Thornhill Academy (By Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 43

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pressed harder against my ribs, restless, already eager to see what she had built for herself in this hidden place,

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The stairs ended in a narrow landing, a plain door waiting at the top like the entrance to a forgotten storage loft. I expected the inside to

smell of mildew and rot, a place no one in their right mind would call home, but when the door swung open, my chest locked. The attic

wasn’t a punishment. It was a world. Her world. Moulded to perfection, for her. Warmth spilled over me, the kind that came not from fire,

but from care. The floors were covered in a soft, black carpet that shimmered faintly when the light caught the silver threads. A living

space spread directly across the centre, two green armchairs circling a star-and-moon rug that pulsed like a night sky underfoot. An

enchanted television blinked quietly from the far wall, its glow casting a modern ease that clashed strangely with the Gothic bones of the

attic.

My dragon rumbled, approving, as my eyes tracked to the bed. Enormous. Fluffy. It sat beneath a stained-glass window, the glass bleeding

jewel tones across dark sheets and pillows piled high enough to drown in. Curtains of midnight velvet framed it, and a sleek wardrobe

gleamed nearby as though it had been born of magic itself. Would I one day be honoured enough to sleep with my mate there? I stood

with my feet frozen to the floor as I took in every inch of the space. I realised my mouth had gone slightly dry. This wasn’t a hovel. It

wasn’t a hiding place. It was a sanctuary.

My dragon pressed hard against me, hot satisfaction rolling through his voice. She made a nest. Ours.

I swallowed, forcing my shoulders back, pretending like my heart wasn’t clawing at my ribs. “This… isn’t what I expected,” I admitted,

voice lower than I meant it to be. My eyes found her in the middle of it all, small, guarded, chin tilted like she was daring me to judge. I

didn’t. I couldn’t. Because for the first time, I understood something, this room wasn’t just comfort. It was survival, built piece by piece

by a girl who’d had nothing. And the dragon inside me knew better than I did: it was beautiful.

I watched her cross the room like she’d been living here for years instead of weeks, bare feet on that star-streaked carpet, her friend a

little orbit at her side. She busied herself at the fridge and cupboards, pulling out food in quick, practised movements. The normalcy of it

struck me harder than I expected. She wasn’t a girl who almost drowned and bled out in the woods last night; she was just… living. Then she went for the plates. They were stacked on a high shelf, just out of reach. She rose onto the tips of her toes, fingers stretching, stubborn jaw set like she’d rather dislocate a shoulder than ask for help. I moved before I thought. One stride and I was behind her, heat and instinct. My hand came up over hers, easily plucking the stack down from the shelf.

“Got it,” I said quietly, my voice rougher than it should’ve been.

She stiffened for a fraction of a second, then huffed out a breath and looked up at me from under her lashes. So close I could see the faint bruise along her cheekbone the healers hadn’t completely erased. My dragon purred, pleased to be useful, to be near.

I set the plates on the counter in front of her. “No sense breaking your neck for a sandwich,” I added, softer, trying for light but not quite

hitting it.

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12:46 Tue, Dec 30

Thornhill Academy.

A Casual Lunch.

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Allison moved around her kitchen like she’d built it with her own hands, which, for all I knew, she had. The smell of bread and something

spicy filled the air, soft and warm, a thousand times better than the food hall. She set things out with quick, efficient motions; Tessa hovered nearby, handing her jars and utensils without a word, the kind of teamwork that comes from real friendship. Kael had taken a

seat at the edge of the counter, long legs sprawled, acting like he owned the place. I stood where I was for a moment, watching the two

girls, the way Allison’s hair fell forward when she leaned over the counter, the way she brushed it back without thinking. The dragon in me hummed, pleased just to be here, to see her alive and moving. When she started stacking sandwiches on a plate, I found my voice.

“So…” I said, leaning my elbows on the counter, “Scorched is making Cage tutor you?”

The noise she made wasn’t a word; it was a sound of pure disgust, like she’d just bitten into something rotten.

Kael smirked, chin propped on his palm. “Want me to tear his throat out?” he asked, mock-serious, the corner of his mouth twitching

upward.

Allison barked a laugh before she could stop herself. The sound was quick, bright, and it cut through the tension like sunlight. It did something to me, lit up a space in my chest I hadn’t realised was dark.

“Thanks but no thanks,” she said, still grinning, wiping her hands on a towel. “I can handle him. I just don’t want to.”

Kael gave her an exaggerated shrug. “Offers on the table,” he said.

I tried not to stare at her too openly as she moved back to the counter. The dragon in me rumbled low, echoing the same quiet thought:

her laugh is addictive.

She gathered the plates in her arms, careful not to drop them, and carried them toward the table tucked under the wide stained-glass window. The light poured down in fractured colours across her dark hair, painting her in gold and crimson. Without a word, the rest of us followed, Kael trailing with that lazy grin, Tessa bouncing along with barely contained energy, me staying close enough to catch a plate if Allison stumbled. We sat. Kael sprawled into a chair opposite, Tessa tucked herself beside him, and I took the seat at Allison’s side before I even thought about it. She set the plate in front of me, then slid one toward Kael and another toward Tessa. Simple sandwiches, nothing fancy. But when she handed mine over, her fingers brushed mine, and my dragon roared softly inside my chest, smug and possessive. From anyone else, it would’ve been food. From her? It was something else entirely, I picked it up, grounding myself in the ordinary motion, and bit back the strange swell of heat that threatened to give me away.

The first few minutes were quiet, The sound of bread tearing, of cups clinking against the wood. Then Tessa, predictably, filled the

silence.