep had ambushed me before I got halfway.

  I rubbed my temples. Even exhausted, the concepts still clung to my mind, clearer than they'd been the day before.

  Energy: the force sustaining bodily and arcane function, encompassing movement, magical output, etc.

  Etheric flow: the underlying current from which energy is drawn. The fundamental pulse of life.

  Crowold had said it far less poetically, of course. And understanding the theory was very different from being able to apply it.

  I rubbed my eyes, rolled my shoulders, and winced at the stiffness lodged along my neck. I slipped into my training clothes, braided my hair with practiced sharpness, ate the food Mely had brought, and headed for the training hall.

  I needed to be focused.

  Valdosta did not tolerate anything less.

  The moment I entered, I saw him: crouched by the far end of the hall, fixing some runes. The hall smelled faintly of scorched magic and old chalk.

  He grunted at the sight of me.

  "You look tired."

  Not a greeting. A diagnosis. How kind of him.

  I stepped onto the training mat. "I couldn't sleep well."

  "Are you sick?" Valdosta asked flatly.

  "No."

  "Injured?"

  "No."

  "Then you're too stupid to sleep properly."

  I inhaled slowly. "Apparently."

  His eyebrow twitched in approval, or the closest he came to it.

  "Good. You know your flaws. That's the first step toward fixing them."

  He flicked his fingers, activating the first shockwave crest on the far wall. The runic pattern glowed, pulsed—boom—and a wave of force shot toward me.

  I moved, faster than I had weeks before despite the fog in my skull. I twisted my wrist, channeled my magic just so, and the wave fractured into harmless wisps.

  Valdosta grunted. "Not terrible."

  Then, almost immediately: "But also sloppier. Your timing's half a breath off. Again."

  Another crest. Another wave. I dismantled it—barely.

  "Your reflexes are lagging. Why?"

  I hesitated.

  "I was reading a book."

  "Oh? A romance?" Valdosta deadpanned.

  My right eye twitched slightly.

  "No, Magister. A healing text. Crowold gave it to me."

  Valdosta stopped mid-stride.

  "Crowold." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course he did."

  Then, louder: "What did he tell you?"

  I blinked. "About healing magic?"

  "No, about cooking stew," he snapped. "Yes, healing magic. What are you struggling with that kept you up?"

  I seized the rare opportunity to get clarifications. "The difference between energy and etheric flow. I can sense and manipulate energy quite easily now, but I could barely perceive etheric flow yesterday."

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  He stepped closer, tapping a finger sharply against my chest—not unkindly, just enough to mark the point.

  "Energy is everything your body uses. Heat. Movement. Thought. Magic. You produce it, absorb it, use it and the cycle repeats. It burns fast, like dry kindling."

  He tapped my sternum again, softer.

  "Etheric flow is what keeps you alive. Not moving—alive. It is the river beneath the river. You're are born with it and it stays with you until you pass. The part you should never tamper with unless you know exactly what you're doing."

  I nodded slowly. "So energy is the fuel. Etheric flow is... the motor itself?"

  "Close enough. Crowold would probably compare it to broth and vegetables."

  A beat.

  "Don't repeat that to him. He'll start adding onions to the lesson."

  My mouth twitched despite myself.

  Valdosta noticed—and almost smiled back.

  Almost.

  He circled me once, assessing.

  "You're pushing yourself. Too hard. Most people do that when they're desperate for approval."

  He stopped beside me. "You are not your father."

  I stiffened. While that had been true almost three months ago, when I'd started my training, it was no longer true. I wasn't aiming for approval.

  Valdosta said nothing for a moment, simply studying me with an unreadable heaviness.

  "When I trained Thessalian, he tried to turn discipline into punishment. Effort into penance. It never worked for him. It won't work for you."

  I swallowed. "Did he... do energy depletion under you as well?"

  Valdosta didn't answer directly.

  "He learned what he needed to learn, and what he could. You will too. But not by tearing yourself apart over a damned book. You are... different. Use that to your advantage, rather than letting it consume you."

  I wondered what he meant by that. It felt like he was telling me everything I needed to know, and nothing at all.

  He lifted a hand and activated another crest.

  "Now. Again. With your brain awake this time."

  The next wave hit harder. I dismantled it cleanly.

  I could almost feel the difference—energy flowing like a river, not thrashing like a storm.

  Valdosta grunted.

  "There. That's your real pace."

  A pause.

  "Try not to read an entire textbook at midnight again. You're competent, not immortal."

  I allowed myself a thin smile.

  "No promises."

  Valdosta sighed as if I'd told him I planned to swallow a live hedgehog.

  "Again."

  Training continued until sweat clung to my back and my limbs felt warm instead of heavy.

  When it was finally over, I returned to my room, weary but steadier.

  A single key lay waiting on my tea table, glinting in the afternoon light.

  I didn't bother sitting down. I grabbed the key, stripped off my training clothes, and stepped beneath the shower.

  Thirty minutes later I was clean, braided, dressed, and already locking my door behind me.

  My footsteps echoed softly across the marble as I crossed the grand hall to the east wing. The scent of old parchment and resin greeted me as soon as I entered Father's private collection.

  Books lined the walls in towering shelves—some polished and modern, others so ancient the titles had blurred on their spines.

  My hands drifted over the titles, a few catching my attention.

  The Architecture of Spells: Static, Kinetic and Fluid Constructs.

  Bloodline Affinities and the Inheritance of Magical Potential.

  Velmire Codex: A Treatise on Binding Crests and Protective Glyphs.

  The Divine Mandate of the Gifted.

  Household Power Structures in the Age of Technomancy.

  Symbiosis and Drain: Theories on Living Magic.

  Bloodline Signature and Their Manipulation.

  My stomach tightened at the last one. My hand hovered over the spine but didn't touch it. Not yet.

  Not until I understood what Father, and especially Grandfather, were capable of.

  I forced myself to focus on my goal.

  Energy manipulation.

  I searched the middle shelves until I found a thick, dark blue tome engraved with silver circuitry-like patterns.

  Flux, Force and Flow: Harnessing Internal Reserves for Precision Magic.

  Perfect. I tugged it free. The weight of it felt reassuring in my hands.

  Magister Tulis's companion volume on runic infiltration. The same manual I'd devoured during my preparations for the Wielder mission.

  It had nearly gotten me imprisoned.

  Still, my fingers brushed the cover. Understanding dismantling patterns on doors was a useful skill. My mind wandered to Grandfather's study. What could he possibly be keeping locked in there?

  I slid the book off the shelf and added it to the growing stack in my arms.

  An idea was forming—still vague, still dangerous, but taking shape nonetheless. The Velmire library held knowledge far beyond what I was allowed to learn. If I could find the right books... perhaps I could—

  A soft knock at the library door broke my thoughts.

  Enora stepped inside.

  Her expression was composed, professional, the perfect fa?ade of a high-born housekeeper.

  But her eyes... I couldn't meet them.

  They reminded me of all the things that had happened over the last month. I felt disgust when thinking of how the older mage had decided to blindly follow Grandfather.

  "My lady." Enora bowed respectfully. "Your father requests your presence for dinner. Lord Cassius will be attending as well."

  My grip tightened around my books.

  "Fine." My tone was ice.

  Enora didn't react. I carefully put the selected books on a table. "Have a maid deliver these to my room."

  "Yes, my lady."

  We walked out together in silence. The air between us felt brittle. Strained in a way that could snap with the wrong movement.

  I didn't trust myself to speak. Enora didn't dare to.

  By the time we reached the dining hall, my jaw ached from clenching it.

  Father and Grandfather were already seated.

  Grandfather straightened when I entered, his eyebrows furrowed in displeasure. Father merely lifted his gaze in acknowledgment.

  "Alya." Grandfather said once I'd taken my place next to Father. "We will be attending a political event tomorrow evening. A celebration for candidate Isaia's victory."

  His tone suggested he'd rather swallow glass.

  "Attendance is mandatory," Father added, twirling the contents of his glass. "Representatives from other parties will be there. Networking will be essential."

  My heart drummed against my ribs.

  A public celebration. Crowds. Noise. High-ranking officials. Union members.

  And Sirius.

  I kept my expression carefully neutral, almost bored.

  "I'll attend and act accordingly."

  Grandfather nodded, appearing satisfied.

  Father resumed cutting his meat and signaling a member of the staff to pour him another glass of wine.

  I could hardly taste my food. My pulse was still racing, matching the rush of possibility blooming inside me.

  A room full of political elites. And Sirius would be among them. A golden opportunity.

  As I made my way back to my room, I pondered my decision.

  Attend the celebration. Find Sirius. Find an occasion to speak with him privately.

  Simple... in theory.

  But now that I was alone with my thoughts, my certainty wavered.

  What would I even say?

  Hello, traitor, remember me? I tried to blind you, and you asked me a question I tried to scrub out of my spine and failed to do so. And now my life has changed drastically, and I would like your... help?

  Not ideal.

  I slowed down, my fingers brushing absently along the wallpaper's raised patterns.

  Would he even want to talk to me?

  He'd seemed curious at the interrogation. Gentle at moments I hadn't been prepared for. Infuriatingly perceptive. Irritatingly calm.

  But that didn't mean anything. He could have been using tactics. Manipulation. Or maybe he simply didn't care about me at all, too busy with his own agenda.

  He probably forgot about me the moment I walked out of that room.

  The thought stung more than it should have.

  I shook my head sharply and fastened my pace. This was ridiculous. I was Alya Velmire—I did not fret over what some Union member may or may not think of me.

  Except... apparently, I did.

  In my room, I shut the door and leaned against it, letting out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

  My gaze drifted, almost involuntarily, toward the corner where Hana's little tray had once been set every evening. Fruits arranged neatly, tea perfectly steeped, her soft voice gently reminding me to eat before and after training.

  The space was empty now. Cold.

  It hit me all at once, as if someone had punched through my ribs.

  It had only been a few days since I'd returned to the manor.

  Four days of silence. Of avoiding that part of the room. Of training and reading until I dropped so I wouldn't have to think.

  But with the distractions lifted, the ache I'd been holding back surged through me.

  I walked slowly toward the empty corner, each step heavier than the last. I crouched at the spot on the sofa where Hana used to sit to keep me company.

  I should have done more.

  Instead, I'd dined with the man who had hurt the only friend I'd ever had. The only person inside the house to ever care for me.

  I pressed a hand to my forehead, my throat tightening.

  "I'm such a coward." I whispered into the quiet.

  Valdosta's hard training had been easier to face than the guilt waiting for me in my room.

  Hana's absence filled the room like a ghost.

  I sank onto the edge of my bed, pulling my knees close, eyes burning with emotions I could no longer ignore.

  I wanted answers. And justice. I wanted to understand the world I'd been blindly serving my whole life.

  And I couldn't do that alone.

  I closed my eyes.

  Tomorrow's celebration could change everything. Give me something to grasp. If I could find the courage to approach Sirius.

  But tonight... I allowed myself to simply sit there, in the quiet, and let the weight of the week finally settle.

  Just for a moment.