Thornhill Academy (By Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 12

Future Known.

Whispers erupted the second the door slammed shut.

“Cage never loses it like that…”

I could feel every pair of eyes digging into me, cataloguing me, deciding whether I was dangerous or just stupidly reckless.

Tessa slid back to my side, her hands fluttering like she wasn’t sure whether to hug me or check me for burns. “Allison, are you okay? He…he didn’t hurt

you, did he?”

I shook my head, forcing my voice steady. “No. He just… lost his temper.”

That was an understatement. Cage hadn’t just lost it, he’d snapped. And I was the one who’d broken him open.

Professor Talwyn cleared her throat, sharp as a whip–crack. “Enough gawking. Back to work. Rivers did as instructed. That’s the lesson. Now, focus.”

The students scrambled to obey, but the whispers didn’t stop entirely. I could feel them clinging to me, eyes darting toward me like I’d just grown a second

head.

I sank into my chair, dripping water still making a damp circle on the floor beneath me.

Tessa leaned close, her voice a whisper only I could hear. “You’re braver than I thought.”

I almost laughed. Brave? No. I’d just been angry. Stupidly, recklessly angry. And now I’d painted a target on my back with someone who already hated me.

The bell rang at last, merciful and loud, releasing us into the hallway.

Tessa tugged at my sleeve. “Come on. Divination’s next. We can sit together.”

I gathered my things slowly, trying to shake off the feeling that every whisper, every sideways glance, would follow me straight into the next class.

By the time Tessa and I slipped into Divination, my hair was mostly dry, but my nerves weren’t. The classroom was nothing like the others I’d seen. It was round, dimly lit, and draped in velvet curtains that muffled the outside world. Candles floated in clusters above our heads, dripping wax that vanished before it hit the floor. Low tables filled the room instead of desks, each one set with a polished bowl of water and a scattering of strange stones that glimmered faintly in the candlelight. Professor Nyra Vale was already there, standing barefoot in the centre of the room like she hadn’t noticed the chill. Her hair fell in silvery waves, her pale eyes clouded like smoke. She wore layered shawls that shimmered when she moved, rings stacked on nearly every finger.

“Ahhh,” she cooed the moment we entered. “More little fish in my pond. Welcome, welcome. Sit, sit.”

Tessa leaned close as we settled cross–legged at a table. “Everyone thinks she’s a little… well, you’ll see.”

“Wonderful,” I muttered.

Professor Vale began pacing the circle of tables, her shawls whispering against the floor. “The Weave is a river,” she said dreamily. “It runs forward, but sometimes it eddies, sometimes it splits. If you’re quiet enough, still enough, you can dip your hand into its current and see where it might take you.”

The students bent over their bowls, whispering incantations, focusing. Some frowned, some gasped, and one boy yelped when his bowl hissed steam.

I glanced into mine, but the water only reflected my face at me, tired, wary, unimpressed. Then something brushed against me. Faint, delicate. Not a shove

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Future Known.

like Hill’s mind–reading or a blaze like Cage’s arrogance, but a gentle ripple, tugging at the edge of my awareness. Nyra Vale.

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Her mind was… open. Not guarded, not fortified. Like a door cracked just enough to peek through, I didn’t even mean to, but the siphon in me reached

anyway, sliding over the threshold. Her thoughts weren’t words, but visions. Colors. Shapes. Threads of light tangling, twisting, burning bright as they

wrapped themselves around… me. I staggered back from the bowl, breath catching. For half a heartbeat, I saw myself in her mind, magic exploding from my

skin, not borrowed but mine, crackling wild, dangerous, and undeniable. Five shadows stood behind me, their eyes burning with recognition. Nyra’s pale,

clouded gaze snapped to mine. She froze. Then her lips curved in the faintest smirk.

“Well, well,” she whispered, so soft I almost thought I imagined it. Then she winked, a glimmer of mischief breaking through her haze.

Nyra’s smirk lingered as she turned away from me, drifting back toward the centre of the circle. She lifted her arms, shawls trailing, and her voice carried

across the dim room like smoke.

“Ohhh,” she crooned, her pale eyes flashing, “threads upon threads. A storm stitched from shadows, fire, scales, teeth, five paths braided into one. The river

bends, the river breaks, but the girl does not drown.”

The class went dead silent for half a beat. Then whispers erupted.

“She’s rambling again.”

“Always off in her own world.”

“Does anyone even understand her?”

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