The sun had just begun to dip when the Spiral of Seasons dance began.

At the edge of the ceremonial field, torches sparked to life with autumn-colored flame. Lines of glowing ore stretched across the ground, coiling outward from the center like veins of fire and crystal. Fallen leaves danced on the breeze as Earth and Metal Fae shaped the spiral path, turning the stonework lawn into a living circuit of color and texture.

The spiral path wasn’t built with magic.

It was built with hands, Garnexis’s hands among them. And Orivian’s.

They moved with the kind of calm, deliberate precision that would’ve driven me up a wall in any other setting. But here, it kind of worked. Earth and Metal. Slow, grounded, methodical. I knew better than to mess with their ritual focus.

Still, I caught the moment. The way they stood. The way their shoulders almost brushed. And when Garnexis walked back to us, I couldn’t help myself.

Shara adjusted her shawl and arched a brow at her. “Is it just me, or were you two a little too close to the ceremonial mound?”

I smirked. “Pretty sure I saw Orivian hand her a rock. That’s basically a marriage proposal for Metal Fae.”

Rielle sighed but chuckled, too. “You’re all ridiculous.”

“But not wrong,” Shara added with a smile.

Garnexis didn’t dignify us with a response.

The drumbeat deepened. Flutes joined in. Crystal chimes rang from the grove’s edges, and the spiral shimmered with rising magic.

We stepped forward together, our Goldspire quad, one from each season, feet moving in time with the path that had been shaped from stone and leaf.

I could feel the magic in the ground. Fire responding to ore. The pulse of it in my soles.

We moved into the Spiral Form, one group among many now, drawn inward with every step. The ritual dance split us, spun us, reunited us in new formations. Movement blurred, synchronized, aligned. The seasons folding in around each other.

I lost track of the others. Lost track of time. Everything narrowed to rhythm, breath, and heat.

By the time we reached the innermost ring, the air buzzed with magic so thick I could taste it, like cinder and wind.

The professors stood along the perimeter of the ceremonial tree. Veyn caught my eye for half a heartbeat, then turned his gaze to Shara. Not subtle, that one.

Then came the convergence.

A breath passed through the crowd, and the central tree bloomed with multi-hued crystals all flaring at once. The magic rippled outward like a second heartbeat.

And there—right there in the center—was Aster.

She stood alone for a moment before the spiral shifted again, and we stepped together.

Fire and Water. Opposing by nature.

But her hand found mine.

And for once, I didn’t burn.

Her hair moved like slow water, curling and lifting as if caught in a current I couldn’t see. I’d seen it ripple before when she cast spells, but this was different, gentler. Like something in her had chosen stillness.

She didn’t let me go right away.

Her fingers stayed linked with mine even after the bloom faded and the spiral began to dissolve around us. Her grip wasn’t tight, just steady. Like she’d decided something.

When we finally stepped apart, the rest of the dancers were already shifting across the field, groups of two and three forming without words. There were other dances. Other rituals.

But I don’t remember them.

Not clearly.

Not once the sky had darkened and the final waltz began. The Twilight Waltz.

I stood there longer than I should’ve, watching the magic fade from the ceremonial tree, the echo of firelight still lingering on her skin.

She was already moving toward the outer path when she looked back at me, once, over her shoulder.

I followed.

She didn’t speak when I reached her. Just turned slightly, offering her hand again.

I took it.

The music was softer now. Slower. Free of pattern or ritual.

We moved together, not in rhythm at first, just steps that pulled us close, then slowed.

Her hand on my shoulder. Mine at her waist. Closer than we’d ever stood when we weren’t fighting.

She smelled like the edge of summer and seawater. A mix that shouldn’t have worked. But it did.

And it did something to me, making me forget how to control my own fire. I hadn’t realized I’d summoned a flicker of flame until she caught my hand and turned it over. The fire curled there, low and restless, like it didn’t know where to go.

“You’re still trying to burn your way through everything,” she said, voice low.

I huffed a laugh. “I don’t know how else to move forward.”

Magic flickered between us—her Water coaxing mine to still. She traced her fingers over my knuckles, and the fire dimmed.

“Start by breathing.”

I stared at her. “That easy?”

“No,” she said. “But it’s a start.”

We moved again, slower now.

For a moment, I wasn’t thinking about Halven. Or the glyph. Or the door that wouldn’t open no matter how I burned it.

I was thinking about her. Her hand. Her voice. The way she always looked at me like she saw something worth steadying.

“You’ve been looking into it too, haven’t you?” I said finally. “Halven.”

Her head tilted slightly, like she’d been waiting for me to ask.

“I have,” she said. “And I know you all have, too. Even after Isa’s warning.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to as she continued.

“Halven came to me. Before he disappeared. He was looking into more than just Emberglyphs. He wanted to know about Water Glyphs. That’s why I told you. In the library.”

I looked at her. Not the surface. The center. “I thought you were holding back.”

“I was,” she said. “I was afraid. Whatever happened to him... I know he wouldn’t have just left.”

My chest tightened thinking about my buddy and what could have happened. But Nythral was supposed to be a safe haven.

Either way, I understood her fear, but not why she was being open now. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want to help. He was my friend, too.”

“And the ice cracks,” I said softly.

My words stir something fierce in her eyes. Not anger. Not fire. Something deeper, like purpose, resolve.

“Whatever you may think of me, I promise my loyalty to Halven will never waiver.”

“I have no doubt about that.” My hand tightened on her waist, and I lower my head closer to hers. “But I have other thoughts about you.”

Her gaze flicked to my lips, then back to my eyes. My blood heated up in an instant.

I wanted to kiss her again.

More than that, I wanted to feel her again—her hands tangled in my robes, her mouth cold at first and then not, the way frost melted between us like it had in the library.

That moment had cracked something open. And I didn’t want it sealed again.

I thought about teasing her. Saying something cocky to cut the tension. But nothing came. My words burned out before they reached my tongue.

So instead, I pulled her a little closer. My hand moved over her hip to rest at the small of her back. She didn’t flinch. Her breath hitched, just once.

Her hair lifted, watery strands floating like they were caught between air and tide.

And then we moved together, quiet and slow, the world shrinking to the space between us.

I didn’t need a sign.

I already knew where this was going.

We were heading toward something we weren’t going to walk back from.

Not now.

Not next month.

Not ever.

The sun had just begun to dip when the Spiral of Seasons dance began.

At the edge of the ceremonial field, torches sparked to life with autumn-colored flame. Lines of glowing ore stretched across the ground, coiling outward from the center like veins of fire and crystal. Fallen leaves danced on the breeze as Earth and Metal Fae shaped the spiral path, turning the stonework lawn into a living circuit of color and texture.

It was beautiful, yes—but still, I felt… apart from it.

Spring Fae weren’t meant for the Fall. Everything about the season pulled in the opposite direction. Where we opened and reached forward, Fall curled inward and prepared to let go.

The celebration pulsed with reverence. But the magic here didn’t resonate in my bones the way it would for Garnexis or Orivian. Not in the same way.

That didn’t stop the others from soaking it in.

We stood near the edge of the field as the final preparations finished. Garnexis was just returning from laying stones alongside Orivian. Their arms had brushed more than once. Her face didn’t say much, but the air around her said plenty.

I adjusted my shawl and arched a brow at her. “Is it just me, or were you two a little too close to the ceremonial mound?”

Ardorion smirked. “Pretty sure I saw Orivian hand her a rock. That’s basically a marriage proposal for Metal Fae.”

Rielle sighed, but couldn’t help a quiet laugh. “You’re all ridiculous.”

“But not wrong,” I added with a smile.

Garnexis said nothing, which basically meant we’d nailed it.

The drumbeat deepened. Flutes joined in. Crystal chimes rang from the grove’s edges, and the spiral shimmered with rising magic.

We stepped forward together, our Goldspire quad, one from each season, feet moving in time with the path that had been shaped from stone and leaf.

The Spiral Form pulled us apart and reformed us again, weaving seasonal magic into alignment. I danced because I had to. Because I knew the steps. But my mind wasn’t on the ritual.

It was on the convergence point ahead.

By the time we reached the innermost ring, the field pulsed with magic like a second heartbeat. The ceremonial tree stood at the center, veined with light and poised to bloom.

The professors were already positioned around its base, robes layered and still, their faces unreadable in the shifting dusk. I recognized a few, but two stood out immediately.

Veyn.

And Isa.

Isa looked tired, more than usual. Like whatever she’d been holding up for the last few weeks had started to crack around the edges. Her shoulders were drawn back, her head held high, but the hollowness in her expression gave her away.

And Veyn… he wasn’t watching the tree or the other students.

He was watching me.

I kept my gaze forward, but I felt his eyes follow every step.

A breath passed through the crowd, and the central tree bloomed with multi-hued crystals all flaring at once. The magic rippled outward like a second heartbeat.

The convergence happened without a word. The seasons locked into one rhythm. Light and music and pulse.

And still, he didn’t look away.

There were other dances after the convergence. Other rituals. Seasonal callings. A weaving of movement that blended magic and intention. I moved through all of them.

But I don’t remember them.

Not clearly.

By the time the twilight bells chimed, the field had shifted. Music softened into meandering strings and wind, and the last official steps gave way to the open celebration dance.

The Twilight Waltz.

Around me, students slipped into pairs or trios. Some laughed. Some whispered. Some danced because they were expected to. Others because they needed to.

I didn’t move.

Instead, I wandered beneath the lanterns strung between the outer trees. The glow above made everything look golden, too warm for fall. Too kind.

I stopped beneath a cluster of birches, just far enough from the edge of the field to not be noticed. I watched the slow turns of the dancers. The soft exchanges of braided tokens and frost-woven charms.

And then I felt it.

The shift.

I turned.

Veyn stood several paces behind me, where the dark met the light. His robes were formal, layered in green and silver, but they hung heavier than usual. Like he carried something beneath them. Something he couldn’t put down.

His hair, always loose and tangled with his vines, looked more still than I’d ever seen it.

He didn’t speak right away when he joined me under the trees.

Just stood there, silent in the dusk, eyes scanning the field as the last of the dancers slowed their turns.

Then, softly—

“You’re not dancing with anyone.”

I didn’t answer.

“No one special in your life?”

My throat tightened. Of all the things he could’ve said, that was the cruelest. Because he already knew the answer.

He was the answer.

And we both knew there wouldn’t be anyone else.

A nearby couple spun past, wrapped in a magic that sparkled at their feet. I didn’t look at them. I looked at him.

The silence between us stretched, quiet, knowing, unfinished.

I could have said so many things. I said the one I knew he wouldn’t challenge.

“You gave me that leaf,” I said.

He nodded once.

“You knew it would lead to something.”

His eyes stayed on the field. “I hoped.”

“Why?”

He finally looked at me, and something in his expression tightened. His jaw worked like he was biting back words he didn’t trust himself to say.

“Don’t lie to me,” I said. My heart still ached with him having left me.

He shook his head. “I don’t want to, but there’s only so much I can say. So much that I can physically say.”

I frowned. Does he mean he’s magically sworn to silence? “Tell me whatever you can without activating the magic that binds you.”

Relief flashed across his eyes. “You were always the brightest among us. You’re also the best one at asking the right questions.”

My breath caught. Last time he told me to stop asking questions. What changed?

He had, subtly. He looked tired, like he hadn’t slept well for several weeks.

But now he wanted my questions. Like he wanted me to keep asking even though he couldn’t answer.

I stepped closer.

His eyes flicked to my mouth and then away.

I felt the pull between us again, not magical. Just us. That same gravity that had always been there, even before we kissed in the library.

One I hadn’t forgotten.

“Why have you come back?” I asked quietly.

“I became a student.”

Nothing else. But gold lightened in his brown eyes, like encouragement.

I tapped my chin.

“A student. That means you learned something.” When the gold in his eyes brightened, excitement filled me. “Something you brought back with you. To teach us?”

His light dimmed, and the leaves of vines curled inward.

“Not to teach us, then. Or maybe... The knowledge gained is for something else. But for what?”

I was stumped. What does any of this have to do with Halven? “What you learned, it will help find Halven?”

Now the light dimmed completely, and Veyn just looked tired. He didn’t say anything, but his hand brushed against mine, just once, like water tracing the edge of a leaf. Not a touch, exactly.

A promise.

One I wasn’t sure he could keep.

But I felt the truth in it anyway.

I didn’t reach for him.

And he didn’t step away.

The moment stretched like a held breath.

Then the wind shifted, carrying music from the other end of the field, and the lights flickered.

Finally, with regret lacing his voice, he said, “I should go.”

I nodded.

But neither of us moved.

Not right away.

And when I did, I didn’t look back.

Because I didn’t need to.

I already knew he’d been watching the whole time.

The sun had just begun to dip when the Spiral of Seasons dance began.

At the edge of the ceremonial field, torches sparked to life with autumn-colored flame. Lines of glowing ore stretched across the ground, coiling outward from the center like veins of fire and crystal. Fallen leaves danced on the breeze as Earth and Metal Fae shaped the spiral path, turning the stonework lawn into a living circuit of color and texture.

The spiral path wasn’t built with magic. It was built with hands, mine among them.

As Fall Fae, Orivian and I placed the stones together, tracing the lines of metal-veined ore and setting them in formation along the ceremonial field. I chose each piece carefully, not because anyone would notice, but because it mattered. Earth and Metal should open the Spiral of Seasons with precision.

He knelt beside me, a coil of polished copper wire looped around his wrist. When he passed me a narrow shard of obsidian, he didn’t speak. Just gave me a half-smile like he was waiting for me to roll my eyes.

“You’re placing those like they’re weapons,” he said eventually.

I didn’t look at him. “Planning for trouble?”

“Always.”

We stood at the same time, our shoulders brushing briefly. I didn’t move away. Neither did he. All I could remember in that moment was the kiss I took from him by the lake. Is he thinking about the same thing?

The first beat of drums broke our stare, and I stepped back, turning toward my quad.

The dress moved differently than I was used to. Too fluid, too soft. It was deep gray, cut asymmetrically, all flowing fabric and open lines. I’d refused anything that glittered, but even so, the silk caught the firelight in ways I didn’t like. My arms were bare, save for a thin chain above one elbow that Orivian had insisted was “ceremonial.”

I’d given up my bracers for the night. I felt unarmored.

The dress moved like water. I didn’t move like water.

I moved like stone.

Other students had gathered at the edge of the field, each quad grouped by season. I joined mine.

The spiral lay open before us, etched in stone and shadow, traced in flickering veins of light. The ceremonial mound at the center shimmered with quiet energy.

Our quad stepped forward together—me, Ardorion, Shara, and Rielle. We’d done this before the year prior, but the weight of it felt different this year. Maybe because of Halven. Maybe because of everything.

Shara adjusted her shawl and arched a brow at me. “Is it just me, or were you two a little too close to the ceremonial mound?”

Ardorion smirked. “Pretty sure I saw Orivian hand her a rock. That’s basically a marriage proposal for Metal Fae.”

Rielle sighed but chuckled, too. “You’re all ridiculous.”

“But not wrong,” Shara said with a smile.

I didn’t bother answering. They could guess all they wanted.

The drumbeat deepened. Flutes joined in. Crystal chimes drifted from the edges of the grove as light began to spiral across the path we’d built. Our feet followed.

We moved into the Spiral Form, one quad among many now, drawn inward with every step. The ritual movement kept us apart, then swept us close again, pulling the seasons into harmony. The music pulled us forward, blending season against season.

I didn’t look for Orivian in the crowd, but I didn’t have to. I knew where he was.

By the time we reached the innermost ring, the air buzzed with gathered magic. Professors stood in a quiet line at the edge of the ceremonial tree. I caught sight of Veyn, green and gold robes, arms folded, expression intent on Shara.

Orivian was already near the ceremonial mound, his copper-threaded coat catching the light. He glanced at me once, then the convergence began.

Light pulsed through the field like breath, and the tree at the center shimmered, its branches blooming with multi-hued crystals. The Spiral of Seasons pulsed outward.

I should have watched the display. I didn’t.

He was still looking at me.

And I hated the dress a little less.

Later, after the convergence, the spiral broke. Dancers spread across the softly lit field, music softening into a free-flowing rhythm.

I hadn’t planned to stay long. But I stood at the edge of the dance floor during the open dance, the Twilight Waltz, watching the lights drift over the trees, when he found me.

He didn’t say anything. Just offered his hand.

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re not going to make a joke?”

He smiled. “I know when to shut up.”

We stepped into the waltz, slow and deliberate. His hand didn’t press, just rested lightly at my back. Mine hovered at his shoulder.

We didn’t talk at first.

I didn’t look at him, but I felt the pulse of the bond between us. I almost said something. Something like how we didn’t have to dance if we were just working together to help solve Halven’s disappearance.

But I didn’t say anything. I think because, for right now, I was okay with this fated thing between us.

It wasn’t until halfway through the second loop, when he asked quietly, “Have you learned anything more?”

I didn’t answer right away.

“Because I have,” he went on. “I found references—very old ones—to tunnels beneath Nivara Hall. Places cut deep under the lake. I think Halven might’ve gone there. But I haven’t found how to access them.”

I searched his face.

He wasn’t lying.

He didn’t know we’d already found the portal.

For some reason, my heart flipped and warmed at the same time. I always thought he was aristocrat who would always think he was better than anyone else, but that’s not who he was showing me.

So I nodded once. “There’s a passage. Hidden under the floor in the library. It’s sealed, but we found a way in.”

He blinked, not in surprise, but in confirmation. “I thought so.”

“And a glyph on a door,” I said. “One we couldn’t open.”

He drew a breath, shallow and careful. “You’re still letting me in.”

“Only when you earn it.”

“Am I earning it now?”

I didn’t answer.

But I didn’t walk away, either.

We danced until the song faded. Neither of us let go right away.

He was close. Closer than I let most people. His hand stayed where it had been the whole time, light, respectful, measured. But I felt its weight like metal pressing against skin.

I wanted more.

I wanted his hand lower. I wanted the press of his chest against mine, like when he’d pinned me at the lake. Not because of a fight. Because of something else. Something I hadn’t admitted out loud.

Heat curled low in my spine, and I swallowed it like steel.

I thought about saying something clever. Something flirtatious. Rielle could probably make it sound effortless. She’d smile, tilt her head just a little, maybe tease with a line that didn’t give too much away. I didn’t know how to do that. I never had.

I only knew how to want something and act like I didn’t.

And then there was the bond, that invisible tether between us. That ache beneath the ribs. I could feel it more with every breath we shared. Like the world was already writing us into the same sentence.

I’d never liked playing by anyone else’s rules. Not fate’s. Not tradition’s. Not even my own.

But I didn’t move away.

And when I finally looked up—really looked at him—I didn’t look away.

The sun had just begun to dip when the Spiral of Seasons dance began.

At the edge of the ceremonial field, torches sparked to life with autumn-colored flame. Lines of glowing ore stretched across the ground, coiling outward from the center like veins of fire and crystal. Fallen leaves danced on the breeze as Earth and Metal Fae shaped the spiral path, turning the stonework lawn into a living circuit of color and texture.

The spiral path wasn’t built with magic but with the hands of the Fall Fae, including our own, Garnexis. Along with the others, and especially close to Orivian, she placed the stones together, tracing the lines of metal-veined ore and setting them in formation along the ceremonial field.

It was beautiful. And I felt oddly hollow.

We hadn’t found anything new in the tunnels. It had been days since we discovered the sealed Emberglyph door, and there were no more clues, no new glyphs. Just silence, and a sense that something important was still locked away.

I should’ve been excited for the Spiral of Seasons. I had the perfect silver wrap, soft slate-blue robes, and even a matching lace ribbon braided into my hair. I’d laughed through most of the pre-ritual preparations with Shara and the others, and part of me meant it.

But the other part?

The other part still remembered the last Fall Equinox.

Last year, during the Twilight Waltz, I’d kissed Halven for the first time.

I could still remember the warmth of his hand on mine, the way his grin dimmed when he looked at me like I was the only person who mattered. I remembered thinking, just for that moment, that we could make it work, despite everything.

Despite who I was supposed to be.

But I was Moon Fae. And he wasn’

And I’d already paid the price for forgetting that.

“Nice night,” Ardorion said, stepping up beside me as the last torch flared to life. “Just enough drama in the air to make it ceremonial.”

Shara looped her arm through mine. “You say that like you don’t love it.”

“I never said that.” He winked. “I’m made for ceremony. And fire.”

Enchantments laid heavy in the air, as if even the shadows were part of the ritual. Everywhere I looked, students moved in seasonal robes, laughter tucked between their quiet awe. Drums started slow and steady, joined by wind flutes and chimes strung between trees like notes hung on breath.

Garnexis returned to us from the stone path, her expression neutral as always. The spiral lay open before us, etched in stone and shadow, traced in flickering veins of light. The ceremonial mound at the center shimmered with quiet energy.

Our quad stepped forward together—me, Ardorion, Shara, and Garnexis. We’d done this before the year prior, but the weight of it felt different this year. Without Halven.

Shara adjusted her shawl and arched a brow at Garnexis after flicking a glance to Orivian. “Is it just me, or were you two a little too close to the ceremonial mound?”

Ardorion grinned. “Pretty sure I saw Orivian hand her a rock. That’s basically a marriage proposal for Metal Fae.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re all ridiculous.”

“But not wrong,” Shara added with a smile.

Garnexis raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Her silence was confirmation enough.

The music shifted again. The signal.

We stepped forward together—our Goldspire quad, one from each season—feet moving in time with the path carved in stone and lore. The spiral drew us in, step by step, line by line, pulling us apart and folding us back together in a dance as old as balance itself.

The moment was sacred. But my heart wasn’t in it.

My gaze kept drifting to the center of the field.

The professors were there, in formal ceremonial robes, forming a ring around the base of the convergence tree.

And standing among them was Isa.

She looked exhausted. Her posture was upright, but her magic wavered at the edges, like candlelight struggling in wind. Her gaze swept the dancers without expression, but it didn’t land on anyone. Not really. There was something haunted about her.

I watched her longer than I meant to.

Because if Isa was cracking… then something much worse might be unraveling.

By the time we reached the innermost ring, the air buzzed with gathered magic. The convergence began with a single, held breath, then the ceremonial tree bloomed. Crystals flared from its branches in all colors, all elements, reflecting one another in perfect fractal harmony. The light pulsed outward like a second heartbeat across the field.

I should have watched the display. I didn’t. I looked for Neir, as ridiculous as that seems because he wasn’t a student or a part of the academy. But I scanned the crowd anyway.

Nothing.

Just Isa and the other faculty. Just the tree. Just the crowd.

But later, as the other dancers spun and dipped in the final rounds, I felt it.

A flicker of movement at the edge of my vision.

A wolf. Or a shadow shaped like one.

It vanished the moment I turned my head, but I’d seen it before. Just a few times over the past week, just enough to make me wonder.

I remembered what he’d said in the library. That he was only partially werewolf. That his other half let him shift into human form, but it was taxing. I also remembered the press of his lips to mine both in the library and in every dream since. Not a single night has passed without his arms around me. In my dreams.

There were other dances after the convergence. Other rituals. Seasonal callings. A weaving of movement that blended magic and intention. I moved through all of them.

When the Twilight Waltz began, music softened into meandering strings and wind, and the last official steps gave way to the open celebration dance. I drifted away from the field’s edge, away from the laughter and light.

I found a place in the trees.

Not hiding. Not really. I was mourning the loss of my friend, the loss of a love that had always been doomed.

Then a hush covered the crowd. The world around me slowed. I turned back toward the dancing just as he stepped into view.

And every whisper in the crowd told me I wasn’t the only one who saw him. The whispers rippled. Quiet shock, curious awe, the kind of gasps that happen when someone legendary steps into the light. Neir didn’t flinch at the attention.

His jacket was cut close and fastened with silver clasps, the color of twilight just before dawn, deep blue with the faintest sheen of dusk-gray at the seams. The fabric caught the lantern light when he moved, edged with subtle embroidery that shimmered like starlight, not for ornament, but memory. His hair was loose around his shoulders, darker than shadow, but every strand reflected the firelight like it had been dipped in morning.

And yes, his hair was blue.

The same impossible shade that had sent half the campus into a frenzy the first week of term.

I didn’t say anything as he approached me.

He said his nickname for me like it had never left his mouth. “Little Moon.”

That was it. Just that.

My throat tightened.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I said softly. “Didn’t you say it was taxing?”

His eyes, molten gold and steady, held mine. “It’s worth it.”

He stepped close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, like sunlight on stone.

“To hold you again,” he added.

I hated how fast my pulse jumped. Hated how I didn’t step away.

He didn’t reach for me, not yet. He just stood there, letting the silence speak for him.

I looked him over, really looked. “You’re not supposed to be able to do this.”

“No,” he said. “I’m not.”

“Then how?”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “The other half of me bends rules.”

That earned the full smile. Brief. Gone too soon and replaced with a hunger I felt deep in my soul.

He finally offered his hand, palm up. “Will you dance with me?”

I looked back toward the celebration, toward the students, the music, the lights. But I already knew my answer.

I placed my hand in his.

We didn’t waltz, not really. Just swayed, shifting quietly beneath the trees while the rest of the world spun in a different rhythm.

His hand settled on my hip, and mine rested lightly at his shoulder.

The magic around us shimmered, my cold matching the frost curling along the grass beneath our feet, his sun heat warming the air between us. It wasn’t aggressive. It wasn’t fighting.

It just was.

The last time we spoke, he said he was the guardian of old magic. Since learning what we have about Halven, I’ve wondered if Neir knew anything. Keeping my voice low, I asked, “Are you here because of Halven?”

He didn’t answer right away. “Is that the other man I see in your dreams?”

My mouth went dry. “He’s… he was my boyfriend.”

Neir’s jaw didn’t clench. He didn’t react. But I felt something shift in the air.

“I thought I’d learn more from you,” I said. “About the magic here. About what’s being guarded.”

“I can’t tell you everything.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve made a vow.”

I looked away. “You can't tell me everything, but can you tell me something?”

“I can,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I will.”

“Why?”

He must have felt my anger not only in my words but in the stiffness of my body because he suddenly dragged me against him, holding me to his chest, his lips near the top of my head.

His warm breath shifted through my hair. “I would protect you.”

We moved in silence for a few breaths. The music drifted from the clearing, slow and soft.

“Are you really the guardian of old magic?” I asked.

“Yes.”

So he would answer some questions. Perhaps I had to make the questions easy to start.

“How old are you?”

He tilted his head back, smiling down at me like he caught on to my game. “How old are you?”

I blinked at him. “I’m twenty.”

“Then I’m twenty,” he said. “Plus twenty-five thousand.”

My eyebrows rose. “You’re joking.”

He didn’t answer.

That’s when I noticed the strain in his magic. It was subtle, a shift in his fingers as they elongated, claws tipping the ends to prick my skin.

“You don’t have to do this,” I whispered as he struggled against his magic.

His voice was a rumble beneath my hand, but he won the battle, and his hands returned to human form. “I want to.”

Before I could argue further, he drew me gently into the shadows beneath a low-bending tree.

The light above didn’t reach us here.

It was just us. The hush. The hum. The pull.

His hand moved to my back, warm and steady. I barely breathed as he leaned down.

“I love our dreams like this,” he said. “But it’s better here. With you. Awake.”

My hands slid up his chest, and I almost told him no. I almost said we can’t. Again.

But he beat me to it.

“We can,” he whispered, mouth inches from mine. “You just don’t believe it yet.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?” I asked, too breathless.

“I don’t.” He pressed his forehead against mine. “But I’ve seen your dreams when you push him away. The one who was your boyfriend.”

My heart ached.

“I’m Moon Fae,” I whispered. “I have a duty.”

“I’m aware.” He ghosted his lips over my cheek, nearing my lips but he restrained himself. “And I am half Moon Fae.”

That stunned me.

I pulled back just enough to look into his face, into the truth waiting there. I didn’t ask for proof.

I just believed him.

And then I stopped thinking and kissed him.