Thornhill Academy (By Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 8

Potions and Alchemy.

By the time the bell rang and Kade dismissed us, I was wound tight enough to snap. Pierce kept grinning at me like a wolf who’d caught the scent of blood, but I shoved past him the second I could, clutching my map and heading for the one class I was interested in. Potions & Alchemy. Not because I cared about mixing roots and powders into little bottles of sludge. No. Because Hill would be there. And if I were going to keep up this mind–reader act, I’d need a steady stream of his magic to back me up. The lab smelled sharp, like herbs and smoke, with rows of long wooden benches polished by years of restless hands. Sunlight poured in from tall, narrow windows, catching on racks of glass vials and jars stacked along the walls. The air practically buzzed with energy, alchemy had a rhythm all its own, an undercurrent of bubbling and snapping that prickled across my skin. For once, I didn’t head for the back. I slipped down the aisle and slid into the front row, close enough that I’d be in the direct line of Hill’s storm–grey eyes when he came in. Close enough to

siphon, if I played it right.

A girl with strawberry–blonde hair already sat at the bench, her bag taking up the second seat. She glanced up as I stopped, then beamed, shoving her bag

down to the floor to make space.

“Hi!” she chirped, all bright eyes and freckles. “I’m Tessa.”

I blinked, caught off guard. No smirk, no leer, no whisper of stray. Just… a smile.

“Uh,” I said, sliding onto the bench. “Allison.”

“Rivers, right? The new girl?” Her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, though her grin never faded. “Word spreads fast here. I’m glad you sat here. I

was starting to think no one wanted to.”

Her friendliness was almost disarming. My walls shot up on instinct, but something about the way she twirled a lock of hair and grinned made it hard not to soften, just a little. Before I could respond, the door opened. Hill stepped in, black jacket fitting him too perfectly, storm–grey eyes scanning the room like a blade. The buzz of voices died instantly, silence snapping into place as he moved to the front. His presence filled the lab as easily as the scent of smoke curling after him. I sat straighter, pulse quickening. This was my chance.

Hill set a stack of papers on the desk at the front, his movements precise, controlled. When he spoke, his voice carried efficiently, low and smooth but edged

with authority.

“Today will be a practical,” he said, sweeping the room with a look that dared anyone to groan. “Get out your textbooks and turn to page one–hundred and twelve. You will find the recipe there. Then, gather the ingredients from the supply cabinets along the wall. Work in pairs. This is not a competition. It is a test of whether you can follow simple instructions without blowing yourselves up.”

The scrape of chairs filled the room as students dug through bags and flipped open books. I pulled mine out slowly, more focused on the steady hum of power rolling off him. It brushed against my skin like static, coiling in the air between us. I reached for it, careful, subtle like sipping from a stream instead of diving in. The siphoned magic slid into me smooth and sharp, sparking behind my eyes. I locked it down tight, weaving it into my mental walls before he could push against them again. His eyes swept past me once, storm–grey and unreadable, and I held his gaze for half a heartbeat before bending over my

book. My pulse raced, but he didn’t linger.

“Looks simple enough,” Tessa said beside me, leaning over her copy. She traced her finger down the neat list of ingredients. “Standard healing draught.

Water, comfrey root, willow bark, crushed moonflower petals. Easy.”

I followed her to the cabinets, where jars and bundles lined the shelves in neat rows. She gathered what we needed with cheerful efficiency, humming under

her breath, then returned to the bench.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” she asked, not unkindly, as she measured out a pinch of dried bark. Her voice was light, breezy, like it didn’t bother her in the slightest. “That’s okay. I can talk enough for both of us.” She smiled at her own words and tipped the ingredients into our cauldron.

I arched a brow, but said nothing, rolling a sprig of comfrey between my fingers before dropping it in. Tessa leant over the coldren, her nose twitching as

she sniffed.

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Potions and Alchemy.

“Rabbit shifter,” she added suddenly, as if answering a question I hadn’t askeil. “Before you wonder. Not exactly the most powerful. Her nose wrinkled, though she still smiled. “According to most people here, I’m useless,”

I blinked at her, startled by her bluntness.

She laughed, a light, airy sound. “But hey, at least I make one hell of a cute bunny.”

That dragged a short huff of amusement out of me before I could stop it. I shook my head, focusing on stirring the cauldron, but Tessa just beamed like

she’d won something.

Hill’s footsteps echoed across the lab as he moved from pair to pair, his presence trailing like smoke, Students straightened as he passed, some grinning nervously, others shoving their botched concoctions behind stacks of books.

When he reached our bench, he stopped. His storm grey eyes flicked from the potion to me, then back again. He leaned in slightly, inhaled once, then

straightened.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice cool. “Acceptable. But it needs work.”

My jaw tightened. “Of course it does.”

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