Thornhill Academy (By Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 151

Chapter 151

Cassian

7

52

The mornings at Thornhill are always cold, but this one feels colder. I wake before dawn, the windowpanes glazed with frost, the grey light bleeding through the trees outside my cabin. My breath fogs in the air. I sit on the edge of the bed for a while, staring at the steam from my tea and trying to convince myself the knot in my stomach is just nerves. It isn’t. I dress methodically-black shirt, vest, jacket. The uniform of someone pretending he has control. My hands pause when I reach for the tie; the faint hum under my skin reminds me that I never really did. The bond never sleeps. It’s quiet, muted, but still there. She’s awake somewhere on campus, her energy moving like a ripple through my chest. I close my eyes and will it still. Not today, please.

By the time I make it to the staff lounge, the other professors have already gathered. Scorched stands at the front, shoulders squared, hands clasped behind his back. He doesn’t look like a headmaster today; he looks like the commander he once was. Every eye follows him as he begins.

“As you’re aware,” he says, voice calm but heavy, “the Council arrives at first light tomorrow. Two representatives. Officially, they’re here to review academic progress, magical safety, and staff conduct.” He lets that hang for a moment. Everyone knows the script. Everyone knows there’s more. “Unofficially.” Scorched continues, his gaze flicking across the room before finding me, “we will ensure Thornhill presents itself as an institution of order. No disruptions. No displays of instability. No… surprises.”

I keep my expression neutral, but the meaning lands sharply. Don’t let her slip. Don’t let them see.

Someone near the back clears their throat. Another mutters something about “certain students.” Scorched doesn’t look at them. He’s still looking at me. “The Council expects excellence,” he finishes. “I expect composure. Dismissed.”

The chairs scrape back. Conversation sparks in low whispers-teachers complaining, joking, trying to hide their nerves. I stay where I am for a moment longer, until the room thins out. Scorched passes me at the door and murmurs, “Keep your head, Hill. For both your sakes.” Then he’s gone.

The words follow me all the way to class.

I get there early. The windows are still fogged from the night air, the smell of chalk and metal hanging faintly in the room. I write the lesson plan on the board-simple work, controlled practice, nothing that could possibly go wrong. I even check the cauldron ingredients twice. Anything to keep my hands busy. Anything to keep from thinking about what will happen if tomorrow doesn’t go perfectly. The first few students trickle in-laughter, chatter, footsteps. Then the door opens again, and she walks in. She’s dressed neatly, her hair braided down one side, eyes shadowed with sleeplessness but still alert. Tessa trails beside her, muttering something that earns a small smile. It’s brief, but I see it. And then Cage walks in. He looks like he hasn’t slept either. His eyes are bloodshot, his shoulders tense, and his jaw works as if he’s chewing on a thought he doesn’t want to swallow. He scans the room once-then takes the seat right beside her. The one that’s always empty.

“Morning,” I say, voice steady. “We’re continuing with controlled infusion work. Page seventy-three.”

The class begins its usual shuffle of pages, pens scratching, murmurs starting and dying. Cage leans back in his chair, spinning his quill between his fingers. His eyes flick between Allison and me. He’s waiting for something.

“Miss Rivers,” I call, just to ground her. “Would you demonstrate the sequence for emotional alignment?”

She nods, stands, and traces the rune in the air-clean, practised, steady. Perfect.

“Very good.” I say quietly.

Behind her, Cage snorts. “She’s had plenty of practice at pretending,” he mutters.

“Something to share, Cage?” My tone is calm.

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17:11 Thu, Jan 1 M

Chapter 151

ETCA

052

He smirks. “Just saying, sit, some of us have to work for it.”

“All of you work for it,” I reply. “Some harder than others. Perhaps you should try that.”

A ripple of laughter moves through the room and Cage’s jaw tightens. Allison returns to her seat without looking at him. I can see her fingers trembling slightly as she picks up her pen. He notices too. The next time she speaks, he cuts her off halfway. Then again. Each comment is sharper than the last. He’s testing her-no, he’s trying to make her crack. I see it in the way his eyes linger too long, the cruel twist of his smile. Allison doesn’t respond. But I can feel her magic stir beneath the surface, restrained but alive. The bond between us hums faintly, the pulse syncing with hers.

Don’t, I think. Please, don’t.

Cage leans closer. “Maybe you’d be better off letting someone else think for you.”

The ink in her bottle ripples. A thread of blue light flickers along the edge of her fingers.

No one else sees it, but I do.

Cage keeps pushing, voice low and venomous, and she’s one breath away from snapping. Her shoulders tense, her fingers twitch, and the air around her desk starts to warp. If she loses control here, now, in front of everyone, it’s over. I reach for her mind. The connection opens like a door I’ve kept locked too long.

Allison, I whisper into the space between us. She stiffens. Her pen stills mid-stroke. The bond hums in reply, confused and unsteady. Her thoughts rush through, a blur of anger, shame, exhaustion. He won’t stop, she thinks. He wants me to lose it.

Then don’t give him what he wants, I answer. My voice threads through her mind, steady and calm. Stay still. Breathe. This is what he’s after.

Her pulse skips; I feel it echo against my own. You shouldn’t be in here, she says silently, words half-formed and shaking.

I shouldn’t have to be, I admit. But if I can help you hold it, I will.

The light beneath her skin flickers again, dimming, brightening, fighting to stay hidden. I push a wave of calm through the bond-control, focus, everything

I learned in the war about surviving pressure. Her magic ripples once more, then settles, the shimmer fading from her fingertips.

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