Thornhill Academy (By Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 126

Chapter 126

By the time we make it out of Divination, my head is pounding. Whatever incense Professor Morrin burns in that room should be classed as a mild hallucinogen. essa is still talking about how “vision dust opens the third eye,” and I’m quietly praying it’ll close again before lunch. Arcane Theory is next. Thankfully,

Kael’s in this one. Professor Lynden is in a mood. I’m not sure what kind, exactly, but it’s the dangerous, tight-jawed kind that makes you think twice about breathing too loud. The air itself feels like it’s holding

its breath with him.

I slip into a seat beside Kael. He grins, tapping his pengainst my notebook in greeting. “Ready to get

yelled at?”

“Always,” I mutter.

Lynden’s chalk floats through the air, neat lines appearing on the board faster than anyone can copy. The

sound of it sets my teeth on edge.

“Magic,” he announces, voice clipped, “is obedience made visible. It obeys the law. It obeys structure. It

does not obey chaos.”

He says the last part as a personal insult, his eyes flicking in our direction. Kael leans back, his chair creaking. “Guess that’s why it doesn’t like me much,” he whispers.

A few people laugh but Lynden’s hand twitches, and Kael’s notebook bursts into harmless flame.

“Control,” Lynden says evenly, “is what separates a magician from a monster.”

The word monster hits me harder than it should. I tug my sleeve lower, just in case the faint shimmer under my skin decides now is a good time to make an appearance. I feel Rynor’s shadows shift under the table-a cool brush against my ankle, a quiet pulse. Lynen keeps talking, pacing between the desks. “When magic misbehaves, it’s not the spell that’s to blame, it’s the caster. Emotion is the first crack in the

dam.”

I wonder what he’d say if he knew half my magic comes from other people. If he knew I don’t have a dam at all, just a flood barely held back by fear and habit.

The lesson drags on, and Kael doodles tiny dragons in the margins of my notes, which helps. I try not to laugh, but when Lynden snaps, “Something funny, Miss Rivers?” my voice squeaks on instinct.

“No, sir,” I say quickly, cheeks burning.

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Chapter 126

He stares for a beat too long, then goes back to his chalk. The sound of it scraping the board makes my

head pound.

When class finally ends, Kael grabs my bag before I can “I think he likes you,” he says with a grin.

“Yeah, in the same way lightning likes tall trees.”

He laughs, slinging the strap over his shoulder. “Next up-Magical History?”

I groan. “With Vane.”

“Perfect. I can nap with my eyes open.”

Professor Vane always smells faintly of dust and dried ink, as if he were born inside a library and never left. His classroom is lined with old portraits, grim-faced witches and warlocks, each holding a different version of the Council’s mark. Their eyes seem to follow you as you take your seat. Cage is already here. Of course he is. Sitting in the back row with that same smug grin that makes me want to hex his eyebrows off.

Tessa slides in beside me, whispering, “He’s staring at you again.”

“I know,” I mutter. “I can feel my IQ dropping.”

She snorts, too loudly, and Kael’s grin widens. Professor Vane starts his lecture with his usual monotone: “The Council was formed after the Second War to maintain order, to ensure that all magic-” Kael groans quietly, earning a glare from Vane. “-remains documented, monitored, and regulated. Unregistered power is a crime, punishable by immediate conscription to the Wall.”

The room goes still, or maybe that’s just me, because I feel it like a punch to the gut.

“Many of you were born under registered houses,” Vane continues. “Some of you… were not. Consider yourselves lucky that Thornhill offers rehabilitation.”

Rehabilitation. Like we’re broken toys waiting to be fixed. I can’t help myself. I look over my shoulder, and Cage is already staring right at me. Our eyes meet, and know from the look on his face that he’s thinking the same thing I am; some of us don’t survive rehabilitation. My heart pounds. The concealment flutters and I press my hands flat against the desk until Rynor’s shadow wraps tight around my wrists, sealing my sigils again within the shadows. Professor Vane keeps talking about Council reform, about bloodline registries and magical ethics, but the words start to blu. The only thing I can hear is the soft, deliberate scrape of Cage’s chair as he leans back, no doubt still watching me.

When we get to potions & alchemy, Professor Irwyn locks like she’s been awake for three days straight, her

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Chapter 126

hair wild, sleeves rolled to her elbows, eyes bright with caffeine and chaos.

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“Alchemy,” she says, her voice a rasp, “is about balance Life and death, order and chaos, destruction and

creation. It’s the only discipline that demands a little bit of both.” She gestures to the shelves behind her,

each bottle labelled with neat handwriting. “Pick your ingredients wisely. What you mix reflects who you

are.” That doesn’t sound ominous at all.

I grab the basics-moonwater, phoenix ash, powdered amethyst-and get to work. Kael’s beside me,

whistling softly while his mixture bubbles neon green.

“Looks like slime,” I say.

“Looks like art,” he counters.

My potion swirls pale silver before darkening to faint blue. The colour spreads, veins of light running through it like lightning and my heart stutters. The sigils under my sleeves pulse once, answering, and the potion brightens…too bright. Rynor’s shadows curl around my wrist, smothering the glow just before it bursts. A thin wisp of smoke rises instead.

“Nice recovery,” Professor Irwyn says, passing by our table. “You’ve got a steady hand. Keep it that way.”

I nod mutely, pulse still hammering.

Kael leans close, whispering, “You okay, trouble?”

“Fine,” I lie. “Totally fine.”

The lie sits heavy on my tongue.

By the time we hit lunch, I’m exhausted from pretending. My sleeves itch from where the sigils pressed against them all morning, like the marks want to breathe. Tessa chats the whole walk to the dining hall, animatedly telling Kael and Evander about a vision she had in Divination where she swore she saw Rynor “dancing naked with a banshee.”

Kael beams. “Was he good?”

“Apparently, he tripped on his tail halfway through.”

“Still counts as rhythm.”

Their banter helps a little. It’s almost normal. Almost. But beneath the laughter, my magic still hums like a

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living thing, restless and waiting. And when we pass on of the hall’s tall windows, I catch my reflection in the glass, and the faint, ghost-blue sigils flare along my neck. I yank my scarf higher, heart hammering.

Rynor’s voice slides through my ear in a whisper, “You are losing focus.”

“I know,” I whisper back.

“Then breathe, my queen.”

So I do. But it doesn’t stop the thought that’s been clawing its way up my throat since morning: if I can

barely control this now, what happens when I can’t hide it anymore?

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Thornhill Academy.

Chapter 127

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By the time the last class ends, I feel like my bones are vibrating. Every lesson has blurred into the next-

runes, recitations, lectures that could’ve been in another language for all I cared. I smiled where I was

supposed to, nodded when teachers looked my way, and prayed no one noticed the way the light kept flickering off my skin whenever my focus slipped. Keeping the concealment in place feels like holding my breath for an entire day. Every second that passes, it claws a little more at the edges of my sanity.

When the final bell rings, Kael catches up to me in the hall. “You look like you’re one wrong word away

from incinerating someone.”

“I might,” I mumble.

Evander gives me a knowing look from the other side. “Home, then?”

Home. The word shouldn’t fit the attic, but it does. We climb the narrow stairs to my dorm, Kael chattering about Coach’s new training regimen and Evander pretending to listen. The moment we step inside, I hear the click of the door, and it’s like my entire body finally decides it can stop pretending. I exhale-a deep, shaky, finally kind of breath-and let the concealment unravel. The air shifts instantly. Blue light spills over my skin in delicate, intricate lines, crawling down my arms and curling up the side of my neck. The sigils flare to life, glowing softly like ink kissed by starlight. I roll my shoulders, the tension bleeding out of me with every flicker, as I rip the scarf free and strip the long shirt that has been making me sweat all

day.

“Gods,” I whisper, “that’s better.”

Kael stares, eyes wide. “Every time I think I’ve seen the full show, you prove me wrong.”

Evander just shakes his head, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You look like yourself

again.”

A soft hum fills the room, deep and low-like the sound of thunder if thunder could purr. “She looks

divine.”

Rhaziel steps from the shadows behind the bookshelf, the darkness peeling away from him as if reluctant to let go. He looks at me like I’m made of something sared. His gaze follows the markings across my collarbone, the curl of blue across my shoulder, down to the faint trails wrapping my wrists.

“You are absolutely beautiful like this, hummingbird,” he says, voice soft enough to make my stomach

twist.

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