Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

During Adaine’s first week at the Aguefort Adventuring Academy, her teacher springs a surprise project on her class.

“One thing I have noticed throughout my tenure at Aguefort,” Tiberia Runestaff begins, her stern voice doing nothing to dissuade the roiling panic that’s taken up a permanent residency within Adaine’s body, “is the isolating tendencies of all you young wizards.” She raps her staff against the ground, lips pinched tightly. “As such, your first assignment will be a paired project: You are to find a fellow wizard of a differing school of magic, and teach one another a spell of your fancy.”

Tiberia continues, delving further into the details of their assignment, but Adaine doesn’t hear it. Her heartbeat swallows up the sound of her teacher’s voice, rattling against her chest, echoing in her throat. A paired project? she thinks, wide-eyed, staring down at her desk. Her breathing strains, becomes shallow; she clenches the orb in her arms a little tighter, a stupidly, awkwardly massive thing that needs to be carried everywhere because she can’t tuck it away in her bag.

Distantly, she’s aware of the sound of chairs scraping against the floor, the chatter of voices that flood the room. It’s too much, too much for her; she hangs her head, trying her best to shove down the bile that licks at the back of her throat, the nausea and fear that seizes hold of her. If only one of her party members took the same classes as her! It’s not like she’s super close to them, because they’ve only known each other for a few days since detention, but at least she could work with someone she knows. Not a stupid, judgemental wizard who’d snicker at her stupid mockery of a Hudol uniform that she doesn’t even want to wear, or side-eye the massive orb she’s forced to bring with her because it’s a gift from her dear father.

She raises her head the slightest bit, eyes flicking around. Her breathing catches in her throat at the sight of smiling faces gathered together, all these strangers paired up neatly around her. Oh god, Adaine realises with a sinking dread, beginning to tremble. She’s going to be alone — alone by herself, because she couldn’t get up and go around to ask someone the stupid, simple question of hey, could we pair up for this? She’s going to be the only one left without a partner, and Tiberia Runestaff is going to lay her piercing eyes on her, and Adaine’s going to have to drop out and run away, and—

“C-Could we work together?”

Adaine blinks.

She turns her head to the source of the stuttering voice, and comes face to face with a scrawny, blue dragonborn. Horns and fins that are too big for his tiny form, an oversized pair of glasses resting on a small snout. A shirt that’s just a little too large, tucked into pants; a tail that lashes from side to side with anxious energy.

Amber eyes meet her own, dark slits narrowed to a point.

“I— um—” She’s stuttering, stumbling, caught off guard. But Adaine manages to steady herself, takes a deep breath and tries to channel the confidence of the rest of her party: of Fig’s reckless chaos, Fabian’s practised conviction, Riz’s sharp tenacity. “Sure!” Adaine blurts out with too wide a smile, her reply just a little too loud, but any anxiety that swells within her — her mind beating herself up for being too loud, too weird, what is he going to think about you? — is dissipated as the dragonborn boy returns the grin.

He clambers into the seat next to her — which is empty, Adaine realises; whoever sat there must have left a while ago — and dumps his bag on the floor. “Oisin Hakinvar,” he introduces, reaching out a hand to her. “I’m studying conjuration magic.”

Adaine clasps his hand, feels the rough scales rub against her smooth palm. “Adaine Abernant,” she returns, feeling a flicker of pride when she doesn’t stumble over her words. “Divination wizard, at your service.”

That last quip, at least, elicits a snorting laugh.

They aren’t able to meet immediately, because Adaine’s party agreed to meet up and go spy on Johnny Spells at Krom’s Diner, something they planned on doing after gathering a bunch of clues earlier that week. “But we can do it tomorrow,” Adaine says after class, the two of them stopping outside the classroom to discuss a few things.

“I’m good with that,” Oisin replies; his tail lashes behind him, not for the first time, and his claws curl around the strap of his satchel. He hesitates, before he asks, “Before you go, c-could I get your number? J-Just so it’ll be a bit easier to plan things,” he adds quickly, backpedalling.

Adaine stifles a smile. She’s grown strangely comfortable around Oisin over the course of their wizard class together. It’s strange because it goes against what she knows about herself — perpetually haunted with a rattling terror that shadows her steps with quivers and shakes — but she can’t say she dislikes it at all. “Sure,” she answers, pulling out her crystal and passing it to the boy. He fiddles with it, before he passes it back; there’s a new contact in her phone, full name spelt out — Oisin Hakinvar.

“So,” she breathes, a little nervous. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Yeah,” Oisin utters. “Tomorrow. Is the— uh, library good?”

She nods, and he nods back. “Right,” he says, scratching the back of his head, suddenly shy. “I’ll see you then.”

“Are you okay?” Oisin asks, his voice hushed to avoid the librarian’s ire.

Adaine glances up from her notebook, blinking at him. “I’m okay,” she replies. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

She’s still not the best at reading dragonborn body language because Oisin’s the first one she’s met — not counting Vice-Principal Goldenhoard, because he’s the vice-principal, and that’s not really the same thing as a fellow student her age — but Adaine sees his eyes narrow slightly, peering at her carefully. “You keep wincing,” he eventually says, as a way of explanation. “I’ve— I noticed it, all through today, but—” He exhales. “I didn’t want to pry.”

You keep wincing. Those words echo in Adaine’s head. Heat creeps up her neck, and she averts her gaze, heart thumping with some frenetic energy. She wasn’t sure what she expected when Oisin asked her that, but she certainly wasn’t expecting concern. She’s only known him for— what, two days?

He’s rather perceptive, Adaine realises, daring to glance back at the concerned dragonborn. Something in her flutters at his worry for her; it’s a rather foreign thought, the realisation that people can care for her, something she’s learning in bits and pieces with some of her party members. They still don’t know each other all too well, but Kristen’s checked in on her a few times already, and Riz has too, and it’s— it’s nice.

And now Oisin’s asked about her too.

“I’m alright,” Adaine eventually says. “Well— kind of.” She hesitates. She doesn’t want to spill every detail of what happened yesterday, doesn’t want to concern her project partner with an hour of rambling, but Oisin is still staring at her with those narrowed eyes, and she feels the urge to quell his own concerns, just a little bit. “My party got into… a battle,” she finally says — ambiguous, vague. Adaine raises her arms, stretching slightly; “I’m still a tad sore from everything, even after taking a rest.”

It’s not a lie, not really. A part of her is still aching from the aftermath of tearing down a road, fighting a battle from the backseat of the car Fig stole. It’s not as bad as it was in the immediate aftermath, of course, and her injuries are healed, but she’d be lying if she said the ache permeating her muscles wasn’t a byproduct of Fig crashing and flipping the car.

Oisin’s eyes clear up. “I-I see,” he says, trips over the words slightly. “You… you guys are already fighting battles?”

“Um… yeah.”

A beat of silence.

“It’s complicated,” Adaine finally says. “Let’s just— get started on this assignment.”

Sinking into the requisites of an assignment is usually like stepping into a pool of water — cooling her skin, calming her senses, a tranquil state where she knows what she has to do, and she just needs to get it done. But with another person around, a pair of slitted eyes trained on her, flakes of fire nip at her heels, keeping her alert and just the slightest bit jittery. Even if they’ve struck up quite the rapport — and Adaine likes to think of it as that, anyway, something nice that she feels comfortable in — the thought of conjuring a spell, only for it to go miserably awry, ignites an embarrassed heat in her cheeks.

Still, she takes a deep breath, decides to dive in. “I thought that maybe we could do something simple,” she begins, flipping open her notebook. She stayed up late last night despite the ache eating at her bones because she only needed to trance for a few hours, and she really didn’t want to muck this up. “I don’t usually use this spell,” Adaine says, pushing over her notebook so Oisin can see it, the book tucked between the two of them, “but it’s a useful one.”

Oisin lowers his head, eyes narrowing as he peers closely. “Sense Emotion,” he recites, a clawed nail tracing Adaine’s cursive scrawl. Turning his head towards her, the corner of his mouth curves up in a half-smile, and Adaine just about sags with relief. “It does seem useful. Where do we start?”

For the next hour or so, she walks him through the spell, her stuttering speech smoothing into a confident cadence. They sit together, tucked away in a corner of the library, her voice instructing, his hands conjuring sparks of magic. Her crystal sits in her bag, turned to do not disturb; the library remains quiet, and the librarian does not bother them. It’s like they’ve been caught in a pocket dimension, hidden from the rest of Aguefort, from Elmville — from strict parents with eyes that bore into her soul, from dead lunch ladies and a bloodied ladle held in her hand, from the uncertainties of a slow-building mystery tangling around her soul.

By the time Oisin finally nails the spell, Adaine has been grinning so much that her cheeks hurt. They’ve gotten along like a house on fire, clicking in a way she never would have expected — a mutual love of the studies of magic, a mutual solidarity in being the odd ones out; Adaine with her Fallinel accent and stiff school uniforms, Oisin with his snout and scales and lashing tail. “Cast it on me,” she encourages, gesturing at Oisin. “Come on!”

“And reveal your innermost emotions? How vulnerable of you,” Oisin quips, but he’s smiling too. He steadies himself, concentrating hard, before casting the spell. As the magic washes over her, Adaine feels crackling static, raising goose-bumps along her skin.

She watches him carefully. Slowly, the smile fades from his face — and, noticing that change, Adaine can feel it slip off hers too. “Is something wrong?” she asks, breath quickening. “Did the spell fail?”

“No, it didn’t.”

“Then what is it?”

Oisin hesitates. She sees it in the way his mouth opens before it shuts, like he was about to say something but changed his mind. Her nerves get the better of her, and she blurts out, “I swear I won’t get— mad at you, or anything, I just—”

“No, no, you’re fine, it’s just—” Oisin exhales. “Adaine, am I… a douche?”

Adaine stares at him. “I’m sorry?”

He fidgets even more. “I don’t want to pry, by any means, but—” He averts his gaze. “You… did feel happy, but there was this underlying tension… like fear and embarrassment, and I just—” Sagging in his chair, Oisin sighs. “I didn’t know if it was me, because a lot of people look at me weird, because I’m a dragonborn, and they’re… not really good with that.”

Fear? Embarrassment? “That has nothing to do with you!” Adaine bursts out, before she snaps her mouth shut. A hot shame overtakes her, and she hears a distant shhh from somewhere else in the library. She buries her head in her hands, letting out a whine. “That’s— that’s not your fault, Oisin. I’m…”

How does she even explain this without looking insane?

“I’m… very nervous, naturally,” Adaine finally says, raising her head from her hands. Her shoulders sag. “It’s not personal to you, or anything— I’ve actually really loved spending time with you, I’m just… a bit nervous. But that’s not because of you, I swear.”

A beat of silence.

She meets his eyes, slitted pupils dilating as he gazes at her wordlessly.

“...Sorry,” Adaine whispers. God, she’s fucked this up, hasn’t she? But before she can rise to her feet, stammer an excuse to ditch, reschedule Oisin’s part of this to another day—

A hand reaches for her wrist, curls around it. “I’m sorry too,” Oisin says, as Adaine stares at him in bewilderment. A purple blush has spread across his face. “I didn’t mean to assume.”

“No, you’re good, Oisin—”

“But I made you uncomfortable—”

“You didn’t—”

“You looked like you were about to leave—”

In the midst of overlapping words, of endless apologies from both sides, they both drop into silence.

And then they laugh. Giggling, covering their mouths with their hands to muffle the sounds, but they laugh. “God,” Adaine sighs, stifling one last snicker. “We’re… pretty similar, aren’t we?”

“It seems like that,” Oisin answers, with one last snort. He pulls his own notebook out of his bag, slides it over to her. A glint shines in his eyes as he flips through the pages. “Come on, I’ll teach you a conjuration spell now. This one’s going to take a bit longer — you need an hour to properly cast it — but I swear it’ll be worth it.”

Adaine grins. “I’ll hold you to your word, then.”

As Adaine stumbles her way through learning Oisin’s suggested spell, the dragonborn guides her along. His arm bumps against her own multiple times, and they both always pull their arms away, slightly embarrassed by the contact, before breaking into another giggling fit. His voice soothes her ears, quells her anxiety; she learns the scrawled slope of his handwriting as he explains his words to her, teaching her how to conjure his spell.

And, true to Oisin’s claims, the spell is worth it.

He teaches her Find Familiar. And after an hour of concentration, of conjuring, her magic forms in front of her, a ball of flickering light next to her crystal orb. With a chirruping ribbit and one last flash of light, the ball settles into the form of a—

“Oh my god,” Adaine breathes, a hand reaching up to cover her mouth.

A perfectly spherical frog sits in front of her, smiling and happy. He ribbits at her again, and as she reaches out to him, he hops into her arms, happy and content to simply be here.

Oisin lets out a laugh. “He looks like your focus,” he says, when Adaine glances over at him. “They’re like two spheres together.”

“He really does.” She smooths her hand over the frog’s head, feels it nuzzle against her palm. Something settles inside of her. “He’s perfect,” Adaine breathes, transfixed by this— her familiar.

“I’m glad,” Oisin says, smiling sheepishly at her. “I’m glad you like the spell. And… thank you — for teaching me Sense Emotion.” He studies the frog in her arms carefully, reaches over, hand hovering above the frog as though waiting for permission. Adaine nods at him. “He’s so round,” Oisin observes, transfixed, brushing a knuckle along smooth, green skin. “What are you gonna name him?”

It’s a very good question, and one that would usually paralyse her with indecision. Maybe it’s because she’s in such a state of calm, having enjoyed her time working with Oisin more than she expected, but, for once, Adaine has an answer, the perfect name coming to mind.

“Bogariel Frogariel,” she declares, beaming at her froggy friend. “Boggy the Froggy for short.”

Boggy ribbits at her again, simply happy to be held in her arms.

They absolutely ace the assignment, and Adaine all but cheers openly when she sees the A+ marking her and Oisin’s work. “Good work, the both of you,” Tiberia Runestaff says — she speaks as sternly as ever, and she doesn’t smile at them at all, but it’s the closest thing resembling praise that she’s said thus far, so Adaine’s absolutely elated.

“We did it,” she whispers to Oisin, when Tiberia has moved on to grill some poor other pair, shrinking in their seats in fear. “We fucking did it!”

Oisin grins back at her. There’s a brief flash of magic, sparking across her skin; “No fear today,” he teases, as Adaine gawks at him. His eyes flash. “Only happiness.”

“Did you just use Sense Emotion on me—?”

They attract a few dirty looks, whispering loudly and giggling to each other, but — and this surprises even her — Adaine finds that she doesn’t care.

They don’t stop hanging out after the project is over. Tiberia Runestaff’s classes pile them all with hefty workloads, and even if Adaine’s future assignments are all individual ones, instructing her to do self-driven research into learning spells and her school of magic, she still studies with Oisin. They continue their Fridays at the library, before quickly upgrading it to include Mondays and Wednesdays too — thrice a week, as long as their schedules let them — and Adaine has to admit it, it’s nice.

It’s a respite from everything going on, she decides. She loves the Bad Kids, she truly does, and they bring her so much happiness, so much safety and comfort, the six of them tangling together closer and closer with each passing day, week, month — but she also loves being with Oisin too. She’s the only spellcaster of the group; none of them get it the way Oisin does, just like Adaine wouldn’t understand a single thing about Riz’s rogue lessons, or Kristen’s cleric practices, or Gorgug’s barbarian classes.

She doesn’t really know anything about Oisin’s party, nor has she ever asked. Oisin knows a fair bit about hers, partly because of their innate infamy, partly because Adaine sometimes talks a little about them, but he doesn’t pry too much into her affairs, doesn’t ask her too many questions. At most, when she stumbles into a study session so obviously exhausted, or when she texts him to tell him that she won’t be able to meet today because her party’s got something on, he’ll hit her with a simple, “Are you okay?” or “What’s going on today?”

And it’s that simple, genuine care, in the messages he leaves her, or in the concern that mars his face when she meets him in the library, that causes warmth to bloom within her chest, flustering her cheeks. It’s nice to be cared about. It really is.

(“What happened last week?” Oisin asks when Adaine stumbles into class one Monday morning, Boggy hopping behind her. His arms are resting on the table, and his tail lashes behind him, betraying his worry. Despite taking Sunday to rest after the chaos of Friday night at the Black Pit, and all of Saturday at Seacaster Manor, Adaine’s bone-deep exhaustion must show somewhere on her face.

Adaine merely crashes into the seat next to him. “A lot,” she says simply. Boggy hops onto her table, and she rubs his head absentmindedly. It’s early; only a few people are flocking in so far, so she lowers her voice, tells him, “I nearly got lycanthropy.”

Oisin chokes on nothing but thin air, coughing and wheezing as Adaine whacks him across the back. “You what?!” he gasps, staring at her with bulging eyes. “Wh— what is your party even doing?”

“Stuff,” Adaine says, hiding the greater details of this slow-revealing mystery. “On that note, I don’t think I can meet again today.”

Oisin only nods at her, his expression wrinkling with concern. “Just…” he hesitates, before he says, quietly, “take care of yourself, alright? There’s only one of you, and—” He abruptly stops, before he says, a little stiffly, awkwardly, “I know we’ve only known each other for a few weeks, but… I consider you a friend.”

Adaine stares at him. And then she smiles.

“I consider you a friend too, Oisin,” she says kindly, reaching out to rest her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t you worry about me; I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”)

Even as the Bad Kids ascend into the realm of popularity, their combat experiences boosting their non-existent reputations, Adaine doesn’t abandon Oisin. Why would she? They’re still taking the same classes, and the people who come up to say hi to her now, asking her for tips on spellcasting in the thick of a frantic battle, don’t actually like her for who she is, just what she can provide. She still finds time to study with Oisin — and now there’s more to their relationship than just cooping up in the library together, because they’ve long since bypassed the barrier of just being study partners; he’s her friend.

When she gets a makeover, she shows him what she can do with her Jacket of Useful Things. They’re hanging out at Basrar’s this time, papers piled over the table along with scoops of ice cream, and Adaine can’t stop grinning as she says, “It’s a really cool jacket. I can take out any item as long as it’s worth less than ten gold.” She runs her hands down the denim, gestures at a pocket; “Tell me something you want right now. Worth less than ten gold, of course,” she adds as a precursory measure. “Oh, and it can’t be a living thing,” Adaine quickly says, that particular fact slipping her mind. “Fig asked for a rat, but it turns out that any living being the jacket conjures will be stuck in immense pain, and well—” She laughs, a little nervously. “I don’t really— want that.”

“Anything under ten gold, huh?” Oisin scrunches his face in what Adaine has come to recognise as his thinking look, diving deep into his thoughts. He taps a claw against the table, drums in a little pattern. Finally, he says, “A pen. Maybe one that works better for my hand.” He glances at his hand as he speaks, a little morosely, and Adaine understands — though humanoid in structure, Oisin’s fingers are long, tipped with sharp, thick claws, and covered with scales.

“Coming right up!” She reaches into a pocket, and the jacket responds. Pulling out a pen, Adaine slides it across the table, watches with a smirk as Oisin picks it up, eyes widening with stunned realisation as he rolls it about his hand, grasping it with less difficulty than usual. “Satisfied?”

“Very,” he says, still transfixed on the pen. His eyes flick up, pupils contracting. “I shall treasure this for the rest of my life, Adaine Abernant.”

She laughs, leans into the open dramatics. “Well, if you ever need more, you’ll know where to find me.”

And what a difference it is, spending time with Oisin, no longer hiding away in the library, but hanging out openly at Basrar’s! Her irrational fear may still eat at her from time to time, especially whenever she’s at home, but when she’s at school?

It’s practically non-existent.

Life is good for a while. Adaine’s acing all her classes, a consistent streak of A’s and A+’s littering her report cards. She’s closer than ever with the Bad Kids, all of them taking advantage of this downtime after the frenetic craze of trying to solve the mysteries surrounding the palimpsests during the first few months of the year. She’s spending time with Oisin, dabbling outside of bookish studies in the library to studying elsewhere, or even hanging out together without the mutual need to ace their academics. Sure, her home life is absolute garbage, and she’s been spending more time outside than at home wherever possible, but in the grand scheme of things?

This is the happiest Adaine has ever been…

Until it’s not.

She connects the dots, connects her bitch of a sister to a string of disappearances that had once been happening, but have since slowed to a halt. She realises the function of the book Aelwyn had her steal, finds a replica of a model ship at the back of Aelwyn’s closet, and realises, with a curdling dread, that something very bad is about to happen.

She punches Aelwyn across the face, beats the shit out of her sister on the roof of Ostentatia’s house with the help of her friends. She grapples with herself, fights herself from crumbling from breakdown after breakdown at her father’s rudeness, at his fury towards her for allowing Aelwyn to get arrested, at his lack of care. She barely holds herself together, learning so many truths about her sister that she hadn’t wanted to know. She moves out of her house, lives at Strongtower with her friends. They undercover more and more of the mystery, try to stop one last maiden from getting kidnapped—

But they fail, and Zelda is trapped in a palimpsest, and they’re forced to ask Biz Glitterdew for help, and Adaine has to suck up her discomfort for the sake of the mystery. Except everything goes wrong, a battle breaks out — of fucking course he couldn’t have been trusted, she yells, over and over in her head; of course he wanted to possess her, shove her in a fucking palimpsest, item rather than person, like an object to be owned—

And then they go to jail.

It’s hard keeping track of the days in prison when everything blends together. Adaine knows that Riz is keeping track of it, scraping marks into the walls of his cell under the claim of keeping it all together when really, the action feels more deranged prisoner losing their sanity than anything else. But it’s Riz, and he’s the one with the best hold on his mental state, so she takes him at his word, even if she doesn’t bother asking him what day it is anymore.

The worst part is when they’re all separated. Everything is so cold, so isolating, and Adaine swallows down more than one instance of mounting terror, a dread so deep it paralyses her to her very core. She tries to make conversation to distract herself — and it works on the good days, but on the bad days, there’s little else she can do but close her eyes and try to trance.

There’s nobody to visit her anyway. She tried making her one call ages ago, tried directing Goldenhoard in hopes of any help, only for her hopes to be dashed. Her parents don’t give two shits about her, and with the Bad Kids here, there’s not really anyone else left.

Or so she thought.

Because there’s one day where she hears the distant clatter of doors sliding open, the gruff voices of guards directing someone through with strict instructions. She closes her eyes, head resting against the stiff pillow where she lays on her little cot, because it’s probably for someone else. They’re not the only prisoners here, but even if they were, the visitor’s probably for someone else — one of the other Bad Kids, someone who cares about them.

She doesn’t expect the shadowy figure to come to a stop before her cell. To call out, in a trembling voice, the familiar cadence immediately snagging her attention, speaking her name.

“Adaine?”

Her eyes fly open. Jolting upright, Adaine nearly tumbles off the cot, managing to catch herself at the last moment. She stares at the bars, hair tangled in her face, and as she connects that voice to the person before her, realises just who it is standing here, waiting for her—

Her breathing hitches.

“Oisin?”

“So it’s true,” she hears him murmur, but in the silence of the jail, Adaine catches his quiet words. She stumbles over, hands grasping the bars — Oisin’s expression is distressed, mouth curled into a grimace, and yet, there is a flicker of relief in his amber eyes as she raises her head to meet his gaze. “You really are stuck here.”

“Yeah,” Adaine breathes, trembling where she stands. “I— We are.” She swallows the lump in her throat, surprised shock slowly shifting into a heart-palpitating fear. There’s an unspoken question in Oisin’s eyes, and Adaine opens her mouth, says, “A lot… happened.” It’s still too much to talk about, to spill forth everything that went on since the last time she saw him — and now that she’s thinking about it properly, beyond missing him in that quiet, longing way, Adaine realises that they haven’t spoken, in text or voice, since before Ostentatia’s party.

“I’m sorry,” Adaine mumbles. She leans forward, rests her head against the cold bars; a wave of exhaustion sweeps over her, threatening to drag her under. “I should have told you what was going on. I… I’m sorry if I made you worry.”

“I’m just—” Oisin catches himself, and Adaine hears something a little like a pained noise, something she’s never heard before. It’s almost primitive, something so distinctly other, and she jolts a little because, again, she’s never heard it before. But she doesn’t get to ask Oisin about it, and she doesn’t want to, because he’s slapping a hand over his mouth like he let something slip, and Adaine has just enough brain cells left to put two and two together and conclude, tentatively, that maybe it’s a dragonborn thing.

Oisin pulls his hand away from his mouth. His eyes flick up, meeting hers. “I’m just glad to know you’re safe,” he says softly, a quaver to his voice. He wrings his hands together, claws scraping against scales nervously. “Word went around the school, about what happened to Ostentatia and Zelda, and—” His mouth snaps shut; his tail thwacks against the ground. “I-I thought… something happened to you too.”

“Well, something did happen to me.” Adaine lets out a sigh, slides to the ground. She’s exhausted, all of a sudden, despite the hearth-like warmth that blooms in her heart at Oisin’s presence, at the fact that he cared enough to find and visit her. She raises a hand, gesticulates about her cell — dank and cold, the only light that of a dim, magical lamp that can’t be shattered or removed in any way. “We got arrested,” Adaine remarks dryly, a wry smile curling across her lips. She pulls her legs to her chest, gazes at Oisin. “How did you find me anyway?”

“There were a lot of rumours that your party got arrested.” Oisin crouches, joins her on the floor. He reaches for one of the bars, wraps a hand around Adaine’s own. She doesn’t pull away. “Of course, they were just rumours, but…” He hesitates, before he says, “I got a friend to look into it. And, well— here I am.”

“Here you are,” she echoes.

Silence fills the space between them, but it isn’t uncomfortable — far from it, actually. There’s a strange peace to it, feeling the rough skin of Oisin’s palm, his touch running hot due to his heritage as a dragonborn, against her own hand, that bit of physical contact she’s been — and she only realises this now — starved of.

“Thank you,” says Adaine, breaking the quiet. She feels Oisin jolt slightly; a small smile sneaks onto her face. “For coming, I mean.”

“Obviously,” Oisin replies, recovering fast. His grip tightens slightly, a squeezing pressure that doesn’t hurt, but just keeps her grounded. “What are friends for? But… I do have to ask, Adaine—” And his forehead wrinkles, eyes narrowing slightly in concentration, that thoughtful expression. “What happened?”

She closes her eyes, uses her other hand to rub her aching temple. “God. It’s a long story.”

“I have time,” comes Oisin’s reply. A shuffling noise, something smacking the ground. “A little bit, anyway. I can’t stay forever, but… I can stay for a bit.”

Adaine nearly tells him everything — Ostentatia’s party, her battle with her bitch sister, the palimpsests, the arcade fight with Biz, getting locked up in jail — all of it. She gets as far as opening her mouth, about to begin from that night where Penelope Everpetal had shown up on her doorstep, looking for Aelwyn, when another voice pierces the silence. “So you’re Adaine’s friend, huh?”

Adaine’s eyes snap open.

Oisin startles visibly, tail stiffening behind him. His head whips around, looking left and right. “I— yes, I am,” he stumbles out, speaking a little too fast, all while Adaine recognises the voice as Riz’s — there’s an inquisitive edge to his words, like he’s a step away from digging deep and plunging in, sinking metaphorical claws into Oisin’s psyche. “I…” An awkward cough. “I didn’t realise someone else was here.”

“We’re all here, just locked up in different cells,” another voice interrupts — Fig. There’s a cackling laugh; “Honestly, did you, like, not notice us? You had to walk past me to get to Adaine. Talk about a one track mind, lover boy!”

Oisin’s face purples even more, blushing profusely. Even Adaine herself can feel her face heating from Fig’s words, prompting her to raise her voice, all but yelling, “We’re just friends, okay?”

“Well, I don’t know about that, Adaine.” And she all but groans at Fabian’s voice. She can practically see the grin on his face as he says, “You’ve spent a lot of time hanging out with him—”

“Just like I spend time with you guys!” Raking a hand through her hair, Adaine groans. “Anyways, can you guys just shut up and let me speak here?!”

Another laugh. “Sure,” Fig crows, and Adaine feels her lips twitch. “Have fun!”

Mercifully, the rest of the jail goes silent — or as silent as it can be. Adaine still hears soft murmurs, but it’s enough of a break from the teasing and prodding. If she closes her eyes, she can practically imagine all this as a conversation at school, her friends ambushing her as she talks to Oisin, teasing her the way friends do, like they’d done with Gorgug, playfully nudging him along with Zelda. “Sorry about them,” Adaine mutters, averting her gaze. “I think we’re all going a little stir-crazy in here. There’s not much to do in prison, you know!”

“I can imagine,” replies Oisin, with a little chuckle.

A pause.

“Listen, I…” Lowering his voice, Oisin leans in, words coming out as a raspy whisper. “I’m going to get you out of here, Adaine.”

Her heart skips a beat. “What?”

“You heard me.” Oisin pulls his hand away, and Adaine briefly mourns the loss of physical touch, of something warm to cling to. She leans back on instinct, watches with wide eyes as he grasps two parallel bars with tight-knuckled fists, but it quickly clicks for her what he’s doing when sparks begin dancing around his hands, a crackle of something breaking the air.

“Oisin.” Her voice is gentle, pitying. When he doesn’t respond, his eyes unfocused, lost in the thick of a conjuration, Adaine reaches out, curls her hands around his own. He slows, eyes flicking to hers. “It’s not going to work,” Adaine says softly. There is no admonishing, no yelling, none of the usual frustration that bubbles within her at being stuck and unable to escape; it has been replaced by the crackling warmth of a fireplace, the comfort of knowing that someone else cares. “They have abjurative wards all set up,” Adaine explains. “It’s an arcane spell sink; nothing goes through. I can’t even summon Boggy.” And god, does saying that make something inside her ache, craving the comfort of a round familiar to have and hold.

Oisin growls under his breath, tufts of smoke spilling out from his mouth. The sparks vanish, but he begins to grunt, and Adaine watches his scrawny arms strain under the effort of trying to wrench the bars apart. “Oisin,” she calls, but he ignores her, strains even harder. Her voice raises: “Oisin!”

“What?” he snaps, and she recoils, eyes wide. With a snarl, he throws his hands down, glares bloody murder at the bars between them. He’s trembling, the angriest Adaine has ever seen him, frustrated and vexed — and all because of her, for her. “I can’t just— sit back and wait for you to get out,” he growls. He turns on his heels, begins to pace around the small area in front of her cell. “I hate seeing you in there, all locked up. It’s not fair— you shouldn’t be in there, you should be—” He cuts himself off, abruptly, replaces whatever he was about to say with another snarl.

“Oisin,” Adaine calls again, but he doesn’t stop, stuck in a world of his own. That vexing frustration froths within her, crawls up the back of her throat, and she snaps. “Get a fucking hold of yourself!”

Maybe it’s because she hasn’t ever really raised her voice like this at Oisin, never sent sharp-edged words in his direction, but somehow, it works. Oisin freezes, head snapping towards Adaine. He stares at her, and she stares at him; she can feel her heart wedged in her throat.

She takes a deep breath. “...I know it’s not fair that I’m stuck in here. All of us know it’s not fair. We only got arrested because Principal Aguefort died, and he was the one who made sure students got off scot-free for—” She wrinkles her lips, the words catching in her throat before she forces them out, finishing with a raspy, “murdering people. Because we’re adventurers. It’s what we do, apparently.”

Oisin doesn’t move, doesn’t say a single word. Adaine sighs. “Just… come here, please?” she asks, the tension loosening from her voice. She reaches a hand through the bars, gestures for Oisin to come over, and somewhere in the air, the stiff atmosphere ebbs into something a little more bearable.

The dragonborn’s shoulders are hunched slightly as he trudges back over, a flash of regret in his eyes. “Sorry,” he mutters, staring at the ground. “I shouldn’t have lost my cool like that.”

“No, I’m sorry too,” Adaine says, rubbing the back of her neck. “For snapping at you, I mean. I’m just…” She exhales. “Really stressed. From being jailed and all. And… other things.” She pauses, bites her lip; Oisin’s gaze has flicked back up to her, staring at her with something imperceptible in his eyes. “Um… I really appreciate you trying to help. It’s just that it… well if it worked, we’d have been out of here ages ago.” She leans back, a little exasperated. “I’m not exactly cooped up in here of my own volition, Oisin.”

He looks mildly defeated. “I should have guessed that myself.” A sigh. “Listen,” Oisin begins, “I—” He stops, before he says, “I actually tried paying your bail.”

Her eyes widen. “Wait, are you serious?” A nod. “Oisin, you didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did,” he interrupts, and her mouth snaps shut at the sheer force of his voice, brimming with such conviction and certainty; it would be futile to interrupt and object against his claim, that he had no choice but to try and bail her out — because really, he did have a choice; it’s voluntary on his part, and it’s no small amount of money for someone he’s known for less than a year. “Because you’re my friend,” Oisin states, matter-of-factly, and Adaine thinks, briefly, if she would bail out the Bad Kids if she got out and they were still stuck here, returning from that hypothetical with a firm yes. “And I hate seeing you stuck in here, all locked up, because— because what?” A growl underlines his words. “Because your party killed someone?”

“Yeah, that’s about what happened,” Adaine mutters, resting her head against her hand as she thinks back through their larger-than-it-should-be — because they’re a bunch of freshmen — kill count.

“Like you said,” Oisin says, gesturing at her and then himself. “We’re adventurers. It’s what we’re meant to do.”

He stops, inhaling deeply. With another haggard sigh, Oisin says, “In any case, they didn’t let me pay your bail.”

Adaine stares at him. “What? Why?”

“I don’t know, they just—” A snarl, accompanied by a puff of smoke trailing from the sides of his jaws. “They didn’t let me!” He trembles at that, all over, and Adaine stares at him before she reaches out, with one wary hand. Oisin blinks at her, as though startled out of whatever sudden anger that had overcome him, and reaches back; their fingers intertwine. He lowers his voice. “But they did let me visit you. And I’m getting you out of here, Adaine, one way or another.”

“Oisin…” She swallows the lump in her throat, croaks out, “Thank you, but—”

“I know magic doesn’t work now,” he says, cutting her off. His grip tightens slightly, clinging to her like a lifeline, but Adaine doesn’t pull away. “So I’ll find something else. And then I’ll come back for you and help you escape. If you need to lie low for a while, I’ll help you. If you need— anything at all, I’ll—” His breathing catches in his throat. “I’ll give it to you.”

She tilts her head towards him, a small smile blooming across her cheeks. “And you’ll help all of us escape?” Adaine asks softly. Oisin stares at her, mildly bewildered; she stifles her laugh, hearing Fig’s words about a one track mind repeat in her mind. “The rest of my party,” Adaine clarifies, watching the confusion in Oisin’s eyes clear. “We don’t really need to lie low. We just need to get out of here. There’s some stuff we have to do.”

There’s so much I want to tell you right now, she thinks, as a furrow forms between Oisin’s eyes, expression wrinkling slightly as he glances at the other cells around them. She and the other Bad Kids have spent so much time unravelling the pieces of this mystery over the school year — of the missing maidens, of the palimpsests, of dragons returning, dead oracles, and so, so much more. But she can feel a pair of eyes boring holes into her, and as she shifts her head slightly, she spots Riz’s sharp gaze from the cell across from her.

He had interrupted her for a reason, after all.

“Yeah, I— I’ll help you all escape.” Fingers pull away from her grasp, and Adaine pulls her arm back into the cell. Oisin rises to his feet, glancing down at her with steely determination in his eyes. “I have to go now, but I promise you this, Adaine: I’ll come back for you. I promise.” A flash of lightning cracks through his eyes, and sparks streak across his skin. “On my ancestors’ honour, I will save you.”

She grins at him impishly, hides the way his words make her heart swell with passion. “I’m holding you to that, Hakinvar.”

And even though the promise goes unfulfilled, because Bud Cubby breaks in a week later on the day of Prom to get them all out, Adaine can’t deny the way Oisin’s visit leaves her feeling a lot lighter — in heart and mind and soul.

“You know, it felt kind of weird killing a dragon.”

She pauses, mid-sentence. “Sorry,” Adaine says sheepishly, the implications of her words dawning on her in that instant. “Is it okay to talk about that? You— Well, you’re a dragonborn and all—”

“By that logic, let me ask you another question.” The sound of metal tapping against the rim of a glass. A ribbit from nearby. “Is it fine for me to talk about… let’s say, killing an elf?” Sharp amber eyes glint at her from across the table, followed by a crooked smile. “You’re good, Adaine. I don’t mind it at all.”

The week after Prompocalypse — after the deranged, whirlwind of insanity, of breaking out of jail, investigating Aguefort, watching her home smoulder in fiery ruins; of Jawbone grabbing her and shaking her, affirming that she’s not insane, that there’s a name for that crippling fear haunting her, and there’s a way to fix it; of watching Kristen stop time, creating a God from the ashes of her old faith before launching back into battle against vice-principal Goldenhoard, who turned out to be Kalvaxus, that bitch—

Basrar’s is as cool as ever, the chilly temperature making her shiver as she eats a spoonful of ice cream. It melts on her tongue, and as she scoops up another, she gives it to Boggy, perched next to her, happy to indulge. “Sorry,” she says on instinct, but there’s no real heat behind it, no real nerves. “Just wasn’t sure about it, that’s all.”

It’s the first time she’s been able to meet up with Oisin since all the craziness, finally able to spare a little time for herself in the midst of— well, everything. There’s testimonies to give, logistics to sort out, and she’s begun moving in with Jawbone and getting medicated for her horrible anxiety. The Bad Kids have been together with her all throughout, and god, does Adaine love her friends so much, bursting with mirth whenever she thinks of them, but she has to admit, she’s really missed talking to Oisin too — properly, face-to-face, without a jail cell dividing them. Texting just doesn’t quite have the same effect.

“There were a few moments throughout that fight,” Adaine says, as she scoops up another bite of frosty ice cream, “where I couldn’t help but falter a bit.” She shrugs dismissively, as though her paralysing indecision hadn’t bitten her in the ass multiple times in that battle. “Kalvaxus doesn’t look anything like you, but— I’ve only met so many dragons, and I guess I couldn’t help thinking about you. So you know.” She smiles cheekily. “You’re always there in my memories, hm?”

Oisin flusters slightly, and Adaine laughs.

She relays everything to him, now that it’s over — the beginnings of the mystery, starting all the way back in detention and then the cafeteria with their battle against the corn cuties; the ends, concluding in a battle that will surely go down in legends, wrecking an ancient dragon’s shit in the gymnasium with her friends; and everything in-between. Oisin sits across from her, the two of them tucked in a small booth in a corner of Basrar’s along with Boggy, and listens with his eyes fixated on Adaine, only pausing throughout whenever Adaine’s ice cream runs out so he can order more.

(“You don’t need to treat me, Oisin, I swear I can pay for it—”

“Just let me do this, okay?”

“Is this about you not coming back to break me out of jail? Because I told you that I’m not holding that against you; shit was really complicated, and it’s not like you could just— kill the entire police department.”

“...Can’t a friend just pay for his friend’s ice cream? Is that so much to ask?”)

By the time she’s done, the sun has made its way towards the horizon. It’s not sunset yet, but it’s teetering on the edge of it, the ends of May slowly lapsing into the long, languid days of summer. Leaning back against her booth seat, Adaine grins. “So… yeah! A lot happened.”

Oisin gawks at her, spoon hanging loosely between his fingers. “And all of this was happening during freshman year?”

“Like I said, we got tangled up in something bigger than ourselves.” Boggy hops into her lap as she speaks, and Adaine wraps her arms around him. “Anyways, I’m not done—”

“There’s more?”

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” Adaine says, leaning in. “Because I trust you.” She presses a finger against her lips for dramatic effect, and Oisin nods, mimicking a lock and key. Closing her eyes, Adaine leans into her magic, that untapped corner of her mind she’s been trying to wrangle ever since she flipped through the pages of Watches and Wards. She’d deliberately left this part out of her long, winding story — partly because she forgot to talk about it at all, and partly because some part of her is still grappling with the fact that she’s the fucking elven oracle.

Her metaphorical hands wrap around something in the thick of her magic, and Adaine’s eyes fly open. Her vision flashes white; she sees, briefly, something of the future, fuzzy memories thick with some kind of filter. She grins. “You’ve got quite the interesting project next year. Seems like you’re gonna be headed to the Mountains of Chaos.”

When the vision fades, leaving flickering wisps of magic at the corners of her eyes, Adaine sees Oisin gaping at her, eyes blown wide with wonder. “You— Your eyes went all glowy, what—” He fumbles, struggling to string together words, before finally forcing out, “What happened?”

Adaine laughs — unabashed, brilliant, brimming with confidence and all the fates of the world. “Let’s just say I’m everybody’s oracle,” she says, simply, revelling in her own ambiguity. She grins. “It wasn’t really something I planned on finding out, but… life happens in ways you don’t really expect, huh?”

“That’s incredible,” Oisin breathes, awestruck. “You— You’re incredible.”

She wants to laugh again, feel her cheeks flush with heat, accept the compliment while simultaneously deflecting it back at Oisin — this marvellous, incredible dragonborn boy, who reached his hand to her on the first week of school when she was curling into herself in her chair, paralysed by what she now knows was the rising tide of a panic attack; who looked at her, time and time again, like she was worth something, even before Adaine grasped that fact for herself. And yet, as she opens her mouths, move to reply, to play off his words, to say something—

A vision strikes.

(—red-hot skies, a thunderous cacophony splitting the very world itself; the shaking of the ground beneath her, cracks forming under her step — the earth breaking, falling, soil crumbling and burning with shards of pure, bloody red, red, boiling with rage—

screaming, shrieking, a piercing howl. a heartbeat — her heartbeat — bursting her eardrums, blotting out all other sound in its erratic rhythm; thrumming rage melting the air, melding with the balmy heat. sweat soaking her skin, her clothes, as she clambers over broken mounds of dirt and architecture, stumbles across the ground—

claws digging into her waist, searing pain erupting through her body, her own throat ragged and raw as she screeches at the top of her lungs; a face coming into view, flushed purple in the red light, scaled all over, pupils contracted to the slimmest sliver of slits—)

“...Adaine? Adaine!”

Her spoon clatters against the tabletop.

She heaves, gulping down a massive breath as, all of a sudden, she’s dropped unceremoniously back into her own mind. Adaine clings to the table, fingers curling around the edge, gasping for breath. Sweat slicks down the back of her neck. She wavers unsteadily, suddenly exhausted, mind recoiling from everything she’s just seen.

“S-Sorry,” she stammers out as she leans forward, pressing a shaking hand against her forehead. “I-I’m still— really new to this, um, oracle business. It’s— sometimes, it’s… involuntary.” She squeezes her eyes shut, relishes in the cool blackness over the overwhelming sights of Basrar’s. “Most of the time, actually,” Adaine croaks out. “I’m not… usually seeking out visions. Um.”

A small noise, followed by a quiet question. “What did you see?”

She raises her head, and meets a pair of slitted eyes.

Adaine looks at Oisin, really looks at him — the slope of his snout, the rippling shades of blue scales stretching across his skin, the curve of his horns. Intelligent amber eyes with slitted pupils hide behind round spectacles, narrowing slightly as she meets his gaze. There’s a concerned curve to his mouth, despite his best attempts to hide it, and if Adaine didn’t know him so well, she probably wouldn’t have noticed at all. A thrumming restlessness lurks about his form — claws tapping against the table, tail thumping against the booth seat.

She sucks in a shaky breath.

“It’s nothing,” Adaine dismisses with a wavering smile. “I’m fine.” But before she can move on, awkwardly change the subject before they can dwell on it for too long, there’s the familiar, telltale spark of a spell, and her eyes widen. “Wh— hey!”

“I’m sensing fear right now,” Oisin remarks, scratching his chin. Sharp, perceptive eyes flick up, staring right at her. “Doesn’t seem like nothing to me.”

Adaine gawks at him. “Did you just use Sense Emotion on me?”

“Like you said,” Oisin says, echoing her words from months ago with a wry smile, “it’s a useful spell.”

She brushes off the vision, banishes it to the furthest reaches of her mind in favour of focusing on the here and now — laughing with Oisin, ordering another round of ice cream, arguing playfully with him over how many times he’s checked her emotions. That thing she’d seen in it, jaws pulling back into a mighty snarl, possessive claws digging into her skin, something feral and half-possessed, brimming with such unhinged fury—

That isn’t going to happen, Adaine thinks to herself with a sudden burst of resolute confidence. It can’t, and it won’t be.

Chapter Text

The weekend before spring break officially begins, Oisin gets a call from Adaine.

He’s hanging out with Ivy when it happens, spending time away from the rest of his party — away from Kipperlilly, more specifically, who’s been getting on his case about everything. Oisin’s taken to just rolling his eyes and blocking her out, ignoring her tirade about fairness and equality and complaining about his friendship with one of her sworn enemies. Usually he doesn’t bother answering his crystal, simply glancing at the screen before tossing it aside, but as soon as his eyes lay upon the name Adaine, he immediately hits the call button.

“Hello? Adaine?”

“Oisin, hey!” Even through the tinny of a crystal’s call quality, Adaine’s familiar cadence still comes through. It travels through his ear, reaching deep into his soul and evoking a sensation of such unabashed calm. To his side, Oisin shoots a glare at Ivy who smirks knowingly at him, resting a hand against her chin.

“Listen, uh—” Adaine’s voice drags him back, attention snapping where it should be — focused on her, on his friend on the other side. He’s gotten good at recognising the ebb and flow of her voice, rising in pitch where she yells in excitement, and lowering into something darkly dangerous when she’s pissed. He recognises, now, an apology underlying her words — in her hesitance, her slowed speech; he feels a flash of nostalgia for the beginnings of their freshman year.

Adaine coughs. “I’m so sorry, but I have to call off our plans for tomorrow.”

That gets his attention. Oisin’s eyes widen, grip on his crystal tightening. “What? Why?” Next to him, Ivy’s brows dip into a questioning look, knowing smugness vanishing at the distress that flickers in his voice. He takes a deep breath, tries to rein it in, hopes that Adaine didn’t notice — and yet, involuntarily so, his tail betrays his inner emotions, lashing from side to side.

“Well, Arthur Aguefort just showed up at Mordred Manor — you know, the place we were moving in today?”

“I remember, yeah.” He wanted to help her move in, but Ivy had swept in, dragged him away against his protests, rebutting his arguments by complaining that he hadn’t spent time with her in ages. Maybe she had a point, because Oisin had been spending most of his time with Adaine attacking the massive pile of work Tiberia Runestaff had laid out for them, but some part of him, deep down, didn’t care.

“Yeah, well…” A wry laugh that twists his soul. “Turns out we might’ve fucked up a little last year, when we were rushing to fight Kalvaxus. My party, I mean.”

“How?”

A deep breath. “Someone broke into Aguefort’s office and stole… something.” The pause, the careful way that she says the word something, tips Oisin off to Adaine’s secrecy. Not for the first time, there’s a flicker of frustration at her secrecy, even though the logical part of his brain knows that he’s not privy to all her party’s actions. “And we have to go steal it back, I guess.” There’s a brief beat, before Adaine says, “Like, I know that adventuring parties usually have to go on a spring break quest, but this is—” She cuts herself off with a sigh.

“So—” His voice cracks. “You’re leaving?”

“It’s not like I have much of a choice!” Adaine protests, defensive. “I—” Another haggard sigh. Oisin kicks away the urge to get up and go over there right now, stuffing that feeling back where it came from. “This counts for sixty percent of our grade.” And suddenly, the miserable undertone in her voice makes sense. Studious and diligent as Adaine is — and god, does Oisin admire her for it — the sudden discovery that everything she’d been working on didn’t matter, because sixty percent of her grade depended on the outcome of an impromptu fetch quest, must have wrecked Adaine hard.

Not for the first time in this call, Oisin fights back the urge to pull over at Mordred and fight Arthur Aguefort himself.

A hand falls on his knee. “Steady,” Ivy warns, narrowed eyes glancing at him warily. He realises, then, that he’d nearly gotten up. He mouths her a thank you.

Adaine is still talking. “If we want to pass sophomore year, we really need to finish this, and that means heading out as soon as possible.”

“How soon?”

“Tomorrow.”

A brief pause. That’s so soon, Oisin thinks, suddenly a little dazed. He’d just been looking forward to spending time with Adaine away from academics for once, a proper respite with each other’s company after half a semester of sloughing through their teacher’s assignments. Except now, he couldn’t have that.

It’s not fair, a part of him growls — sharp-fanged and savage, uttering the words that Oisin doesn’t let himself think. Indignance flares within him; who is Arthur Aguefort to just— lay a quest on Adaine like this, one she doesn’t even want to do? He wants so badly to show up at her place, hold her in his arms, take on some of that burden for her—

A slap against his arm. He snaps back, stumbles out of that deep chasm in his mind. Ivy frowns at him. “Focus,” she hisses.

Somewhere in the midst of his silence, Adaine began speaking again. “I’m sorry, Oisin,” she apologises, and Oisin notices the way her voice runs a little faster, frantic — he doesn’t need to use Sense Emotions to know that his accidental bout of silence made her a bit antsy, and his heart pangs with guilt. “I was really looking forward to tomorrow, but we have to leave tomorrow.”

“No, it’s okay,” he assures, speaking just as quickly. Some part of him purrs at that, coaxing him to calm her more, to soothe her ailments and make everything right. Shut up, Oisin thinks, but there’s no real heart in it, only the dejected defence of someone who keeps losing against his base instincts. “I understand, Adaine—” And really, he does; if he got the same assignment sprung on him, got told that it was worth sixty percent of his grade, he’d—

…Well, perhaps he wouldn’t be quite as stricken over it as Adaine is, but he knows some others in his party would. And by that, mainly Kipperlilly. “There’s no turning down a quest from Arthur Aguefort himself,” Oisin says instead, changing courses. “The man runs the school; if he’s decided that you guys have to do this, then…” He exhales. “It’s not like you have a choice.”

“Yeah.” Adaine’s voice is small, still sounding sorry. She sighs too. “Yeah,” she repeats, like she’s assuring herself. “I’ll keep in touch though, okay? Gorgug’s gonna grab a crystal signal booster from his parents, so I’ll still have service outside of Solace.” There’s a small laugh. “I know how antsy you get whenever I talk about going on adventures,” Adaine teases, and Oisin flushes hot all over.

Next to him, he hears Ivy laugh — a sudden snicker that erupts all at once, unable to control it. Shut up, he mouths furiously, praying to his ancestors that Adaine didn’t hear that. He knows he’s purple all over now, red blood pooling under blue scales; it’s so obvious, at a glance, whenever he’s flustered by something. He turns his attention back to Adaine, banishes Ivy to the corner of his mind. “After everything that went down in your freshman year, don’t I have the right to be a bit concerned about my friend?”

A part of him recoils at the use of friend, grumbling about how banal and boring it is, and doesn’t he want to be a bit closer than that? Obviously, Oisin argues with himself. But he’s not about to shove that on Adaine — not here, not now, and definitely not over a call.

Besides, his words aren’t a lie at all. Nearly contracting lycanthropy, nearly dying multiple times, fighting people on roads and at abandoned factories and in arcades — and fuck, does that last one still get his blood boiling with red hot rage; if Biz Glitterdew wasn’t already rotting in a jail cell, Oisin would’ve found that bastard and—

Suffice to say, his worry is not unfounded.

There is a pause, a small noise. “R-Right,” Adaine eventually says, and Oisin relishes in that little stutter. She coughs again, awkwardly, before she says, “So I’ll— I’ll text you tomorrow, okay? I’ve got to go pack now, and—” Another brief beat. Oisin’s ear pricks, catching wind of something faint through the receiver, a distant, cackling yell. He grimaces. “The rest of my party’s still here,” Adaine says quickly, “and I’m pretty sure they’re gonna come look for me soon.”

“Hiding away all by yourself to talk to me?” Flames ignite in his chest, a possessive lick of happiness. “I’m touched.”

Adaine snorts. “Don’t flatter yourself, Hakinvar. I’m only doing this because if Fig catches wind of this call, she’s not going to shut up about it all day.” A dramatic sigh. “I could do with less bullying in my life.”

Is that so bad though? Oisin thinks — because is it really so bad, to have Adaine’s party members tease her about him? Something in him flutters happily, the purr evolving into a rumble, and it takes all his effort to suppress the sound building in his throat. He keeps the thought to himself, though, moves to wrap up the call, exchanging good-byes with Adaine as he ignores the longing urge to keep the call going… preferably forever.

Click!

The line goes dead.

“So.” At the sound of a voice, Oisin looks up from his crystal to see Ivy’s smiling face, slick as ever. “Got a call from your little oracle, huh?”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes. Ivy snickers.

There’s a brief pause, before Oisin exhales through his nostrils. “Sorry,” he mutters, averting his gaze. “You had to rein me in again.”

“Eh, it’s not the first time I’ve had to do that for you.” Ivy shrugs, nonchalant.

“I know,” Oisin sighs, shoulders slumping. “But that’s embarrassing in and of itself.”

Ivy exhales, lips pressing into a thin line. “You’re a dragon, Oisin,” she reminds him, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe it is, because when he looks down at his arms, he sees blue scales, claw-tipped fingers, and when he peers further down, hind legs and clawed feet so abnormally shaped, so different from the humanoid norm. He can’t even do something as basic as putting on shoes unless he seeks out custom-made ones; there aren’t enough dragonborns in Solace for curated footwear to be a profitable business. “Possessiveness comes with the territory, remember?”

Somehow, it’s even more embarrassing that Ivy’s the one who has to remind him that these feelings are normal — for him, at least.

“But still,” Ivy continues, tapping a finger against her cheek, chin resting in her palm, “this is a new record. You’re usually able to rein it in much better than this. What’s got your blood boiling, hm?”

He recounts Adaine’s story in brief — something got stolen, the Bad Kids have to go retrieve it. Ivy’s face darkens briefly; she mutters, under her breath, “Oh, Kipperlilly’s not going to like this,” to which Oisin nods. But it’s a passing murmur of a thought, and as he finishes, he feels her piercing eyes dig into his skin, reaching for what lies beneath.

“You know,” Ivy eventually says, after a beat, “for all I joke about what you’d do without me, at this point, it’s becoming a pretty serious question of its own.” She leans back, arms propping her up. “And that’s a pretty fucking red flag right there, Oisin. What are you gonna do, when you guys graduate and she heads out on her own?”

A growl immediately emits from his throat — and that’s all the answer Ivy needs. “I’m not gonna be around all the time to stop you from lashing out,” she says, voice flat. “This territorialness is only gonna be cute for so long.”

“Takes one to know one,” Oisin mutters, thinking of Ivy's many flings and ventures.

“Call me a hypocrite if you want, I don’t really give a shit,” Ivy says, sitting back with an air of nonchalance. “But you really have to talk with your little oracle about this soon. Before she leaves, preferably. Face to face.” She pauses, before she leans over, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You can’t stop her from going,” Ivy remarks, “but the least you can do is send her off — for your own sake.”

Oisin only sighs, mind churning with warring thoughts and stupid instincts.

He sends a text to Adaine later, asks her roughly what time she and her party will be leaving tomorrow. Oisin tries to go about the rest of his day with Ivy, but his crystal burns a hole in his pocket, and he can’t stop fiddling with it, waiting for the telltale rumble and blip of a reply. It hits the point where Ivy gets sick of him, complaining about his moping — “Get your shit together, Hakinvar,” she remarks, narrowing her eyebrows at him as she heads out.

And he tries. He really does. Adaine gets back to him eventually, a few hours later — too long, something inside him wails, reduced to a needy, clingy little dragon, pining after a treasure that’s not here. They text back and forth a bit, share meandering little conversations, before Adaine says that she really has to go, and departs after wishing him good night.

Oisin knows Adaine is capable — god, he knows. But all the same, he can’t stop worrying. He spends most of the night wide awake, tail thumping restlessly, mind burning with a hundred different outcomes, a hundred different realities. He’s no oracle, unable to see the future like Adaine does, but the roiling anxiety swallowing his heart cannot be eased by any logical reasoning — that Adaine is a proficient wizard, that she’s saved the world once before, that she is so much stronger than anyone gives her credit for.

But she could get hurt, some part of him repeats over and over again, irrational, terrified, possessive. I need to keep her here, keep her with me, safe and sound, hoard, treasure—

He arrives at a compromise, somehow, successfully repressing the urge to show up at her doorstep in the dead of night, swoop her away into his arms, and bring her to the safety of his hoard. He doesn’t sleep very much all night, prickling with adrenaline as he ploughs through the ancestral treasures he’s inherited, but after enough digging through mounds of gold and jewels, he finally finds the perfect thing.

Which brings him to Mordred Manor early the next morning, hiring a car over. The sun has risen above the horizon, but most of Elmville is still asleep — except, as Oisin finds out, for Mordred Manor itself. The house is bustling with activity, a van parked outside, people moving back and forth. His grip on his gift tightens, so tight he swears he’s going to snap it and render it useless. Had Adaine given him the wrong time? Had she led him astray? Don’t think about that, he tells himself, ignoring the snapping urge to crash through the car door and confront her about it. I’m sure there’s an explanation for this.

He shuts the car door behind him, hears the tires squeal as it reverses out and drives away. Oisin stands there for a moment, at a distance, watching the hustle and bustle of the small crowd. He recognises some faces from afar, mainly members of Adaine’s party, along with Jawbone, the school counsellor. He cranes his neck, trying to search for a familiar head of blonde hair worth more than the most precious gold, but Adaine finds him first.

“Oisin?” He jumps at the sudden voice, so close to his ear. A familiar laugh, one that soothes his frantic soul. He turns, meeting shining blue eyes. “Hey!” Adaine greets, smiling; Boggy sits in her arms, letting out a ribbit as Oisin’s eyes flick down to the perpetually-happy frog. “I didn’t expect to see you here so early… though I guess that’s for the best,” she adds, slightly morose. Her head turns to the chaos of people loading the van, numerous voices conversing with each other. Adaine’s smile falters slightly. “Some stuff happened last night. Um—” Her shoulders slump. “Fig disappeared, and Riz’s not responding to any of his calls, which is weird because it’s Riz, and…”

But Oisin isn’t paying attention to her words, not really. He wants to, because everything Adaine says is worth listening to, but something else snags his attention instead. It’s not a sight or a sound, or even a scent; it’s something else, arcane in nature, thick like smog in the air. It makes his jaw clench tightly, scales curling as a shudder ripples down his spine. It’s awful, a rancid stank of some ancient curse, madness lingering around—

Dragon madness, of another’s hoard, he realises, as it finally clicks. Another dragon’s hoard, on what’s mine.

“—sin? Oisin!” Fingers snap in front of his face, and he jolts back to reality. Adaine glances at him, her eyes wide. Behind his back, Oisin uses his free hand, the one not holding the gift, to conjure Sense Emotions, the familiar spell coming to him as easily as breathing. Nervousness, tense anxiety — and yet, cloaking it all is a sense of relief intermingling with concern. No madness— not yet. “Are you alright?” Adaine asks, brows furrowing.

“Um,” Oisin says intelligently. He coughs, tries to clear the sudden lump wedged in his throat. “I should be asking you that,” he says, clinging to what he remembers of Adaine’s words — her party members are missing, if he remembers right. Good, he thinks, before immediately regretting it, recognising the lines of worry etched in Adaine’s face. Not good, he corrects, because his— his friend is distressed, and if she’s distressed, then she’s not happy, and that’s… not good.

But Adaine is as perceptive as ever, narrowing her eyes at him. There’s a short, silent staredown; Oisin, predictably, loses. “Fine,” he sighs, throwing in the towel, relishing in the slight smile that flickers across Adaine’s face at her small victory. “I was distracted by…” He hesitates, unsure of how to describe it. “There’s something weird in the air,” Oisin says slowly, carefully.

“Weird how?”

“In an arcane way. It’s…” He trails off, before he says, “Have I ever told you about dragon madness?”

Recognition flickers in her eyes. But before she can speak, another voice interrupts. “Wait, that’s an actual thing?” A redhead walks over, and Oisin recognises her as Kristen Applebees, cleric of the group. Her face is scrunched in disbelief. “It’s not just, like, Arthur Aguefort making shit up for dramatic effect?”

“He told us about it yesterday,” Adaine clarifies quickly.

Oisin is bewildered. “Why would the principal be talking to you about dragon madness?”

Adaine and Kristen share a brief look. Jealousy flickers within him, the fervent urge to tear into that, to be able to share the same thing with Adaine. He throttles it down. “Remember when we killed Kalvaxus?” Adaine finally says. Oisin nods. “It took months of processing, but… as the party that killed him, we basically got the spoils of his hoard.”

Ah. It finally clicks for him, why he feels so on edge, fins bristling and tail lashing involuntarily. He scarcely notices Kristen whispering to Adaine, a brief question asking if it’s insensitive to mention that to a dragon, ignores her narrow-mindedness — because he doesn’t really expect much from Adaine’s party, only really giving a damn about his— friend.

“Oisin?” He manages to refocus back on the conversation, meeting Adaine’s inquisitive eyes, perceptive as ever. “Do you know something we don’t?” she asks, before adding, by way of explanation, “You brought up dragon madness earlier—”

“And I’m guessing it’s a real thing,” Kristen interrupts, causing Oisin to bristle slightly. She shrugs. “Might be good to know that before we go on a week-long trip.”

“Right.” He exhales, rocks back on his heels. “Dragon madness,” Oisin begins, speaking carefully, “is a condition caused by exposure to one’s hoard. The closest thing to it would be a curse, I suppose, but not in the traditional sense.” He pauses. It’s weird to talk about this so openly, especially with two pairs of eyes watching him closely. It’s not like Oisin hasn’t tapped into his draconic heritage before — he has a hoard of his own, has a possessive streak, all telltale marks of his lineage — but it’s not really something he talks about openly, the little facets of it. “When the hoard spreads around, so does the madness. In a way, the bearers of the curse become more susceptible to suggestions from the hoard’s owner.”

“I see,” Adaine murmurs, lost in thought. She shares another brief glance with Kristen. Oisin clenches his teeth.

Kristen wrinkles her lips. “We should be fine, right?” she says hesitantly. “I mean, Kalvaxus’ not dead, but it’s not like he’s gonna be bothering us anytime soon, stuck in hell as a boat and all.”

“Probably,” Adaine murmurs. Closing her eyes, she sighs. “At least, I hope so.”

“If Kalvaxus is out of action,” Oisin says tersely, eyes flitting from Adaine to Kristen, suppressing the uneasiness and discomfort that burgeons within him at the thick, sticky swaths of another dragon’s madness clinging to his Adaine, “then it should be fine.” It’s not fine, he howls internally — but that’s in a completely different way, and once again, he ignores it. He pauses, another thought coming to mind, another condition he nearly forgot about — that one’s awareness of the origins of the hoard contributes to the madness.

But then there’s a yell from afar, interrupting the conversation. “Kristen! Adaine!” Three heads turn, Oisin’s moving along with the girls’ instinctively, to see Fabian Aramais Seacaster in the distance, takeaway drink in hand, raising it triumphantly. “Gilear’s back with the drinks!” he shouts. Sure enough, vice-principal Gilear is nearby, handing out disposable cups to everyone, looking just as pitiable as ever.

Kristen perks up. “Coming!” she shouts before taking off. Something in Oisin’s chest unravels at that, and he feels like he can finally breathe.

“I’ll be there in a bit!” Adaine calls, before turning back to Oisin. “Well then. I guess I’ve learnt something new, huh?” She smiles, and his heart flutters, skipping a beat. “Thank you,” Adaine says softly; Oisin doesn’t even need to cast Sense Emotion to pinpoint the shyness that has overcome her, and his heart leaps into his throat, suddenly hopeful. “Not just for… explaining all of that. But for coming too.”

“I actually, um— have something for you.” Curious blue eyes rest on him. Oisin swallows down his sudden anxiety, pulling out the gift he’s been holding all this while. Deep within him, something hisses its wild approval, the satisfaction of sharing hoard with precious hoard, treasure with priceless treasure. “It’s a parting gift,” he says, as Adaine lets Boggy down onto the ground before reaching out to take the gift.

Her eyes widen as she looks at it, shoulders stiffening. “This is—” Adaine whips her head up, staring at him with stupefaction painted plainly across her face. “This is a Spindle of Fate,” Adaine breathes, eyes darting back and forth between Oisin and the item in her hands — a wand shaped like a drop-spindle, carved from gold, lightweight; it is wrapped in thick red thread, coiled around its handle. “How did you get this?”

A smug satisfaction unfolds within him. Oisin knew that Adaine would recognise it. Tiberia Runestaff taught them many classes on magical artefacts, items of arcane importance, and Spindles of Fate have been taught in extensive detail — the wand looks deceptively simple, but holds quite a lot of power, on top of being able to recharge daily. “It was lying around the hoard,” Oisin says casually, and Adaine’s jaw drops.

“It was just in your hoard?!”

“I’ve inherited a lot of things from my family,” Oisin explains, suddenly a little abashed under Adaine’s awestruck gaze. He shrugs, smiles shyly. “Some of my older ancestors live to be quite old, even if we dragonborns do not. I’m the youngest of my lineage, so I’ve received a lot of gifts, and inherited a lot of things.”

Adaine closes her eyes, tilts her head to the sky. She mutters something under her breath. “Oisin, I—” Opening her eyes, she shakes her head at him. “I can’t take this. It’s too valuable—”

“Take it,” Oisin insists, the beginnings of a growl forming in the depths of his throat. Adaine stiffens, staring at him, and he feels his face heat with embarrassment. “Sorry,” Oisin chokes out, “I… I didn’t get much sleep.” He sucks in a breath, before he says, “I know you’ve saved the world before, but… I really care about you, Adaine. And I want you to be safe.” Safe is a vague word, because what Oisin really wants is to keep Adaine with him so she can’t run off into the thick of yet another perilous adventure, jeopardising herself — but that’s the emotional part of him talking, the part that growls and claws at him, yearning to just seize Adaine and keep her safe. “And if this wand can help with that,” Oisin continues, “then I want you to have it.”

It’s the compromise he reached with himself: He’s not going to give in to his instincts, not yet, even if he has to fight this battle against himself regularly. Adaine deserves more than just that mindless, territorial behaviour, as much as Oisin longs to simply possess.

Her slender fingers clasp around the wand, holding it close against her chest. Adaine takes a deep breath. “Thank you,” she says, voice wavering slightly. “I’ll make sure to give it back to you when we’re back, I swear.”

You don’t have to, he thinks, but doesn’t say it. He knows Adaine well by now, and he knows, based on how allergic she is to his acts of kindness, splurging money on her because he knows that she deserves it, even if she doesn’t feel the same way, that if he insists she keep it, she’ll be less likely to do so. He merely smiles back, keeping quiet.

A shadow falls over them. “Your drink’s getting cold, Adaine,” Fabian interrupts, a complaining edge to his voice. He shoves a drink into her hand, and Oisin glowers all the while, watches as Adaine thanks him with that same smile, nudging him slightly. That single grey eye falls on him. “Oisin,” Fabian greets with a grin, relaxed and loose as ever. He’s got a drink of his own, radiating the same pompous, self-absorbed energy as always. He arches an eyebrow at him, asks, in a knowing voice, “Do you want to stay for a bit? I can get Gilear to make another run for coffee; I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

It’s tempting. Oisin nearly says yes. But he watches as the half-orc comes over — Gorgui, he thinks? — and begins to speak with Adaine. Oisin doesn’t care about what they’re saying, but his stomach roils as Adaine laughs, eyes crinkling, lips pulling into a brilliant smile at something someone else said. An ugly, bitter thing coils around his soul like a winding snake, hissing with venom, binding closer and closer.

If he stays here, he thinks he’s going to snap.

“I’m good, thanks,” he says instead, backing away. He calls out Adaine’s name, catches her attention; “I’ll be going now,” Oisin says, against his greater desires. Another wobbly smile. “Good luck on your quest. And… keep in touch, will you?”

“Of course I will,” says Adaine in return, grinning widely. She clutches the wand he gifted her, and he purrs inwardly at the sight. Her eyes sparkle, shining with all the possibilities of the world; “Thanks,” she breathes. “For stopping by, I mean.”

“Always,” Oisin returns. He bathes in the light of her smile, backs away quietly, small steps growing larger as the chasm between them grows. He doesn’t let his smile drop until he’s far enough away that he’s certain Adaine won’t see him, eyes narrowing as proprietorial instincts crash over him. It’s fine, he tells himself, attempting again and again to placate himself, it’s fine, she liked the gift! That counts for something, right? She’ll just go off on her adventure, and then she’ll be back, and everything will be fine.

He only realises after he’s left that he forgot to talk about his issues at all — the slow-building tangle of possessiveness, obsessiveness, that’s been growing with the passage of time. It’s fine, Oisin repeats again, trying to convince himself of that fact as he walks away. The weather is pleasant out, and he needs to clear his mind, so he’ll just… walk home. She’s got too much on her plate. I’ll just— I’ll just tell her when she’s back.

But something still grapples within him, buried beneath that draconic beast — insecure and small, wondering how he fares in the tangling web of relationships that encompass Adaine’s life.

The rest of his day goes fine. Oisin gets home and spends some time curled up in his hoard, placating himself with what he has to distract from what he’s missing. The draconic instincts are wild, the beast rearing its head; he drapes himself over a pile of trinkets, his crystal in hand, staring at the occasional message he gets from Adaine every now and then.

He ignores the texts and calls he gets from everyone else. Kipperlilly can fuck off right now, for all he cares. It’s the instincts speaking, heightened and on edge, and as he rolls onto his back, staring blearily at his ceiling, Oisin thinks, for a moment, about Ivy’s words. What are you gonna do, when you guys graduate and she heads out on her own? The possibility hasn’t ever occurred to him. Somewhere deep in his mind, he’s been operating on the expectation that somewhere between now and graduation, he and Adaine would get together, inextricably intertwined, his to have and hold. Somehow, he hasn’t ever thought that she would need to head out for other quests of her own; his emotions have only grown exponentially since freshman year, bursting from an innocent, budding crush into something much bigger.

He buries his head in his hands, letting out a throaty groan.

He clings to the pictures Adaine sends, sparse as they are. There’s one she takes in the van, and then another, much later that night, at a restaurant in Bastion City. Oisin recognises it as The Swan’s Little Parade; he’s eaten there before with some of his family. Maybe I can bring her there someday, he thinks as he types out a message about whether they’re still dusting people down, to which Adaine says yes. Or somewhere else, he considers. There’s no shortage of luxury restaurants in Solace, after all.

They exchange messages back and forth. Adaine updates him on the first battle that went down, and Oisin bites back the urge to throw something against the wall, settling instead for asking if she’s okay, checking in on her. He learns that her party’s plan is to start heading to Leviathan tomorrow, briefly distracting him with thoughts of pirate treasure. Adaine eventually turns in for the night, though Oisin struggles to do the same.

The problem kicks in somewhere through the next day. They’re sailing out to sea, Adaine says, and Oisin expects a boat or something, only to stare at his screen in stupefied silence when she sends a photo of her party member’s van, transformed into a boat. Somehow, that’s enough to kick his primal instincts to the side in favour of being bewilderedly impressed. She sends pictures of her on the open sea, sunlight glittering off celestine waves as she flashes a smile at her camera, blurred images of her party behind her, and Oisin replies with crappy selfies of himself — in his house, utterly exhausted, drudging up a smile only to return the one she offered him.

And then Adaine stops replying.

He doesn’t think too much about it at first. Oisin reasons with himself, pointing out that it’s a long journey, that she isn’t alone. Adaine isn’t waiting for him the way he is for her because, unlike Oisin, she’s on an actual quest, with things to accomplish. He drags himself out of his hoard, tries to return to some semblance of normalcy; he takes a bath, gets some food, replies to some of the other texts and calls that he’s received, mainly concerning his party. They’ve been meeting up, irregardless of Oisin’s presence, though Kipperlilly makes her distaste very clear.

But as the hours fly by, day turning into night, without a single word from Adaine, a restless anxiety worms its way under his scales. He paces the house, agitated, and whenever he hears the telltale ping of a message notification, he lunges for it, only to snarl in irritation when it’s not from his oracle.

Any minute progress he’s made is immediately gone. He mopes about, teetering between anxious anger and fearful dejection. He finds himself fiddling, more than usual, with the pen Adaine gave him last year. She’s gotten him a few more gifts since then, all tucked away in the safest place he knows, the very heart of his hoard, but the pen is special. The first time it ran out of ink, Oisin had tracked down a stationary manufacturer, looking for a way to replace the empty tube; he’s gone back several more times since then, and will go back as many times as he needs.

His parents aren’t in very much, constantly away. So it’s just him doing the bare minimum to get by as each day passes and his anxiety only increases. It’s never gotten this bad — but then again, they’ve never been this far apart without any warning, not since Adaine’s unjust imprisonment last year. Thinking back to that time, Oisin can only laugh bitterly. Whatever anger and desperation he’d felt then has multiplied tenfold, summer and a semester and a half spent together only intensifying his obsessive fixation on his dear friend.

His party breaks in on the third day. He doesn’t notice when the lock is picked, when they get inside. Oisin barely raises his head from the floor, gaze flicking upwards to see Ivy, staring down at him with an unreadable expression, Kipperlilly and Lucy behind her, Mary Ann and Ruben hanging further back. “Go away,” he growls, slumping back down on the ground.

“Fuck no.” Footsteps, and then a hand reaches down, grabbing the scruff of his neck. Oisin protests as Ivy yanks him up, but she’s stronger than he is despite her appearance. “Get your shit together, Hakinvar,” Ivy utters, eyes narrowed. “Do you know how many excuses we’ve had to make to Porter and Jace about your absence?”

Right, Oisin realises numbly, after a beat. Just because school was let out for spring break doesn’t mean they didn’t have responsibilities. They were still supposed to show up at school, spend some time at the Far Haven Woods, landing the finishing blows on high-level monsters to rack up experience and get stronger. And yet, he doesn’t feel much remorse at all. There’s no guilt over any inconvenience he might have caused.

“You couldn’t have picked a worse time to go silent on us, could you?” Kipperlilly finally speaks up. Her voice is pulled taut, an anger underlying her words. “Jace and Porter assigned us our spring break quest,” she continues, eyes flashing. “Granted, it’s been delayed, so we can’t go until after spring break, but—”

“We’re going to the Mountains of Chaos.” Lucy’s voice is gentle, soft, but there’s a hint of excitement underlining her words. She smiles at Oisin, walks over to sit next to him, and, as his mind slowly clears, Oisin remembers, with a jolt, Adaine’s words from last year. You’ve got quite the interesting project next year, he hears in his mind, a vision of her smile accompanying it. Seems like you’re gonna be headed to the Mountains of Chaos. He stares at Lucy, fully cognisant now — was this the project Adaine predicted, foresaw?

But Oisin also remembers more, beyond his recollection of Adaine. He remembers a little about Lucy’s goddess Ruvina. Her enthusiasm makes sense now, and as he glances back at Kipperlilly, he sees her huff and turn her head. In the end, the only person capable of interrupting her like that is, and will always be, Lucy.

“We will, assuming Oisin gets his shit together. Porter wasn’t happy at all about his absence.” Kipperlilly’s voice is sharp. She narrows her eyes at him. “What have you even been doing?”

“Probably pining over his girlfriend,” Ruben mutters, before freezing as Oisin levels him with a glare.

Kipperlilly goes red in the face. “This again?” She scowls, contempt burning in her eyes, and Oisin feels his hackles raise, going on the defensive. They’ve had this argument many, many times before — Kipperlilly complaining, always complaining, about how unfair all of it is: That the Bad Kids are so unfairly favoured by Arthur Aguefort, that they have all the prestige and glory of having saved the world in their freshman year. And Oisin doesn’t give a damn if Kipperlilly talks trash about the rest of the Bad Kids, because he shares no affection for them, but more often than not, she barges in with some cutting words directed at his friend.

She’s jealous, Lucy explained once, after a particularly nasty spat in the Far Haven Woods that led to Porter of all people separating them, sending them their separate ways to cool down before they killed each other. The fact that you were able to befriend someone like Adaine Abernant… She’d trailed off, eyes growing distant. I shouldn’t say too much, Lucy eventually said with a sheepish smile. Some secrets are mine to keep, if you understand.

But just because Kipperlilly is jealous — and she always is, her tirades about equal treatment tripling after the Prompocalypse of freshman year — doesn’t mean Oisin has to take her words lying down. His mouth curls as she rants. “We finally have a fucking chance to prove ourselves to the world, and you’re blowing it to spend time with some wizard? She doesn’t care about you, Oisin—”

A thunderous growl erupts from his throat. “Say that again,” he snarls, leaping to his feet. “I fucking dare you.”

Kipperlilly meets his eyes, face flushed, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed to sharp points. “She,” Kipperlilly hisses, enunciating every word, her voice burning with a grudge, “doesn’t care about you.”

And Oisin snaps.

Shouting erupts around him. Arms tangle around his body, pulling him back. He snarls, overwrought with some ferocious, savage desire to slaughter, to shut Kipperlilly up. He’s not fucking stupid; there are a lot of insecurities Oisin wrestles with when it comes to his friendship with Adaine, doubting himself frequently — how had he managed to earn her trust? To become so close to her like this? But the one thing he does know, undoubtedly so, is that for all his uncertainties, Adaine cares about him.

He scrabbles against the limbs restricting him, but can’t break free. Distantly, through the fog shrouding his mind, preventing him from grasping his surroundings properly, he sees a blonde halfling getting pulled away by a gnome and a kobold, kicking and screaming all the same.

A sharp voice pierces his ear, accompanied by a frigid wind of magic: “For the love of god, Hakinvar, get a fucking grip!”

Oisin jerks back to himself, the territorial fog of war dissipating from his mind, blown away by a cold breeze. Calm Emotions, he recognises; it’s not the first time Lucy has had to cast it thus far, having casted it multiple times before to quell their party’s raging tantrums and fights. The room falls quiet. If he pricks his ears enough, he swears he can catch wind of the faintest yelling from another room, but it’s impossible to make out clearly.

The limbs tangling around him loosen, pulling away. A cool hand rests on his shoulder, and Lucy enters his frame of view. “What happened, Oisin? I know this likely concerns Adaine—”

“As all things do,” Ivy mutters, rolling her eyes.

“—but this is…” Lucy bites her lip. “Something else.”

Oisin hunches over slightly, his tail curling around him. “I… I haven’t heard from Adaine in three days.” His voice hangs heavy with dejection, a morose feeling flooding his chest.

A brief pause.

Ivy’s voice pitches, incredulous. “That’s it?!”

“Wh—” Whipping his head around, Oisin glares at her. “Hey!”

“Oisin, she’s on a fucking adventure with her party right now. Did you really expect her to be messaging you all the time?”

His shoulders tense, defensive. “She said she would!”

Lucy slides in. “That aside…” Her brows dip together contemplatively. “Is her party travelling outside of Solace?” At Ivy’s nod, she adds, “She wouldn’t have service then, would she?”

“Well, yes, but—” Oisin gesticulates; he can feel his tail curling a little tighter around him. “She said one of her party members was bringing a crystal signal booster. So we would have still been able to keep in touch.”

“But did they actually bring it?”

At Ivy’s question, a beat of silence falls over them.

She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hey!”

“Moving on…” Lucy pats his shoulder. “There’s not much we can do, unfortunately. And…” She pauses, before she says, “I’m sorry Kipperlilly said all that.” A dark shadow flickers across her face; Lucy’s voice hardens. “She really shouldn’t have, especially given how much Adaine means to you.”

And Adaine does mean a lot to Oisin. He hadn’t spoken very much about her at first, keeping quiet about the details of his friend to his party, but over time, he’d begun talking more about her, a gradual increase. He turned down study sessions in favour of doing them with Adaine, chose to hang out with her instead of with his party. Oisin still made time for them, of course, because they were — and still are — his friends, but all the same, Adaine was — is — just different.

“Regardless of your… issues,” Ivy eventually says, stiffly, “we did come for good reason. Porter kept threatening to call off the quest if you kept shirking those grinds out in the woods.” A wry smile. “Guess you can figure out why Kipperlilly’s so antsy, huh?”

His muscles relax, tension dissipating. “Yeah,” Oisin sighs. “That makes sense.”

He wants to say something else, change the subject, maybe ask them about what they’ve been up to. It wasn’t ever really Oisin’s intention to shirk his party completely, even if that was what he ended up doing — and now, with his mind clearer than it has been the last few days, he feels some amount of lingering remorse. But whatever he intends to say, opening his mouth to speak, dies on his tongue before it can even get out. Because at that exact moment, like a message from the astral plane, a familiar voice floods his mind.

Ahoy, matey! Sorry about the silence. One of me hands forgot the signal booster. We scallywags are in Leviathan now. Learned Pirate Sending. Haven’t had to walk the plank yet, despite chaos. Making progress finding the booty!

At first, he’s nothing but stunned — stunned into complete silence as he processes the words he’s hearing. But the bafflement is quickly shoved out of his mind by the pure elation and relief that floods him — Adaine’s voice, his oracle’s voice; she’s here, she’s here, she’s here! Nevermind the fact that the message sent is wobbly, littered with awkward pirate lingo that sounds completely alien in Adaine’s voice; the fact that Oisin is able to hear her, connect with her, at all is happiness enough.

The magic of the Sending spell lingers with him, waiting for a reply. He immediately gets swept away in choosing his words, thinking of the right things to say; he’s only limited to twenty-five words, after all, although he realises that Adaine broke that barrier with pirate slang. Distantly, he hears Ivy and Lucy talking, their voices a droning buzz. He hears them gossiping slightly, Lucy asking Ivy “Is that…?” while Ivy replies with a flat “Yes it is.”

The message he returns is simple; it doesn’t break the twenty-five word limit. In a way, being limited to so few words makes it easier. He doesn’t have the space to profess everything he feels, so what he sends is genuine, short and sweet.

Glad you’re okay. Stay safe in Leviathan! I’ll learn Sending soon to communicate. Miss you a lot!

He doesn’t realise what a massive relief it is to hear from Adaine until he returns the spell, her flickering magic — a cool clarity, like cold water splashing him awake, like the rippling reflection of a lake — whisking away to another corner of Spyre.

“Well?” a voice cuts in, pulling Oisin’s attention back to his friends. He turns to see both Ivy and Lucy smiling at him — though Ivy’s is more of a shit-eating grin, if anything, while Lucy’s is sincere. “Finally heard back from your little oracle?”

There’s a rippling purr of satisfaction at hearing Ivy refer to Adaine with those words, even as Oisin rolls his eyes. He’s placated by the message, more at ease. “Yeah,” he says, in response to Ivy, before adding, “And… sorry. For all of this.”

There’s a knowing glint in Ivy’s eyes, and her words echo in his head. You’re a dragon, Oisin. Possessiveness comes with the territory, remember?

“I’ll rein it in, I swear” he says, more to Ivy than to Lucy, who tilts her head in confusion. He grins, baring his teeth.

“What do we have to do now?”

Oisin settles into a new normal over the next few days, rejoining his party with the rest of their activities. Porter smirks at him as he shows up at the woods, while Jace nods tersely. “Glad to see you back, kid,” Porter rumbles. “Feeling better?” But even as he says it, there’s a sharp glint in his probing eyes, so Oisin merely nods, keeping his mouth pressed as firmly shut as possible. He grinds out monsters with everyone else, getting stronger, and they begin planning for their trip to the Mountains of Chaos — delayed to after spring break, but officially confirmed.

In the midst of all this, he plunges himself into research, learning the Sending spell in record time. He trades Sending spells back and forth with Adaine, though Oisin sends more than Adaine does. On a good day, he gets an update from her; on a not-so-good day, he gets a short, stilted reply: Can’t talk right now, will get back to you later. Logically, he understands, because Adaine’s on a quest, and she’s likely fighting a battle or dealing with some pressing matter, but emotionally, Oisin always feels dejected at those replies, like a form of rejection even though it’s only temporary.

It isn’t until the end of spring break, late at night, when he gets a text from Ivy, who only attaches a link. Oisin’s eyes widen as he clicks into it, hears raucous laughter and sees the interior of an unfamiliar house through the lens of a shaky camera. He watches as members of Adaine’s party poke in and out of view, and he clutches his crystal desperately as he sees Adaine. She’s a blur in the corner, but Oisin gravitates to her instantly, and everytime she exits the frame, something in him yowls angrily, longing to get in the chat and demand for them to show him his oracle.

He watches them, watches this weird, viral shrimp party. Something twinges in his chest, a realisation surfacing — How are they livestreaming this without crystal service? He tabs out, switches over to the dialpad, but any attempt to call Adaine goes straight to an automated voice apologising that the call could not go through. He sends a Sending to her, casually asks, Saw your shrimp party livestream. How’re you doing? Hope the food is good, as if he’s not twitching as he conjures the spell, something innate irritated by her lack of communication.

He sees Adaine tensing on screen, before she calls to them, says she’s going to dip out for a moment. Her message returns to him: Shrimp is good! Me mateys and I are having a blast. Will call you later.

Will call you later, he hears, echoing about his head even after the spell dissipates, the message read. His heart flutters, and butterflies are suddenly flapping their wings in his churning stomach. Oisin clings to his crystal for hours, head resting on his pillow, tail thumping restlessly as any attempts to distract himself go to complete hell.

And then his crystal chimes. The number that flashes across the screen is unfamiliar, a string of random digits, but Oisin hits accept so quickly he swears he’s cracked the screen. “Adaine?” he breathes, pressing the crystal against his ear.

“Oisin!” His heart leaps at the sound of her voice, warmth soaking through his scales. Adaine’s voice is like the most perfect melody, a song for his ears only. He’s memorised every pitch and tone of her voice, the way she enunciates her words, laced with a Fallinel accent, and though he has heard her in his mind through the Sending spell, hearing her through his phone is different, somehow realer.

“How have you been?” Adaine asks him, a little breathless.

Not good, he wants to say, honestly. I haven’t been good since you left. “I’m doing fine,” he says instead, glossing over the ugly truth. He doesn’t want to burden her with his dependency, the way he holed up in his house for days until he heard back from her. “Could be a bit better,” he adds. “One of my party members is getting on my nerves.

It’s not a lie, technically. Kipperlilly is still annoying, grating, irritating Oisin everytime they cross paths — which is to say, nearly all the time. Ivy had whispered to him, yesterday, with a shit-eating grin, “We should change our party name to the Rat Grinders.” His ears had pricked up at that, attention piqued. “It’s all we’ve been doing, anyway,” Ivy added smugly. “What kind of heroes are we, grinding in the woods? Nevermind the fact that there’s six of us; why the fuck are we the High Five Heroes?”

He had nodded along, growled his agreement. They haven’t yet implemented the plan, to confront Kipperlilly and force a change in name, but Oisin’s looking forward to the day they do, longing to see Kipperlilly’s self-assured smile get wiped off her face. He didn’t let slip his true motivations for wanting to do this, to get back at Kipperlilly for those cruel, untrue words she had said about Adaine, but Oisin knows that Ivy knows, from the way she’d arched her eyebrow at him.

Adaine makes a sympathetic noise. “Well, I hope you guys can resolve that soon,” she tells him. “I always really hate it whenever my party argues amongst ourselves. We usually fix things quickly, but even so…” She trails off, before she says, changing the subject, “In any case, I’m surprised you saw the livestream! Um— That is, because you don’t really have a social media presence, and, uh—”

He doesn’t have a social media presence, it’s true. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t have accounts to lurk on, even if the only one he pays attention to rarely ever posts. “A friend sent it to me,” Oisin says. He pauses, before he adds, “I’m surprised you got a livestream working. Didn’t your party member forget that crystal booster?”

“Oh, yeah no, Gorgug did forget that. But he did some tinkering a little while back, and somehow got his crystal hooked up to a satellite.” A flicker of pride laces Adaine’s words; Oisin swallows down a spark of jealousy. “My own crystal’s still out of commission, so I’m borrowing his.”

“That explains the unknown number.”

Silence sinks in, hanging heavy around him. Oisin swallows nervously, mouth suddenly dry. There’s a thunderstorm raging in his chest, unpredictable and chaotic. He opens his mouth, about to speak, to say “So—” but Adaine speaks too, at that exact same moment, says, “Um—” and he snaps his mouth shut.

Another brief pause.

And then they both laugh, voices melding together. It’s so stupid, how badly he’s been craving the sound of Adaine’s voice, to talk with her without restraint — and yet, now that she’s here, on the other side, Oisin’s mind has completely blanked. “Sorry,” he gasps as he calms down. He cherishes the sound of Adaine’s laughter, etches it into the inside of his skull. Another laugh bubbles out, involuntarily. “I don’t— I’ve been wanting to speak to you all week—”

“Missed me, huh?” says Adaine with smug satisfaction.

More than you’ll ever know. “Yeah,” he says, nonchalantly, like that one word doesn’t make him flush all over, burning hot. His claws curl around his bedsheets, gripping the silk tightly. “But now that I can actually talk to you — because let’s be real,” he adds, drily, “Sending spells can only do so much—”

Adaine hums in agreement.

“—I actually… don’t know what to say, I guess.” He curls into himself, a little bit. “I’m just happy to hear your voice,” Oisin confesses, the words coming straight from his heart.

A soft exhale. “I’m glad,” Adaine replies, relieved. There’s a beat, before she asks, “Do you… want me to catch you up on everything? Or do you just want to talk?”

Anything, Oisin thinks. Just hearing you speak is enough. But Adaine is quiet, waiting for an answer, and curiosity does bubble within him, so he says, “I’m a bit curious about your quest, admittedly.”

“Right.” Adaine pauses, before she says, “So I got kidnapped.”

His heart lurches.

“WHAT?”

The grand, spiralling tale Adaine regales him with simultaneously impresses and enrages him — her trip to Leviathan, learning the Sending spell, the battle at the Row and the Ruction, which ends with her getting kidnapped. His blood boils, like churny ocean waves stricken with sharp bolts of lightning, sizzling and bubbling where hot heat crackles. As Adaine goes over, in a slightly pained voice, about how she got kidnapped by her own father, Oisin’s grip on his crystal tightens so hard he swears he hears a crack.

“I actually have to thank you for lending me that Spindle of Fate,” Adaine says, at one point, midway through talking about her escape from the Court of Stars. “It’s… it really has come in handy more than once.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Oisin says weakly, ignoring the yelling in his head that it wasn’t enough; giving Adaine one measly wand wasn’t enough to stop her from getting kidnapped. Oh, how he wishes he was there with her right now! He would call upon his ancestors, tear apart Fallinel with his bare claws — a furious eternity of thunder and lightning, flooding the pathetic little island until there’s nothing left.

He remains tense throughout the rest of Adaine’s story, heart skipping numerous beats as she talks about going to the Nine Hells. He suppresses a growl at the mention of Kalvaxus, because even if the dragon is unable to do anything, rendered nothing but a useless boat, the thought of any other dragon near what’s his makes Oisin’s scales prickle. By the time she finishes, talking a little about them being in Sylvaire and preparing to go into the Forest of the Nightmare King, Oisin is pacing the room, restless energy nipping at his heels. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about any of this,” he says, honestly, brusquely. “Especially about getting kidnapped.”

He can practically imagine Adaine wincing from the other side. “I didn’t want to worry you,” she protests, voice fierce. “Besides, what were you going to do, show up and break me out? Fallinel is a long way from Elmville, Oisin; it simply wasn’t possible.”

Yes, it was, he thinks darkly. He could have called on one of his ancestors — a full-blooded dragon, mighty and eternal and proud — and gotten her to fly him over. He could have called upon all the draconic contacts his family has, sending an onslaught of dragons to tear apart the Court of Stars while he broke into that blasted tower and got Adaine out. But Adaine doesn’t know any of that, and he doesn’t want to unleash all these intense, burning feelings on her, so he says, instead, “I’m your friend, Adaine. I’m always going to worry about you.”

Adaine falls silent at that. Not for the first time during this call, Oisin wishes that Sense Emotions could work over crystal — that the tenuous connection between them from satellites in space could allow him to reach out, cast that familiar spell and learn how she’s feeling.

A sigh spills from his nostrils. “Is there anything I can do to help you?” Oisin asks, voice wavering. “Anything at all?”

“I doubt it,” Adaine finally says. “Not that I don’t appreciate the offer, of course, but—” She quiets, before she says, softly, “There are some things I have to do on my own.”

He closes his eyes. I wish you didn’t have to. “I understand.”

There’s a lull in the conversation before Adaine speaks again, slightly louder this time. There’s a bit of cheer to her words, a little forced, but he understands what she’s trying to do — move on. “Oh, right, did I tell you that I made a new wizard friend out here?”

His heart skips a beat. “Really?”

“Yeah! Her name’s Ayda, and god, she’s just— she’s so cool.”

They talk about lighter things, of new friendships and quests, of their plans to hang out once Adaine’s back in Elmville. Oisin wars with the prickling jealousy that flares up when Adaine talks about this mysterious new wizard with awe and reverence, only for his hackles to relax as soon as Adaine lowers her voice, says, “I’m pretty damn sure she and Fig are dating, but Fig refuses to admit it.”

Oisin feels relief, hearing those words. He hates that he feels relief, a little bit, but the feeling lingers anyway.

He ignores the twitching anxiety festering under his scales when Adaine goes silent the next few days. There’s no reply to his Sending spells, no messages sent his way, no unknown phone calls. She’s in the Forest of the Nightmare King, Oisin reminds himself, twitchier than ever before, but it does very little to suppress his uneasiness.

School resumes, with Adaine and her party nowhere in sight. He sits next to an empty desk in wizard classes, the vacant space like a yawning abyss seated next to him. When Tiberia Runestaff passes by, she raises an eyebrow at the desk, asks sternly, “Has Ms. Abernant not returned from her quest yet?”

“No, Professor,” Oisin says in a low voice, trying not to look too closely at the unoccupied chair next to him.

His teacher wrinkles her nose, unimpressed. “In that case, you will have to partner up with someone else today. Go on then— away with you.”

He works with a bunch of no-name wizards he doesn’t care enough to remember, goes through the motions more than anything else. Every day passes sluggishly; he meets with his party, goes out into the woods as usual, goes over to Ruben’s house as they prepare for their own trip starting next week, but his mind is entirely consumed by a warring back-and-forth between logic and emotion — arguing with himself that Adaine is fine, arguing with himself that Adaine is not.

Oisin is at Ruben’s house again, near the end of the school week, when it occurs. He’s busied himself preparing magic they might need for the trip, working with Lucy on what combinations of cleric and wizard spells would help them best. Everyone in his party is here; Ruben’s house ends up as their de-facto base of operations more often than not, the most spacious place for everyone to be, with very little interference due to absent parents.

He’s discussing potentially combining Wall of Force with Spirit Guardians while Lucy listens when, all of a sudden, Ruben makes a surprised noise. Oisin glances over to see the gnome, ukulele abandoned to the side, fully focused on his crystal. “The Cig Figs account just went live again.”

Oisin’s eyes bulge, those words like a jolt of lightning striking him awake. “What?”

Holding out his crystal, Ruben nods, face scrunched slightly. “Yeah. Here, see?”

Oisin snatches it out of his hand. His grip tightens, and some conscious part of him reminds him not to clench too hard, that this isn’t his, and he doesn’t want to break Ruben’s crystal. He trembles as he takes in the grainy footage playing on the screen, ignoring the bars of chat messages on the lower half of the screen that only grow faster and faster with each passing moment. It’s a hazy, shaky mess; he can make out greenery, foliage — Obviously, they’re in a forest — and, every so often, flickers of people walking, running, flying. There’s a flash of green skin on one side, red on another; there’s fiery, flaming wings here, and freckled human skin there.

“They’re battling,” he realises, the words coming out instinctively as it clicks. Spells fire past with explosive gusts of wind; an arrow flies past, the camera narrowly dodging it. They’re in a fight, at a massive, sprawling tree with stairs winding upwards. There’s a growing storm, there’s numerous bodies wrecking back and forth. Oisin trembles as he holds Ruben’s crystal in his hand, camera shaking as whoever’s holding it ascends the stairs. A hundred questions flit through his mind — Why are they filming? Who’s filming, anyway? But the vast majority of his internal queries are one single question, over and over:

Where’s Adaine?

He doesn’t realise that they’ve all stopped what they’re doing, stopped their preparations for their trip, until the sound of battle intensifies, fills the room. Oisin’s head snaps up to see Kipperlilly pulling up the livestream on her laptop. She’s trembling, lips parted, unable to tear her gaze away from the brightly-lit screen. “What are they doing?” she whispers to herself — but they all hear it. “What the fuck are they doing?”

Lucy gets up, goes over to Kipperlilly. She kneels next to her, arms wrapped around her, murmurs soft words. Ruben joins them, while Ivy heads over to Oisin, standing over him, looking past his shoulder at the tiny screen on Ruben’s crystal. Even Mary Ann, usually so detached and focused on her own little gadgets and games, is transfixed by the stream on her own crystal, impassive expression twitching into something between shocked and impressed.

It’s a battle unlike anything they’ve seen before. None of them understand what’s going on — not entirely. There are familiar faces every now and then, of the Bad Kids, running by the person filming, yelling back and forth at each other. There are foreign ones too, people Oisin doesn’t recognise in the slightest, allies to the party, but strangers to him. There are people breaking out of possessions, of magic and curses; weapons go flying, spells are flung through the air.

Everytime he catches sight of the faintest flicker of blonde hair, his heart skips a beat, stutters to a stop for one eternal second. It’s Adaine, sometimes — magnificent, beautiful, gilded sword in hand as she fires off spell after spell, yells to her party members and allies: confident and bold, and everything Oisin could ever want. Sometimes it’s not her, and it’s either one or the other — there’s a girl just slightly taller than Adaine, bags under her eyes, who works in tandem with her, bringing to mind faint recollections of Adaine complaining in freshman year about her bitch sister. But other times, there’s an older woman, who looks eerily like the both of them, conjuring a storm, and Oisin knows that she could be no one but Adaine’s mother.

Kipperlilly blanches, suddenly. “Is Riz filming?” she all but yells, voice pitching to a shriek. Her voice shakes, and as Oisin steals a glance at her, he sees the telltale lines etched in her face as it curls into one of jealous, petty hatred — her grudge towards Riz Gukgak has been present ever since freshman year, the goblin the bane of her existence. But Kipperlilly’s right, as they all find out; they’ve not seen a single frame of the goblin thus far, only his voice, and every so often, there’s a flash of green claws at the edges of the screen, like they’ve stepped into his point of view, viewing the battle from his eyes.

Oisin lets Lucy handle Kipperlilly, can’t bring himself to give two shits about her rampaging resentment. He stays glued to the screen for anything of Adaine. The battle is a whirlwind — fast, so fast — and Riz goes down at one point, killed by a ghoulish, bearded elf more dead than it is alive. The camera faces the air, and there’s a blur of movement — the elf’s body exploding, Figueroth Faeth cackling as she comes into view with the phoenix woman, the hulking body of Gorthalax the Insatiable, and then Riz is up with a sharp gasp, oxygen sucked into a body that can’t be seen

“Can anyone see… whatever they’re fighting?” Ruben asks, tensely, and all of them shake their heads.

Riz pushes himself up just enough for Oisin to see something that causes him to freeze. Adaine, her back to the camera, staring down her mother — there is a verbal spar, before magic forms around the older Abernant’s fingertips. But just as the spell hits her, Adaine jerks something long and pointed in the air, a trail of red dangling from it — the Spindle of Fate. Whatever spell hits her dissipates in an instant, the outcome changed; a purr grows in his throat, smooth satisfaction stroking his ego. Adaine, using the treasure he gifted her — saving herself from a powerful spell, altering the outcome of fate itself.

But then Riz is attacked by something invisible, camera moving away from Adaine to perhaps the strangest battle yet — Riz and Fig and the phoenix, yelling at something that cannot be seen. Riz goes down, flies off the stairs, and Oisin snarls as the camera leaves the plane of the battlefield, leaves Adaine. Smoke curls from his jaws, and he hears Ivy murmur something he can’t hear, her hand resting on his shoulder. It’s the only stability he has while he grapples with howling instincts, shoving them back just enough that they can’t break out.

Riz is caught by someone, wrapped up in a blanket, but Oisin pricks his ears, trying to listen for any sign of Adaine, where is she, how is she? His breathing is raspy, coming quick, and his chest feels like it’s about to explode.

And then he hears a bone-shattering shriek. That familiar cadence, warped to a single, sharp howl of pain, echoing through the branches of this thick, tangled forest, before cutting out.

Crack!

The edges of Ruben’s crystal shatters. Boiling heat simmers underneath Oisin’s scales, a thunderstorm roaring to life. There’s another scream — not Adaine, but close to it, the inflection similar — “Get out of this WORLD!” followed by a massive explosion that booms through the air. Dread pools in Oisin’s stomach, a horrible, looming wave of doom rising over him. But he clings to the crystal, holds himself together by one fraying thread, until he hears a faint cry, desperate:

“My sister’s— please, do something!”

The world collapses. Something inside him shatters, restraint broken; a tidal wave of every searing emotion bursts through him — rage, above all else, rage at losing his hoard; but underneath, there is regret, guilt, misery, a wounded animal wailing at the top of its lungs, asking why, why, why? He’s moving before he can even realise it, on his feet, driven by some deep, inner recognition of the place he’s in, even if he can’t pinpoint anything now, mind seized by the primal, possessive urge to kill.

His claws crackle with magic, lightning, the onslaught of a storm. He crashes through something, lands on the ground, sharp stabs bursting through his arms, his knees. His roar tears through the sky, lightning that tears his throat, his lungs, apart; he lunges out, slashing with wild abandon, feral and frenzied. She’s dead, something wails, deep in his mind — it melds with his rage, like fuel to a fire. She’s dead, she’s dead, and I wasn’t there, I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop them—

Screaming behind him, in voices familiar yet indecipherable to his ears. He lunges forward again, attacks wildly; something crashes to the ground in a scorched heap, crumbling to charred ashes. A cold wave whips past him, but he shuts it out, shuts the spell out — he recognises it distantly as Calm Emotions, and he snarls, seething and berserk. He doesn’t want to calm down, he doesn’t. He’s going to rend the heavens, tear hell to pieces, split open the skies and crack the ground apart. He’s going to destroy it all, because what’s the fucking point of it all, if Adaine’s gone, if his hoard, his treasure, his oracle, his, is gone?

And then a sharp, stabbing pain hits his shoulder.

That brief pain is all the warning he gets, a split second to process it, before all of a sudden, he’s tangled in brambles. Thorns dig into his scales, his skin, razor-sharp and stinging; he tumbles backwards with a shriek, losing his balance, and crashes into the ground. He struggles against his bindings, screeching and howling, but the thorns dig in deeper, sharper. They scrape through his hide, slice cuts against his skin. The thick smell of iron and ozone wafts through the air as blood oozes out.

His struggles grow weaker, mind growing feebler. Exhaustion seeps in, dragging him down; fatigue takes him over, sluggish and slow. He blinks, vision blurry, black spots dancing at the edges of his vision. Before him, someone is crouching, holding his shoulders, yelling at him. It’s all a blur, but as another wave of magic washes over him — the melodious strum of a ukulele this time, cutting through the static that burns in his ears — Oisin finally comes back to himself.

“—you fucking thinking?!” Ivy crouches over him, face contorted into a snarl. She’s shaking him, but her hands are trembling, shaking — from fear? From rage? Oisin doesn’t know. Her face is still a bit blurry, and he realises that he’s not wearing his glasses anymore, but her anger is clear. “This has gotten out of control, Oisin,” she hisses, hands curling around the collar of his shirt, pulling him close to her so he can see every inch of fury on her face. “You need to get a fucking grip.”

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. His throat is wrecked, and as he coughs feebly, he winces in pain.

Ivy throws Oisin back to the ground, rising to her feet. He can’t make out her expression from afar. “I’m fucking done,” she mutters, stepping away. “Lucy, you handle him.”

He hears Kipperlilly rallying the rest of them back indoors, a small blur with a swaying, blonde ponytail as she ushers what Oisins assumes is Mary Ann and Ruben back inside. A blue figure walks over, takes the place Ivy abandoned. Lucy kneels by him, hands crackling with magic, and as she works to undo the poisonous brambles binding him, courtesy of the grasping arrow Ivy had shot, the two of them sit in a tense, awkward silence.

“...Adaine is fine, by the way.” He blinks at Lucy as she speaks, taking in her words. Relief unfurls in him, nestles in his chest; it’s not powerful enough to rid himself of his fatigue, tiredness, the embarrassment and shame that smoulders in him, but it’s something he’s glad to hear. “Mary Ann was still watching the stream throughout all that,” Lucy explains, “and someone managed to get her back up.” An inhale. “She’s fine. Their battle is over.”

I’m glad, he says, sending a Message spell. His throat is too fucked up to speak. Lucy smiles at him, a little sad, and they lapse back into a contemplative silence as she undos the tangled brambles, casting spell after spell to rid him of poison, of exhaustion, sealing up wounds and restoring any damage taken.

“Ivy’s talked to me about this, a little bit.” A pause. Cool magic sweeps through his veins, working through the inside of his body. “You really do care for Adaine a lot.” Resting her hands on her knees, Lucy asks, “Does she know how you feel?”

He shakes his head.

“Do you want her to know how you feel?”

More than anything.

He nods, wordlessly.

Lucy exhales, eyes growing distant. She doesn’t speak, not immediately, but before the silence can stretch on for too long, he hears her. “The issue, Oisin,” she says, with a quiet firmness, “is that you’re suppressing your instincts. You’re a dragonborn, but you’re trying to pretend like you’re not.”

His words come out as a rasp. “I don’t want to scare her,” he admits, blood curdling with fear. There it is, out in the open — the cornerstone of his anxiety, the reason why he keeps warring with his instincts, shoving them back, keeping them out of sight from Adaine. “I know she’s had issues with control—” He thinks to her retelling of freshman year, the way her voice hardened into sharp daggers as she went over Biz Glitterdew, how he wanted to shove her into a palimpsest—

“I don’t want to— to fuck up and drive her away,” Oisin admits weakly. He pulls his knees to his chest, hugs them tightly. His tail curls around him protectively. Because the truth is, though he bit back a snarl upon hearing those words, of the palimpsest—

The thought of Adaine somewhere safe and sound under his care appealed to him too.

“But if you don’t talk to her about it,” Lucy counters, with gentle strength, “you will do that.” She rests her hand on his back, rubbing circles. “Have you talked to her about it at all?” He shakes his head. “Then do it,” Lucy tells him, in a voice he can’t object to. Kipperlilly may call herself the leader of their party, but Lucy’s the heart of it — the one who listens to them, talks to them, holding their hearts in the cool palms of her hands, holding them close to her own.

“Before we leave, next week,” Lucy affirms, with no room for argument in her words. “Talk to her.”

Congratulations on finishing your quest! When are you back? Leaving soon for a trip, but I want to talk to you first.

He sends off the message later that night, which feels like a right enough time. The tumultuous storm of emotions has quelled, subsided for now. A hot shame still washes over Oisin when he remembers raising his head, finally noticing the absolute storm of destruction he had ravaged on Ruben’s backyard, hedges and topiaries charred to ashes, the pungent smell of ozone staining the air. He had walked back into the house with his tail between his legs, apologised in a low voice, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes as he promised to pay for any damages — which turned out to include the window he had flung himself out of, further cementing his urge to sink into the ground and die.

He had felt a pair of eyes burning holes against his hide throughout the rest of the day. Oisin didn’t even need to turn to know that it was from Kipperlilly.

So when he gets home, he sends off the message and waits. Adaine replies soon enough, tells him, Making a stop in Leviathan, will head back to Solace soon, and when Oisin follows up, expends a spell slot to ask for specifics, she says, Will try to be back by Sunday, I promise! He twitches nervously, because Sunday is the day before Oisin and his party leave for the Mountains of Chaos, accompanied by their professors, and it’s too little time. But beggars can’t be choosers, so he clings to that promise with an anxious heart.

On Sunday, he hurries over to Mordred Manor as soon as he gets a text on his phone — back in solace, got service again, will be home soon! It’s early, too early; there’s still quite a distance left for Adaine to travel, but a restless energy festers under his skin, and the walls of his home are practically closing in on him, so Oisin leaves, calls a car, and heads to Mordred Manor early.

The downside of heading over without a plan, however, is that Oisin ends up lurking around, pacing across the overgrown lawn, exploring the cemetery nearby. Social media does nothing to distract him, and though he texts Adaine every now and then, he doesn’t get consistent replies. Each passing minute only adds to the anxiety growing within his chest — Lucy’s words echo in his head, over and over, Talk to her. It sounded so easy when she said it, but now that he’s here, the passage of time bringing him closer and closer to that fateful conversation, panic is beginning to set in.

How does he even talk about this? The possessiveness, those draconic urges, the desire to hold Adaine close and growl at anyone who sets their eyes on her? He doesn’t want to give in to these emotions, and he’s going to make that clear — but his mind fills with horrible visions of her smile turning into a disgusted scowl, of her telling him he’s no better than Biz Glitterdew, that she’s not just a thing for him to have and hold.

He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice footsteps thumping against the ground until a voice says, right next to his ears, “Hey! You’re Oisin, right?”

Oisin just about jumps out of his skin. He whirls around, tail stiffening, only to come face to face with a tall werewolf. The werewolf holds up his hands defensively, saying “Woah, hey! Didn’t mean to scare you there, kiddo,” and he recognises, after a beat, Jawbone, the school counsellor and Adaine’s guardian. “I just saw you lurking out here for hours, and I thought I’d come over. Though if you’d rather be left alone, I can do that.”

He blinks, tail dropping back against the ground. “No, it’s fine.” Oisin shuffles his feet, before adding, “I’m sorry for lurking on your property.”

“Hey, it’s no problem.” There’s a pause, before Jawbone asks, “You’re one of Kipperlilly’s party members, yeah? She’s talked about you guys a lot.”

Oisin’s a bit disgruntled at that question, the fact that Jawbone recognises him not as Adaine’s friend, but as one of the High Five Heroes — soon to be renamed Rat Grinders, once he and Ivy put their plan in action. But he plays nice anyways, because Jawbone speaks with genuine interest, and the irritation he feels is more irrational than anything else. “Yeah, I am.”

Jawbone places a hand on his hip. His eyes, behind spectacles, glint with curiosity. “What’re you doing here anyway, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He swallows. “I got a text from Adaine earlier,” he explains, “saying she’s back in Solace. I…” Oisin fidgets, clawed fingers tangling absentmindedly. “I wanted to see her. My party’s heading out on a trip tomorrow.”

“Oh, yeah! I remember. Kipperlilly’s been talking lots about that lately.” Jawbone smiles at him. “I hope it goes well for you kiddos.” There’s such a relaxed and open air about Jawbone that Oisin can’t help loosening up, no longer as tense as before.

Jawbone jerks a thumb back in the direction of the derelict manor, says, “It’ll be a while yet before they get back. There’s a chair on the porch, if you’d rather sit there and wait.”

His legs are aching. “Yeah, I will,” Oisin accepts, with a grateful, polite smile. “Thank you.”

He watches the sun move across the sky, sitting on a rickety bench on the front porch. Jawbone comes in and out of the house, seemingly busy preparing for everyone’s return, though he stops by Oisin every so often, making idle small talk for a couple of minutes. Jawbone seems a little surprised when Oisin talks about how long he’s known Adaine, pushing his glasses up his snout as Oisin rambles, and Oisin feels a little flicker of uncertainty pass his mind.

The sun hasn’t yet dipped beneath the horizon, though it’s slowly approaching it, when a familiar van pulls in, a flaming motorcycle trailing behind. Jawbone perks up, heading down the porch, and Oisin rises to his feet as well. He watches from afar, idle chatter and faint laughter slowly filling the air. Doors are slid open with loud thuds, footsteps thumping against the ground; people fill the driveway, and Oisin cranes his neck, searching for familiar blonde hair.

His heart stutters as he sees her, lays his eyes upon her as she rounds the corner of the van. Adaine returns with a bright smile, her arms slung around some of her party members, laughing so animatedly that it makes Oisin’s chest ache. A sword hangs from her waist, her orb no longer anywhere in sight. She’s always shone so brightly, like a guiding star in the night sky, but now, more than anything, as he watches from afar, she feels out of reach — celestial, ethereal, clustered amidst gods and no longer within grasp of his mortal hands.

She’s saved the world twice now. She’s done so much more than he ever could, plunging into the depths of a nightmarish forest, dying in the thick of a hellish battle, while all Oisin has done is kill rats. Her friends wrap around her, her sister smirks at her, and Oisin cannot help the way he bristles, shoulders shaking, claws digging into his palms, watching them — all of them — cling to her like bloody leeches.

Where would they be without her? Where would they fucking be without her? They don’t appreciate her, not like I do. And yet, a question lingers in his mind, eating at him: Do I deserve her too?

He watches as Jawbone stops by Adaine, talks to her, gestures in Oisin’s direction. Adaine turns her head, and her eyes widen as they land on him. It’s too late for him to flee now, grappling with the clashing combination of insecurity and desire, wanting to hold what he doesn’t deserve to have. Oisin smiles weakly as Adaine runs over, Boggy hopping behind her. The porch rattles as she climbs it, skipping a step. Oisin raises a hand, begins saying, “Hey, Adaine—”

A sudden weight barrels into him. He stumbles backwards, caught by surprise, only to still as arms wrap around him, fingers curling into the back of his shirt. His brain stutters, taking a moment to catch up, to realise that Adaine has tackled him, is hugging him.

Slowly, his arms curl around her, returning the embrace.

(His chest aches.)

When Adaine finally pulls away, she smiles at him, brilliant and bright, like radiant light. “Hey, Oisin,” she greets, one hand reaching up to tuck a clump of stray hair behind a pointed ear. “I… I’m glad to see you again.”

He smiles back at her, genuine and true. “I’m glad too. I… missed you. A lot.” Words can’t encompass all of it, but it’s the best he can do.

She reaches for him, wrapping their hands together. “So,” she says, voice light, “what brings you here? Come to welcome me home?”

“Naturally,” he returns, falling back into that banter so easily. But as Adaine laughs, Oisin hears two voices in his mind, Ivy’s and Lucy’s. Something wedges in his throat, panic seizing him whole. “But I, ah—” He stutters, stumbles a little, and Adaine’s expression shifts into one of collected curiosity. “I… actually came to talk to you about something.”

She blinks at him. “What is it?”

He opens his mouth, and—

The words don’t come out. They evaporate on the tip of his tongue, disappearing from existence. Oisin can’t bring himself to say it, to spill every detail of the battling emotions that have been tearing him apart for months, logic and instinct going at it again and again and again. He can’t bring himself to tell her, point blank, I love you, and I want to kidnap you and take you home, and keep you safe and sound where nobody can hurt you, ever, because you’re mine, my treasure, and I was here first, because the prospect of her face twisting into something hurt, disgusted, sad, haunts him at all times.

He can’t tell Adaine — not now, not here, not while she’s riding the high of a quest accomplished, a battle hard-won. Not while there are people milling around, her party members, her family. He can feel a pair of eyes boring holes through his skull, and as Oisin’s eyes flick to the side, to the source of that creeping sensation, he sees Adaine’s party member, the little goblin rogue, watching him with a piercing gaze, quiet and waiting.

“I…” His mouth snaps shut. Sorry Ivy, sorry Lucy, he thinks morosely. “Do you remember that prediction you made last year? About the Mountains of Chaos?” Adaine nods at him, and Oisin’s mouth curves into a grin. “Guess where my party’s heading tomorrow.”

Her eyes widen, lips parting. “I knew it!” Adaine cheers, triumphant, vindicated. She swings him around, laughs giddily; “You’re gonna do so good,” Adaine tells him, brimming with pride and happiness, and Oisin’s heart swells, that warmth bursting through him too. “You have got to tell me about it when you’re back, okay? And I’ll tell you about my own quest—” She stops, staring at him contemplatively, before she asks, “Hey, actually… do you want to stay over for a while? Jawbone’s going to order pizza, and…” She smiles. “I’m sure the others wouldn’t mind if you stayed for a bit. God knows Fig’s gonna have a field day if you do.”

It’s tempting. Oisin nearly says yes. But his eyes dart to the side again, and he locks eyes with the goblin, who still stares at him, his lips pulled taut. Something inside Oisin withers, beaten back. “I probably shouldn’t,” he says, after a pause. He smiles, wobbly. “I have to get up early tomorrow. Have to set out for the Mountains of Chaos, after all.”

Adaine’s face falls slightly. “Right,” she utters. She squeezes his hands again, musters a smile for him alone. “Well, don’t let me keep you here, Oisin.” Lowering her voice, she adds, “And… I look forward to when you get back. We’ll hang out soon, okay?”

“Okay,” he echoes, with a nod of his head. “We will.”

As he steps off the porch with one final wave, starts trudging a few steps away, he falters. Turning around, Oisin watches as Adaine’s sister leans over, whispering in her ear, watches as Adaine’s cheeks flush red. He watches Jawbone give her a hug, talking to the two siblings. He watches Adaine’s party crowd around her, all of them excited and happy, yelling to each other, connected to her in a way he doesn’t have.

He raises a hand on instinct, a familiar spell sparking forth.

Happiness blooms within him — pure contentment, pure satisfaction. As a warmth that is not his own sinks through him, it tangles with the briars of his own emotions — longing, lurking, lusting after something he so desperately wants to have.

You don’t need me, Oisin realises, with a pang of pain. Not like I need you.

He’ll try again after his trip to the Mountains of Chaos. He’ll tame his emotions, talk to Lucy and Ivy, come up with a plan to confess in a way that doesn’t destroy the very foundations of his relationship with Adaine. But for now, Oisin looks at Adaine one last time, a hollow ache in his heart.

He turns around, tail whisking from side to side, and walks away.

Fire licks through him, molten lava pouring through his veins. His chest heaves as he gasps, sucks in a cold breath that turns to steam in his searing lungs.

Everything aches — his head, his arms, his legs, every single inch of his body. He’s hot, boiling hot; something burns in his chest, stabbing with pain, and he can’t help but roar, the sound shattering through the air of the derelict temple he lays in. He presses his palms against the cold ground, trying to shove himself upright; within him blooms something dark, desiring, growing and growing with each ticking second, each passing moment.

Dizzying steam shrouds his mind, rendering him more beast than man. And yet, there is something in the thick of it, a respite of peace — he reaches for it, closes his fist around it, clings to the memory of a brilliant smile and sharp eyes, of magic illuminating the way, a north star guiding in the night.

A huff escapes through his nostrils. Oisin reflects, wryly, upon the restraints and inhibitions he held before. How fucking foolish he had been, to try and abide by notions of respect, clinging to an opinion before any thought of his own. His self-control has been shattered, cracked into a thousand pieces — good riddance, he thinks, with a satisfied curl of his lips. The only thing that remains is the unrelenting, roaring tide of desire, to have and hold, to own and possess.

He hears noises around him, groans and screams, melding together into a wrathful cacophony. The air feels hot around him, despite the cold breeze that blows his way, infernal rage searing the world to its very core.

Everything is different now. And everything will change.

(Oisin Hakinvar dies in the Mountains of Chaos, and lurches back to life with a rage crystal in his chest. He sucks in his first breath, clings to saccharine memories in his mind. He does not burn with the pure hatred and fury that Kipperlilly does, nor does he drown in the sea of complete apathy that Mary Ann does. He simmers, instead, with a ravenous desire he has spent forever trying to suppress, all his inhibitions gone. Nothing is left but possessive claws, an obsessive desire, blood singing with the avaricious instincts of his ancient ancestors.

He thinks of Adaine Abernant, love bursting through him — intoxicating, overpowering. She will be the crown jewel of his hoard, he decides, as he pushes himself to his feet in an abandoned temple in the Mountains of Chaos, the mural of a rage goddess towering over him. More magnificent than anything else — than all the riches of Spyre, all the arcane artefacts of the world. Because Adaine Abernant is his, indisputably; his before she is anyone else’s.

My treasure, he purrs, a smile stretching across his face. My oracle.

Mine.)

Chapter Text

The humming rumble that surrounds her lulls her into a quiet calm, a tranquil stillness that overtakes her body. Adaine leans her head against the window of the Hangvan, cracked and dusty from months of driving across the rural corners of Spyre. Her fingers tug her blanket tighter over her shoulders, pulling it closer. The luxurious fabric is a little ragged from months on the road, but it’s soft, all warm and cosy, and it makes her feel safe.

The muted drone of the Hangvan’s engines would have lulled her to sleep by now if she wasn’t immune to it to begin with. Even so, her eyes slide shut every now and then, lids lowering little by little, the urge to blissfully trance lurking within her, but rather than give in to her impulses, Adaine turns her head, looks at the rest of her party instead.

They’re making the long drive back to Solace, having just defeated the Night Yorb. Sunlight streaks through shattered glass, a visual sign of their battle hard-won. The windows of the Hangvan are held precariously in place by weak mending spells unable to patch them up properly, casting jagged, lined shadows across the battered back seats of the vehicle. In front of her are Gorgug and Fig, in the driver’s seat and shotgun respectively. Gorgug is still awake, one hand on the wheel, the other resting against the back of his seat, but Fig is fast asleep, mouth parted, snoring quietly. To Adaine’s side is Riz, dozing lightly, twitching in his sleep, and when Adaine turns around, looking into the back of the van, she can see Kristen and Fabian slumbering fitfully in the back.

They’re all tired, deeply exhausted, and Adaine is no exception. A bone-deep heaviness tugs at her limbs, threatening to pull her under. She very nearly gives in to it, nearly lets herself doze into a trance, when, all of a sudden, her crystal blips with a message coming in.

Oisin: Congrats on beating the Night Yorb!

Oisin: You coming back to Solace now? Lmk when I can call

Oisin: Miss you

Involuntarily, a smile slips onto her face. Oisin’s messages always fill her with warmth, a tender flame only stoked stronger with the time they’ve spent apart. He’s always been receptive, communicative, reaching out to her at every possible moment, and Adaine still remembers the way he had learnt the Sending spell for her while she underwent her spring break quest, but it wasn’t until these summer months where Oisin unleashed a crashing wave of honesty. Love you, miss you, wish you were back already, things aren’t the same without you.

It’s a stark change from the silence that hung over them for the first part of the Night Yorb quest. At the time, Oisin’s messages were infrequent, clipped; he mainly sent back apologies for belated replies, to which she would apologise too, causing a slight loop of— well, apologies. What Adaine managed to infer, however, was that he had experienced a close loss sometime before she left. Guilt had twinged in her guts when Oisin confirmed it, and Adaine had passed on her regards, telling him that, if he ever wanted a listening ear, she would be there.

Adaine had been fully ready to climb onto the roof of the Hangvan whenever Oisin wanted to talk. She would have sat back against the dented metal, the dry desert wind gusting her tousled blonde hair as she tilted her head to an eternal, starry night while listening to Oisin speak. But Oisin never did take her up on her offer. He called her, of course, took advantage of the offer to call, but he never did speak of his loss, nor did Adaine press him about it. It wasn’t unexpected, because she wasn’t always going to be privy to his life, much like he wasn’t to hers, but still, it had been somewhat disappointing.

Things returned to some semblance of normalcy as time passed, however, and soon her crystal was pinging with frequent messages, so much so that Adaine had to mute it more often than not. Fig teased her endlessly about it, as did Fabian and Kristen, and even Gorgug made a quip every now and then. All of them relished in making her fluster, skin beet-red, but for however much Adaine complained— well, her friends weren’t wrong.

Something small had shifted between them after spring break — after Adaine returned from the Forest of the Nightmare King; after Oisin returned from the Mountains of Chaos. It was nigh imperceptible, just the slightest bit of more close contact — Oisin’s elbow bumping against hers as he reached over to point out a sentence in her tome; Adaine’s skin brushing against warm scales as she leaned into Oisin’s space, dragging her pen across paper to correct his mistakes. He began offering to walk her home to Mordred after their study sessions together — insisted on it, even, averting his eyes while his face purpled — and Adaine had accepted, a similar flush reddening her cheeks, heart aflutter in a way she tried to ignore.

Ironically, it felt like the universe was working against them, in spite of how much closer they were growing. Oisin grew busier than ever with party matters, resulting in their study sessions shortening from nearly everyday to once a week, back to that original, sole Friday. For whatever it was worth, he seemed just as frustrated about it as Adaine was, if not even more so, but his hands, unfortunately, were tied.

“It’s fine,” Adaine told him, resting a hand on his shoulder as he huffed with annoyance. “Summer’s approaching anyway, so we can just— hang out then.”

Oisin exhaled, tension loosing from his body. “That would be nice,” he said, almost wistful. “I’d like that, Adaine.”

In an ideal world, Adaine would have spent languid, lazy summer days with her friends, dividing her time between the rest of the Bad Kids and Oisin. There would be trips to the beach, spending days out at the shore between sand and sea, salt spraying the air; there would be sticky trails of ice cream dripping down her fingers as the sun melted such cold delicacies, fighting against the clock to finish it; there would be days spent just staying indoors, when thunderstorms struck and thunder boomed through the air, talking about everything and anything the world had to offer.

But, as all things went, that hadn’t been what happened.

The Night Yorb exploded out of Riz’s chest, screeching as it took to the skies. All of Spyre became drenched in an unyielding, everlasting darkness, only strengthened by the utterance of that dastardly creature’s name. Against the exasperation that flooded her veins, the only thought in her mind being Really? This again? Adaine had bucked up, rushed to prepare everything she needed, and headed out for a summer of Yorb-hunting with the Bad Kids. It was tiring, exhausting, but at the very least, she was with her friends.

The downside to the situation, though, was that she had to leave Oisin behind. And she did miss him throughout, lamenting, every now and then, their loss of time spent together over a sweet, summer holiday.

Her fingers fly over her crystal’s keyboard, tapping letters to forge a response.

Adaine: heading back to solace!!

Adaine: it’ll take a bit though. long drive back

Adaine: can’t call rn bc everyone’s sleeping but will lyk when i can

Immediately, she gets a heart and a thumbs-up reaction to her last message. She smiles.

“Was that Oisin again?”

Adaine starts at the sudden sound of Riz’s voice, piercing through the bubble of serenity she’s enveloped herself in — just her and her crystal, Oisin on the other side. Glancing over, she meets a pair of yellow eyes. Half-lidded as they may be, sleep still tugging them down, they are no less sharp than they would have been if Riz were wide awake; he’s always alert, his slumber light, mind perpetually primed to jump to attention, ready and waiting.

“Yeah, it was,” she affirms, with a little hesitance. Her fingers curl tighter around her crystal. “He just asked me if I would be back soon,” Adaine explains. “That’s all.”

Maybe she’s being somewhat defensive, Adaine realises, as Riz blinks at her. But memories of the early days of their summer quest stir to mind — sitting in the back of the Hangvan, squished between Riz and Kristen as the vehicle hummed around them. “I don’t see why you have to tell Oisin everything,” Riz had said, tail flicking a bit as he squinted at Adaine, who shielded her crystal from view, slightly scornful that Riz had the audacity to spy on her extremely private texts.

“I’m not telling him everything,” Adaine protested, face scrunching into a scowl. “Just a little bit.” A sigh escapes her at the doubt flitting across Riz’s face. “Have a bit of faith in me, would you? I didn’t tell him every single detail about our spring break quest. Why would I do the same here?”

Riz stared at her for just a bit longer, an unreadable look in his eyes. Eventually, all he said was, “I trust you, Adaine. Can’t say the same for your friend, though.”

She had rolled her eyes at that, but dropped the argument, not wishing to get locked into another dead-ended back-and-forth over the logistics of her one friendship outside of the Bad Kids. It wasn’t a new topic at all; Riz had always held some amount of distrust towards Oisin, for reasons Adaine never understood. “The way he looks at you,” Riz said once, when Adaine finally pushed him into explaining his hostility. A shudder rippled through Riz’s body, and his fingers clenched. “It gives me… just— this really bad feeling.”

“He looks at Adaine like he’s in love,” Kristen had teased, dropping in with a waggle of her eyebrows. “Maybe that’s why you’re so uncomfortable with it,” she added, a jab at Riz, who flustered in an instant; his lack of interest in anything romantic had only become more obvious since spring break.

“Maybe,” Adaine agreed, with a sly smile.

Right now, Riz merely shrugs, resting his head against the back seat. “I still don’t like him,” he mutters, averting his gaze.

“That’s fine.” Adaine’s voice is clipped. “You don’t need to like him.” She loves Riz, she really does, but— god, is this conversation starting to get old. Riz has clung to a constant tirade of suspicions about Oisin without knowing what, specifically, it was about Adaine’s friend that bothered him so much. Or maybe he did know, and was choosing not to tell her, which, in Adaine’s opinion, was worse.

The words tumble out before she can think them through. “Why are you so obsessed with who I befriend? I don’t see you exercising the same energy for anyone else.”

Riz mutters something under his breath, and Adaine swears it sounds like “Untrue,” but he says, louder this time, “There’s just something about the way he looks at you—”

“So friends can’t look at each other now?”

Another voice cuts in. “He likes Adaine,” Gorgug interjects, startling the both of them out of their private little back-and-forth.

She feels her face and neck flush with heat. “Not this again,” Adaine groans, rubbing a hand against her forehead.

Gorgug’s eyes are on the road, but Adaine sees him shrug, his back to them. “I’m just saying,” he says, nonchalantly. “Oisin likes Adaine — like-likes her.”

Riz rakes a hand through his tousled hair. “I-I mean, maybe?” His voice pitches, the way it usually does when concerning matters of the heart — decidedly not his area of expertise. “But like— it’s not just that.” A sigh. “I don’t know,” Riz admits, defeated. “I get he’s your friend, and I’m not gonna tell you you can’t befriend him, I’m just…”

“Worried?” Adaine suggests, as a finisher.

“Worried,” Riz echoes, nodding assent.

The hard edges of indignance within her heart softens, melting into a soft split between melancholy and gratitude. “You don’t have to worry about me,” Adaine tells Riz; she hears Gorgug humming from the front of the van, one of the Cig Fig songs. Adaine tugs her blanket tighter around her, creamy cashmere brushing against her skin — a gift from Oisin, at one point, somewhere during the first part of sophomore year. “I can take care of myself. I killed my own father, remember?”

The corner of Riz’s mouth quirks into a slight smile. “I know,” he says ruefully. “But that’s not going to stop my brain from going wild thinking about it.” His eyes meet hers, and Adaine gets it, even if it’s a little frustrating — they’re friends, and Riz is always going to worry a little about her, on account of that fact. But the tension has dissipated in the air, and it only disperses even further at the sound of an oooh.

“Are we talking about dragonboy?” Fig says, lips curved into a wicked grin, baring her teeth. Her eyes are wide with curiosity, intrigue, mischief, and she crosses her arms over the back of her seat, resting a fist against her cheek.

Riz jerks his head, staring at Fig bewilderedly. “How long have you been awake—?!”

When the van stops for the night, giving enough time for Gorgug to rest while Fabian takes Fig and looks for the nearest sign of civilisation to get food, Adaine clambers onto the roof of the Hangvan. It’s badly battered now, the metal dented and all banged up. The sigil sealing the Night Yorb hums with ominous energy — shadow and darkness, swallowing the sun while the night flies free.

She leans back against her hand, legs crossed over the side of the Hangvan. At her side, Boggy nuzzles into her, croaking happily, and Adaine takes a moment to rub his round head before punching a number, memorised by heart, into her dial pad, and pressing call.

The call only rings once, before it picks up. “Adaine?” Oisin’s voice is breathy, throaty; she smiles without realising it, the action involuntary.

“Hi!” she greets. Butterflies flit about her stomach, about her chest. Adaine swallows down any lingering nerves, ignores the warmth dusting her cheeks, and says, “Is this a bad time to call? Sorry, I should have probably texted you first, but—”

“No, not at all!” Oisin interrupts, insistent. He sounds happy, Adaine thinks, and her chest fills with warmth upon the realisation. “I’m always down to call with you, I—” There’s some shuffling, a few thuds and clatters coming faintly through the receiver. “I was just… working through some stuff, but it’s fine, it’s nothing I can’t do later.”

“You sure?”

A huffing laugh. “I’m sure,” Oisin asserts, voice firm. She can practically imagine him settling in with the utmost focus, concentrating on her with an intensity she’s gotten used to after two years of knowing him. “So? Tell me all about it. How was the battle?”

They talk for what feels like hours. Adaine pulls her legs up to her chest, watches as the sun slides past the horizon, staining the darkening skies with sweet hues of tangerine, peach, and violet, creating a radiant ombré. She waves at Fabian and Fig as they return on the Hangman, Fabian flashing her a thumbs-up while Fig mouths You got this! before they clamber back into the Hangvan, bags of food swinging from their arms. She skips the finer details of the battle, a picture of Riz’s distrustful eyes lingering in her mind, but she touches on just enough that Oisin gets the full picture. She rolls her eyes affectionately whenever she hears a growl slip through as she describes getting hurt, getting attacked; it’s endearing, at this point, how much Oisin cares about her, but all the same, Adaine can take care of herself.

“So,” Adaine says, teasingly, pressing her crystal hard against her ear to catch every little sound that comes through, “mind telling me what you’ve been up to, since I took all this time to tell you everything you wanted to know?”

There’s a hum, before Oisin rasps, “You’ll just have to wait and see, I’m afraid.” She can practically imagine the smirk on his face, relishing in her impatience. “Patience is of the essence, my dear Adaine—”

“I save the world, and this is what I get—”

By the time Kristen pokes her head out of the van to yell at her to come down and eat — “‘cause if you don’t, Gorgug and Riz are probably gonna finish everything!” — night has fully fallen. Anxiety still sparks within her as the stars settle in, stirring irrational fears of waking from a trance the next morning, only for the sun to be gone, masked by the eternal darkness they failed to expel.

“I gotta go eat,” Adaine tells Oisin, apologetic. She tries to stifle a laugh at the sound of a low whine, but fails. “Really, Hakinvar,” she teases, “do you miss me that much?”

“Yes,” he bites out, and her heart skips a beat, rattling erratically against the walls of her ribcage. “I miss you, Adaine,” he sighs, morose, and she’s filled with the urge to reach through the receiver, somehow, and pat him on the head, the way she does when he gets tired mid-studying and rests his head in the crook of his folded arms for a while, her fingers brushing against warm, blue scales. A throaty laugh. “I want this call to go on forever.”

I do too, she thinks, ducking her head as her face flames. “Well, unfortunately, it can’t,” she says instead, lightly; a low rumbling returns in response. “But I’ll be back soon,” Adaine reminds him. “And then we can hang out again. Junior year and all, remember? We’re gonna have so much we need to do.”

“Tiberia’s classes are no joke,” says Oisin, with a groan. “It’s going to get so much worse too.”

“Well.” Her hand curls, rounded fingertips scrabbling against the dented metal beneath. “At least we’ll have each other, right?”

“We will.” Oisin’s reply is immediate, strong, with the utmost conviction. “And I’m looking forward to it.”

Me too, Adaine thinks, sinking into a soft, certain serenity, of study sessions in the library and ice cream at Basrar’s, of love and concern entwined.

They arrive back in Elmville past midnight, utterly exhausted. They eat at Krom’s Diner, get some food in their stomachs, before Adaine trudges back home with Kristen and Fig. Her legs ache, and her eyes keep sliding shut with the desperate need for a trance, but a sleepy contentment still overcomes her when Jawbone and Sandra Lynn welcome them all back, give them a cake for their three extremely belated birthdays.

She says hi to Zayn, learns from him that Aelwyn has moved out. There’s a nemesis ward hanging over her bedroom. She knows that Kristen and Fig are dealing with Jawbone’s lecture, but for once, her tiredness reaches deep into her core, and Adaine pushes her concerns out of her mind. She crashes into bed, falls into a deep, sinking trance.

They get to school thirty minutes early the next day, armed with garbage bags filled to the brim with food that Adaine can’t possibly finish on her own, courtesy of Ragh’s mom. Riz is already there — Of course he is, Adaine thinks with a smile, as they join him in the courtyard — and Adaine marvels at the folders spread across the table, lighting up at just how organised it is. Gorgug and Fabian show up, and they all sink back into their usual banter, and Adaine tries not to think about the dissonance between where they were, just a few days ago, chasing after a world-ending beast determined to sink all of Spyre into endless night, in contrast to the weird normal of now.

Jawbone is sitting behind a small fold-out table near the entrance, along with the current student body president, Mazey. They stop by, make some small talk, and Fabian and Fig begin convincing Kristen that yes, she should, in fact, run for the position of president. As Adaine hangs around there, she hears a noise, turns her attention to Riz, who’s watching some halfling Adaine doesn’t recognise walk up to the table — hair pulled back into a tight, blonde ponytail, dressed in a prim and proper outfit that makes Adaine wrinkle her nose, because it reminds her of the Hudol uniforms she was forced to wear in freshman year.

“Her pin,” Riz explains, in a hushed voice. Adaine’s eyes flick to it — a small, enamel pin of two gears closing and crushing the butt of a rat. She scrunches her face, involuntarily makes a small noise of disgust. The girl announces her presence, says she wants to sign up for class president — which Adaine sort of expected, given that’s the entire function of the table here. But what she doesn’t expect is for the blonde halfling, whoever she is, to turn to her, and begin speaking.

“Hi!” she greets, a smile plastered across her face. It’s a little fake, Adaine notices. “You’re Adaine Abernant,” the stranger says, and— that causes her to raise an eyebrow. It’s not that Adaine is some obscure loner, irrelevant to the ecosystem of Aguefort, because she’s not, and none of the Bad Kids are. But the way this girl approaches her, with some semblance of familiarity, causes a shudder to ripple down her spine.

“I am,” Adaine affirms, with a polite smile of her own. She pauses, briefly, before she adds, “Who are you, exactly?”

In an instant, the girl’s face reddens, the smile winking off her face in favour of incredulous disbelief. “You don’t know who I am?” she asks, and her voice shakes slightly.

Adaine furrows her brows, tilts her head to the side. “No. Should I?”

“I would assume so,” the girl replies, haughtily. She presses a hand against her chest, attempts to whip out another cordial smile. “I am, after all, a member of Oisin’s party.”

Her eyes widen. “You’re a member of Oisin’s party?” Adaine exclaims in disbelief. And— okay, so maybe there were better ways to approach this mess of a situation, like a train that has plunged off a cliff and is hurtling down into a chasm, but could anyone really blame her? Oisin has told her very little about his party — although Adaine realises, with a flicker of guilt, that she’s never really asked. Regardless, how was she to know that… whoever this girl was, is part of his team?

Snickering erupts from behind her, rapidly collapsing into peels of laughter. Blondie’s face darkens, and her fingers twitch.

“Kipperlilly Copperkettle,” she forces out, her voice stiff. There’s something fierce in her eyes, and when she rests her glowering gaze on Adaine, Adaine can feel her heart curdle with dislike. She steps back, disengages from this entire discussion as Kristen quips something about four dogs, and Mazey begins launching into discussions of campaign hours, and scheduling, and other logistical planning that Adaine can’t focus on right now. Something uncertain settles in her gut, nips at her as she observes Kipperlilly, introducing one or two members of her team — The Rat Grinders? Seriously? — and firing a pointed look at Adaine as she says, “And of course, I assume some of you are plenty acquainted with Oisin Hakinvar by now.”

This is one of Oisin’s party members?

This bitch?

Adaine resolves to ask him about it when she gets to class, an itch to learn more growing within her. Because how could someone as nice as Oisin, someone she’s grown to care for as deeply as her own party after two years of friendship, possibly team with a total cunt like Kipperlilly?

As soon as they are unceremoniously ejected out of the gymnasium, Adaine’s crystal blips with a message notification, snagging her attention. While the rest of her party talk amongst themselves, she pulls it out, spotting a text from Oisin — At class rn. You coming soon?

How did he get there so fast? Shaking off her perplexion, Adaine turns to the rest of her friends, saying, “Sorry, but I really have to go now.” She hesitates, feeling five pairs of eyes resting on her, before she adds, a little reluctantly, “Oisin wants to meet.”

Fig whoops, very loudly, punching her fist in the air. “Stop that!” Adaine protests, burying her face in her hands. They surround her, teasing her for a bit — all except Riz, who watches her with a flicker of worry in his eyes.

He snags her sleeve as she’s about to leave. “Hey,” Riz says, lowering his voice, “you know I trust you, right?”

“Of course I do. What’s up, Riz?”

His lips thin. “Just… I don’t really know how I feel about Kipperlilly right now. And Oisin’s part of her team, apparently.”

“Just for the record, I’d like to clarify that I did not know that until now. He’s never really… talked about his party much.”

“Weird,” Riz mutters. Adaine only shrugs. “In any case,” Riz adds, letting go of her sleeve, “if you ever get the chance to talk about it with him… let me know.”

“I’ll do my best,” Adaine promises. And she will. Because admittedly, she’s just as curious about it too.

She waves her goodbyes to her friends, hurries off down the winding hallways of Aguefort, making a beeline for wizard classes. As she approaches the familiar door, she slows down, taking a deep breath to steady her resolve. A curiosity flickers within her, burning like a candlelight; Adaine wants to know more about Oisin’s party, about the Rat Grinders, a black spot she’s neglected to ask about over the past two years together. The need is spurred from the sour taste Kipperlilly left at the back of her mouth. There was just something about her restrained cordiality that left Adaine incredibly dissatisfied. And yet, she’s also curious about why Oisin hadn’t ever brought his party up. Was it possible that they were a party out of obligation, lacking a connection?

She pushes the door open, and steps into the classroom.

Raising her head, Adaine glances over at her usual desk, next to Oisin, and freezes.

All thoughts of Kipperlilly, of rat grinding and student body presidencies, escape her mind in an instant. Adaine stammers, rooted to the spot like an absolute idiot, because seated in Oisin’s chair is— well, Oisin: blue scaled, glasses resting on his snout, a tail lashing from side to side. But at the same time, it’s not, because—

Oisin raises his head from his book at the sound of the door opening, and amber eyes meet her own. He perks up.

“Adaine!”

She can only stutter, faltering where she stands, unable to tear her gaze away from Oisin as he gets up, accompanied by the grating sound of his chair scraping against the floor. He walks over to her, and— God, Adaine thinks, unintentionally letting slip a strangled noise, why is he so tall?!

Because Oisin is tall — taller than the last time Adaine saw him, taller than her. They used to be the same height, standing eye-to-eye, but now she has to tilt her head back to meet those sharp amber eyes, dark pupils dilated as they lock gazes. Oisin’s mouth crinkles into a wide smile, teeth bared, and Adaine averts her gaze. Her face must surely be on fire now, from how hot it feels; her heart bangs against her sternum like a caged animal, howling with agony as it tries to break out.

“H-Hey, Oisin,” Adaine starts, hating the way her voice pitches uncontrollably. “You look— um. Y-You look different— ah!”

A squeak escapes her lips as, all of a sudden, strong arms wrap around her, pulling her into a crushing hug. Adaine stills, desperately praying that Oisin can’t feel the frenetic rhythm of her heartbeat where her chest presses against his own. Her eyes dart off to the side, and— oh, she feels her cheeks burn even harder, if that’s even possible, closing her eyes to avoid gazing at the muscular swell of Oisin’s arms, now inked with arcane tattoos, once scrawny, but now not.

But it is the sudden, low rumble of Oisin’s voice that gives her pause. “I missed you,” he murmurs, hugging her tightly. Something in her softens at that, edges mellowing into something less panicked, less… she’s not going to think too hard about what else it could be.

Adaine ignores the arrhythmic beating of her heart, ignores the ball of emotions choking up her throat. She curls her arms around Oisin’s back, whispers, “Missed you too, Oisin.”

When they pull away, she is greeted by Oisin’s smile — bright and delighted, looking at her in a way that makes her chest flutter. Even as they break away from each other, he still reaches for her hand, tugging her over to their neighbouring desks. Adaine can’t help the laugh that bubbles forth, as her eyes trace the defined muscles of Oisin’s body, the angular edges of his form — and, above all, his height. “I can’t believe this. Were you keeping this a secret from me? This—” She gestures at him. “Your height?”

His grin grows. “I wanted to see the look on your face when you returned,” Oisin says, and Adaine thwacks his arm playfully, feigning anger. He laughs, a raspy, throaty sound. “I, uh— was a late bloomer for dragonborn puberty. But I finally hit it over the summer.”

“Oh, I can tell,” Adaine says drily; Oisin merely flashes his teeth. She laughs, abruptly. “God, this is so— this is going to take some getting used to, I mean— What do you mean, you’re taller than me now?”

“What, you mean you don’t like it?” Oisin teases.

“Absolutely not!” Adaine says defiantly, ignoring how her heart skips a beat. She settles into her chair, but Oisin doesn’t let go of her hand, rubbing his thumb along her skin. Electricity prickles across her flesh, tingling and sharp. “I’m going to have to crane my neck every time I want to look at you— do you know how inconvenient that is?”

“You say that like I won’t have to do it too, for you,” Oisin rumbles. Their banter is easy to slip back into, like diving underneath a blanket. It’s just the both of them, wrapped up in a world of their own; the stares lingering on her back go ignored in favour of listening to Oisin’s throaty voice, feeling the rough touch of his fingers brush against her smooth skin. He leans in, lowering his voice. “And that’s a sacrifice I’ll be willing to make.”

A sharp, sudden rapping against the ground.

“Ms. Abernant, Mr. Hakinvar.” A cold voice pierces their little bubble, making it pop. Adaine jerks back so quickly, so suddenly, that she bangs her elbow against the edge of her table, causing her to yelp in pain. Head snapping to the side, she stares at Tiberia Runestaff, standing before the both of them, decidedly unimpressed. Something withers inside her chest, shame replacing sweet warmth.

“I trust you two lovebirds are quite finished with staring into each other’s eyes now, are you?” Laughter ripples through the class, only to be silenced as Tiberia’s sharp gaze snaps upwards, roaming over the rest of the wizards.

“Yes, Professor,” Adaine says quickly, along with a “Sorry.” Oisin doesn’t reply. She coughs a little, nudges him with her elbow, and eventually, he mutters something like an apology.

Tiberia Runestaff merely twists her lips and turns away, launching into the beginning of today’s lecture. But Adaine can’t focus, not really. The only thing jumbling about her mind is an amalgamation of snapshotted memories — Oisin’s strong arms around her; the bright glint in his eyes as they bantered back and forth; Tiberia Runestaff’s lips curving around the words lovebirds.

Nope! Adaine thinks furiously, that last thought banishing her back to reality. She swats those memories out of her mind, beating them back with a broom. Not going to think about that, she tells herself, with resolve. I’m not. I’m not!

She tries to focus on the lesson, turning her attention to her teacher’s teachings with a laser-sharp clarity. But in her intense focus, latching onto Tiberia’s words like a lifeline, Adaine fails to notice the telltale prickle of a familiar spell — like sparks dancing against her skin.

The first day back is nothing short of a whirlwind.

Shortly after class begins, the door creaks open, and Adaine is stunned to see Fabian poking his head in. Tiberia Runestaff points at her, asks her if she could glean, with her divination, that Fabian is the future of dance. “Yes,” Adaine says with the utmost certainty, her reply immediate; it’s not something she needs to scry for, spur a vision to her mind, to predict. She knows that Fabian is the future of dance, from the way he took to it like a duck to water.

She’s a little less than pleased, though, and slightly more panicked when Tiberia puts five credits on her prediction, writing it down on the board with magic. She cringes, shrinking in her chair; this happened far too many times last year too, where everything she said was taken as an absolute truth. “Shit,” she curses, muttering under her breath as her teacher gives Fabian directions to his class. Next to her, Oisin makes a sympathetic noise, and he reaches out to pat her on the shoulder.

But the real problem comes when Tiberia launches into the list of materials they need for this year’s classes. Adaine sits back in her chair, growing dizzy as she scans through the laminated list passed out to each of them — a gold bow crafted by an archfey, a stupid amount of all kinds of eggs, troglodyte nuggets, the spleen of a two-headed goat, a rose plucked from a desert spring, phoenix feathers, and ten barrels of diamonds.

Her mind fixates on the diamonds, conjuring images of that impossibly large amount — she ends up raising her hand to ask about it, only to experience nothing but a hot shame and the throbbing bands of anxiety when Tiberia talks down at her, like she’s an absolute lunatic for suggesting that maybe ten fucking barrels of diamonds are hard to get.

I need to call Aelwyn, Adaine thinks numbly, curled fingers digging into her thighs. I need to— what the fuck do I even do?

A hand on her shoulder pulls her out of her mind. “You okay?” Oisin asks, forehead furrowed with concern as he gazes at her. His voice is low, hiding under the droning tirade of Tiberia’s lecture as she fires off responses to the many questions people have for her.

Adaine plasters a smile on her face. “Yeah,” she says, wincing at the waver in her voice. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Her smile twitches. “I am fine,” Adaine insists. Oisin shifts in his seat, crossing his arms as he stares at her, and Adaine feels her resolve crack. “It’s…” She takes a deep breath, raking a hand through her hair. “Can we not do this now? During class? I’ll tell you after school, I swear, I just—” She exhales. “Need a bit,” Adaine finishes weakly.

Whatever Oisin intends to reply with, from the way his mouth opens, an inscrutable expression overcoming his face, Adaine doesn’t know. Because Tiberia returns to her desk, swiftly moving on to the next task of the day — individual tasks, as it turns out, denying them the opportunity to whisper to each other the way they always do during pair work.

They don’t get to talk about it at lunch, because Adaine hurries off to meet the rest of the Bad Kids the way she always does. Their time spent together has always been after school; Adaine has saved that spot for Oisin, and he, for her, ever since their freshman year. Lunch, breaks, all those other times — they’ve all been reserved for their parties, their other affairs, only this time, as Adaine heads off, she catches sight of a frown on Oisin’s face.

It’s probably nothing, she decides, heart twinging slightly. She’s still… a little nervous around him, in part because of his growth spurt, in part because she knows he’s gonna press her about why she seemed so freaked out about ten barrels of diamonds, but it’s fine. That’s for future Adaine to handle, after school.

She meets her friends for lunch, and their usual shenanigans happen. Adaine attempts to call her sister, only to get sent to voicemail — though Adaine promises she’ll call her later when Aelwyn texts her about it. Riz asks her, in a low voice, if she found out anything, and Adaine curses under her breath as she realises she forgot to ask Oisin anything about his party. Damn it, she thinks, burying her burning face in her hands, mind filled with muscles and blue scales, and— she’s just going to stop thinking about him at all now. Ironically enough, though, they do discover something about Oisin’s party during the break, straight from Gorthalax himself.

They’re just killing rats in the woods, Adaine thinks, face slack in utter disbelief while Riz explodes with an indignant fury, all of them working together to hold him back from going on a rampage. Something inside her shrivels; she can feel her eye twitch. He’s just been… grinding in the woods, all this while? Not taking any adventures?

And yet, she thinks to the Mountains of Chaos, how delighted Oisin had been when telling her her prediction came true. Adaine bites her lip. Surely there has to be something more to this, right?

She’s a little late getting back to class, bursting through the door panting and out of breath; it had taken all their combined efforts to quell Riz’s rage, in the end. Thankfully, Tiberia hasn’t shown up yet, but she breezes in just as Adaine takes her seat, and Adaine watches as Oisin’s face contorts with annoyance, not for the first time today. She twists her lip at him, and when he blinks at her, silently confused, she mouths, Later.

It’s the first thing he asks her about as soon as the bell rings, and class is let out. He grabs her hand, pulls her into the hallway, in a small nook between two rows of lockers. “What’s going on?” he asks. There’s a small undertone of panic to his words, and even though he towers over her now, from the way he’s looking at her, worried and nervous, Adaine feels like they’re back to being the same height again, on par with one another. “When you came back from lunch, you kept looking at me all weird.”

Adaine opens her mouth, before she closes it. How does she even approach this? Hey, Oisin, I know we’ve been friends for two years, but why the fuck have you just been killing rats in the woods? And yet, all the same, she hadn’t bothered to ask him about any of it — about his party, his friends, the other half of his life outside of quiet library days, ice cream parties at Basrar’s, the curl of his warm hand within her own.

There’s a thumping sound, she realises — that of Oisin’s tail, thudding against the ground. I really have to say something, Adaine realises, at that restless indicator. But before she can speak—

Ping!

A sudden message notification cuts through the air, startling the both of them, shattering the tension. It’s different, not Adaine’s own blip, and she watches as Oisin reaches into his pocket, grabbing his crystal. The light from the screen reflects off his glasses; his eyes narrow, pupils contracting into slits.

For one short moment, any lingering uneasiness vanishes, replaced by the cruel curl of a mouth, fangs poking out. Oisin lets out a huff of annoyance, rolling his eyes as the screen goes dark. Adaine can only stare, suddenly bewildered. For as long as she has been friends with Oisin — and they have been friends for a good, long while, for as long as Adaine has known her party — she doesn’t think she has ever seen frustration to this degree, coming over him like a sweeping horizon of storm clouds, drenching him in an anger she doesn’t quite understand.

“Sorry,” he mutters, glancing back at her. Some of the tension looses from his shoulders as their eyes meet. “That was someone from my party,” he explains, voice flat. “Apparently, everyone else is meeting today. Which would have been nice to know in advance.” His voice turns acrid at the end, ozone tingling in his words.

“That’s unfortunate.” Her words hang over them, a short pause filling the air. Distantly, Adaine can hear the chatter and clamour of hundreds of students milling about, trekking through the hallways of Aguefort as school lets out. She musters her resolve, before she says, “You know, I met someone from your party this morning.”

Oisin stills. “Did you?” The careful cadence of his voice does not escape her vigilant attention.

“Yep,” Adaine confirms. She holds her hands behind her back, thinking her words through. “Her name was Kipperlilly Copperkettle.” In the shadows of the two adjacent lockers, Adaine catches Oisin’s eyes narrowing. Is there strife, perhaps? “My party stopped by Jawbone for a bit,” Adaine continues. “He was at that table near the entrance — the one where people could sign up for student government. I don’t know if you saw it?”

“I did.”

“And like—” She pauses again, curling her lips before she says, “I guess that was what was bothering me when I came back from lunch. Your party. Because it— er, meeting Kipperlilly, that is, made me realise that… I don’t really know much about them.” A nervous laugh. “Which is kind of weird, right? I mean, we’ve been friends for two whole years. You probably know a fair bit about my party at this point—”

“Who hasn’t?” The look in Oisin’s eyes is impossible to parse, his voice carefully concealed. “You’re part of the Bad Kids. Who hasn’t heard of you guys?”

“Which is the point I’m trying to make, Oisin. I don’t know anything about your party.”

A silence falls over them. Adaine rocks back on her heels, anxiety prickling along the back of her neck. For once, she wishes she prepared Sense Emotion. What she told Oisin two years ago still rings true now — it’s not a spell she usually uses, but it’s a useful one, as indicated by how Oisin has held on to it ever since. But after what feels like forever, she hears a raspy exhale. “Is it… really so important for you to know about my party?”

“Not— really?” Because it isn’t, not really. Adaine’s just curious — curious about why Oisin hasn’t let slip anything about them for so long. A recollection of lunch break rises to mind: All of them losing their collective minds as Gorthalax revealed that Oisin’s party had been grinding rats in the woods for two years straight. She sighs. “I just wanna know. Like, I’m not going to force you to talk about them, I’m just…” She trails off, before she says, “curious, I guess. Though, I’ll be honest,” Adaine adds with a wry smile, “Kipperlilly didn’t exactly give the best first impression.”

And Oisin actually laughs at that — a guttural, scratchy laugh, straight from his maw. “Yeah, she has that effect,” he says with a snort, and Adaine’s shoulders relax, the tension in the air ebbing away. “Kipperlilly and I… don’t usually see eye-to-eye on things,” Oisin admits, his gaze darkening slightly. “It’s not that we can’t work together, but… I guess we’ve had some recent strife.”

“Do you talk about me with them?”

Even in the dull shadows overarching them, Adaine spots a faint, violet hue tinting Oisin’s cheeks and neck. “Maybe,” he mutters, voice growing small, shy. “A little bit.”

Her heart flutters. “I’m touched,” Adaine says, a slight tease to her words. “It would explain why Kipperlilly started talking to me like we knew each other. Which made things a bit awkward given I didn’t know her.”

Another rumbling laugh. “God,” Oisin sighs. “I would kill to have seen the look on her face.”

“She pretty much turned purple.” As Oisin laughs again, Adaine’s mind wanders back to that last question bothering her, nipping at her for the past few hours. “One last question,” she says, and Oisin’s laughing fades into an attentive silence. She can feel his gaze resting against her tingling skin. Adaine chews her lip, before she says, “Is it really true that you’ve just been… grinding rats in the woods?”

A beat of silence.

“...Yeah.” Oisin’s voice comes out small. He exhales deeply. “It was Kipperlilly’s idea, really. It wasn’t like we didn’t take any quests at all, but—” His voice shifts, becoming sheepish. “They weren’t the most difficult ones. So she thought about grinding in the woods, trying to get that bit of extra practice in. But it’s not really…” Oisin’s voice shrinks; Adaine notices the tip of his tail winding around his legs. “It’s not the coolest thing in the world. I mean, who wants to admit they’re just fighting a bunch of rats to get stronger?” A huffing laugh. “Not everyone can save the world in freshman year.”

Adaine winces.

Oisin’s eyes widen. “Sorry! Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“No, you— you have a point,” Adaine interrupts, tripping over her own words. She hadn’t thought much about it before. Sure, what she and the Bad Kids have done is out of the ordinary for the average Aguefort party — but then again, how would Adaine know what the average Aguefort party does? “I… I guess I forgot my own freshman year experience isn’t really the status quo for, um— most Aguefort students.” A sigh. “Sorry,” Adaine mumbles, shielding her gaze. “I didn’t mean to corner you and start interrogating you like this.”

Oisin relaxes. “Hey, if anything, I was the one who cornered you.” That observation, at least, brings a smile to her face.

A blip cuts through the air. Adaine pulls out her crystal, seeing a new notification, and then another — all from her friends, asking where she is, saying they want to meet, that they’re heading to Fabian’s together. She cringes a little when she sees Fig’s messages — she’s busy w lvrboy!! let her be!! — because Fig’s not wrong, and there’s something deeply embarrassing about that.

“Well, since we can’t meet today, I guess I’ll probably— go meet my friends.” Adaine pockets her crystal, flashing Oisin a nervous smile. He watches her, expression difficult to decipher. Or maybe it’s just the thumping of her heart, the tingling of her clammy fingers, that’s distracting her, making it difficult for her to stay here and focus. “You shouldn’t be too late for your own meeting either.” Though it’d be nice if you were, Adaine thinks, with a flicker of dark satisfaction.

As she moves to push past Oisin, she hears, “Ah, wait—!” He grabs her wrist, fingers curling tight, and Adaine stills. She twists around, staring at him, slightly confused. “You still owe me an explanation,” Oisin says, and Adaine’s brows press together. “From earlier today,” he explains. “In class, remember? You said you’d tell me after school, and I—” An exhale. “I’m just worried.”

It hits her like a jolt of electricity, the memory sparking forth — squirming in her seat, fretting over the cost of materials, brushing off Oisin’s attempts to ask her about it because she swears she would explode if she tried to speak. “O-Oh,” Adaine stammers. “Right! That.”

She tries to tell him. She really does! But the words die on her tongue. She fidgets, avoiding Oisin’s sharp, knowing gaze. There’s a gap between them, one Adaine hasn’t had to think too hard about, but one that plagues her mind now. She knows Oisin is rich, that he has a veritable fortune at his fingertips — ancestral treasures, a hoard of his own. Par for the course of being descended from a line of dragons, he’d once said. It’s never really cropped up between the two of them, apart from Oisin taking the time to pay small things for her, like ice cream at Basrar’s, but now, more than anything, Adaine’s dearth of affluence is making her feel… insecure.

“...I’ll just come out with it then.” With a deep breath, thumbing the skin along her wrist, Oisin asks, “Can you afford the class materials, Adaine?”

There it is. Out in the open, the question suspended between them. Maybe it was the effect of hearing her anxieties out loud, of it being acknowledged by her friend, but the nervous energy festering within her drains away, leaving her with a well of exhaustion. “Nope,” she confesses wryly, slumping her shoulders. “I don’t know how Tiberia expects all of us to get ten barrels of diamonds, let alone everything else! And I’m not about to put that pressure on Jawbone; god knows he’d bend over backwards to try and figure something out, but—”

Her breathing catches. “Ten barrels is just… a lot,” Adaine finishes weakly. She gently pries her hand away from Oisin’s grip so she can hug herself, avoiding her friend’s eyes. Even if she knows Oisin won’t judge her — he never has before, and she knows he’s not about to start now — it’s still just… humiliating to admit your own poorness, not just to a friend, to her wizard friend, but to someone who can so easily afford it with zero trouble.

She sucks in a shaky breath. Her crystal pings again. “I should really get going,” Adaine says, with a halfhearted shrug. “Sorry—”

“I can give you the materials.”

Her mouth snaps shut, molars clacking. She jerks her head up, stares with a wild-eyed bewilderment straight at Oisin’s face. His words came out so nonchalant, so casual, that Adaine swears she must have misheard it. I mean, he didn’t just say that, did he? A nervous laugh tips from her tongue. “I’m sorry, what? I… I must have misheard, um—” Her fingers ball into trembling fists. “Did you just say you could give me the materials?”

Oisin meets her eyes, completely calm. “Yeah,” he says, like Adaine’s chest isn’t exploding, her brain collapsing, running through the mental mathematics.

The first emotion to swell within her is relief, gratitude, unfurling like a blooming flower. The second emotion incinerates that tender, sweet appreciation, bafflement bursting through her like a sudden, booming explosion. “That’s—” A muscle in her jaw twitches. “Oisin, that’s ten barrels of diamonds.”

“And?”

“I’m not letting you give me ten barrels of diamonds.” She drags a hand through her hair, tearing her eyes away from Oisin’s unperturbed expression. “That’s— that’s insane, Oisin. That’s so much, I— how would I ever repay you?”

“You wouldn’t have to.”

“That’s even worse!” Anxiety flares within her, sudden and spiking. “You’ve done so much for me already— I still have that Spindle of Fate you lent me—”

“Gave you,” Oisin corrects, raising a finger.

“You didn’t let me return it!” Adaine protests. She throws her head back, a groan erupting forth. “I’m not going to take ten fucking barrels of diamonds from you, Oisin!”

His eyes narrow, flashing dangerously. “Why?” he challenges, words sharp.

“Why?” Adaine echoes, disbelieving. “Because it’s ten barrels—”

“And if I told you I could afford that?” Oisin throws his hands up, exasperated. Behind him, his tail whips from side to side, smacking lightly against the ground. Adaine flusters at the sight of strange looks being thrown their way; from her vantage point, she can see the passers-by going through the hallway, while Oisin has his back to them. “I have a lot of wealth, Adaine. And I want to use it to help you, because you’re my— my friend,” he explains, stumbling slightly, “and you don’t deserve to be roadblocked by something that can be easily fixed.”

She shuts her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. God, her head is beginning to hurt. “I still… can’t—”

“What’s the real reason here, Adaine?” His words dig into her, probing, and her fingers move, thumbs rubbing into her throbbing forehead. “I’m happy to supply everything. I want to supply everything, so why—?”

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

It spills forth, involuntarily so, spills out like water leaking through a crack in the wall. Oisin falls silent as those words hit the air, save for a low noise, and as Adaine opens her eyes, she takes in the way he almost seems to droop, curling slightly into himself, strangely… sad. “You’re not a burden, Adaine,” says Oisin.

“Maybe not,” Adaine relents, “but I will be one if I have to rely on you for ten barrels of diamonds. That’s— that’s just too much. Can you understand that, at least? It’s too much.”

Oisin doesn’t reply. Adaine doesn’t speak.

Neither of them break the tension, both stubbornly stuck in their own lanes. A flicker of irritation crosses her chest. Honestly, would it kill Oisin to accept her wishes? Adaine is touched — really, she is, because ten barrels of diamond is no small number to sneeze at, and Oisin values their friendship enough to offer that — but if she’s not going to confide in Jawbone, her father, about this, then what makes Oisin think she’ll accept his offer?

(It’s embarrassing, above all else. Stubbornness is rooted within her, the desperate desire to keep up a strong facade, to find a solution to her problem. She’s always been good at relying on herself, because her parents never gave a damn about her. Taking the diamonds is easy, easier, the best way out of this mess, but—

Adaine just can’t bring herself to do it.)

A shadow darts by in the corner of her vision, followed by a familiar voice calling her name. “Adaine?”

The tension shatters. Adaine turns to see Riz looking up at her. He’s got his briefcase in one hand, his crystal in the other, and a mountain of files and papers tucked under his arm. His eyes dart between her and Oisin, and Adaine’s cheeks flush, suddenly realising what it must look like to anyone peeking in — her and Oisin, sandwiched between two lockers, lost in their own world.

She jerks away, back pressed against the flat side of the locker. “Heeeeey, Riz!” Adaine greets, her voice pitched maybe a little too high. She stifles a cough, covering her mouth with a fist. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” Riz answers, voice flat. His eyes flick to Oisin, and for one suspended moment, Adaine watches as two pairs of yellow eyes meet — amber against olive, dragon against goblin. The air thickens, the stress practically palpable; she can only stare, stock-still, until Oisin bares his teeth, letting out a growl. She stiffens, but Riz only snarls back, and—

“Okay, that’s enough,” Adaine interrupts, stepping between the two of them. A slight exasperation prickles across her skin as she lays her eyes on Riz, memories of their conversations all throughout summer, his ever-present, lingering distrust towards her friend coming to mind. And yet, as she steals a glance at Oisin, she’s also mildly annoyed by him too. What was that for? Adaine longs to ask, wanting to let her irritation seep into her words. Why did you growl at Riz like that? And Riz, why did you snarl at Oisin like that?

But she keeps her misgivings to herself, keeps her mouth shut. It’s not her fault her friends have some kind of issue with each other — and quite frankly, she’s tired, seeking an out from this conversation before Oisin can press her again on the subject of diamonds and wizard classes. “I’ll catch you later, alright?” Adaine tells Oisin as she steps past him, exiting the shadowy corner between two lockers for the bright, luminescent light of the hallway. She plasters on a smile. “You should probably get going, anyway. I can’t imagine Kipperlilly’s going to be all too pleased if you show up late.” Not that Adaine cares what Copperfilly Pissbottle thinks; it’s just an excuse, and one she wields readily.

Oisin’s eyes rest on her, mouth curling slightly. “Yeah,” he eventually says, his voice coming out choked, restrained. “I’ll text you later.”

She waves at him as she walks away, Riz by her side. As they hurry through the hall together, two sets of footsteps, one lighter than the other, echoing together, she hears Riz clear his throat. “What—?”

“Later,” Adaine bites out, voice flat. Her head aches, and she has a thousand things pressing on her mind, and she doesn’t want to think about Oisin giving her ten barrels of diamonds, like it’s absolutely nothing at all.

She’s going to call Aelwyn, figure this out herself.

Riz’s mouth snaps shut. He nods at her tersely, but his face is still wrinkled with worry. Adaine only bites back a sigh.

The tight knot of anxiety tangled in her chest has loosened, somewhat, by the time she gets back home later that night. If anything, there’s some pride mingling with it, pride towards herself, because against all odds, she managed to land a job.

Sure, it’s nothing special. It’s just like any part-time job any regular teenager works — a job at the mall, albeit a wizard one, that pays quite a measly sum of money. But it’s something, and it’s a step towards becoming self-sufficient, and Adaine relishes in the satisfaction of taking that step to begin with. If she went back in time, all the way back to freshman year, and told her younger self, panic-ridden and still stuck in her shadows of her family’s cold expectations, that one day she’d be confident enough to get a job, public-facing and socially terrifying, she knows her younger self wouldn’t believe it.

The downsides of this job, however, is her working hours. That brings a frown to her lips, a dark fog shrouding her mind as she lies in bed. She had been so desperate for the job — any job, really — that she agreed to working the graveyard shift — eight hours straight, immediately after school, with very little time left for herself. But that’s the harsh reality she has to deal with: Adaine doesn’t have money to afford her school supplies, and she needs to earn it somehow.

Still, it means she won’t be able to spend much time with her friends — both the Bad Kids, and Oisin as well. The Bad Kids had understood, supporting her as she came back ecstatic over getting the job, but she hasn’t yet told Oisin. A quiver of guilt strings itself within her chest, suspended there; she fiddles with her crystal, wondering how to break the news to him.

For some reason, her mind keeps wandering back to earlier — that shadowed spot between lockers, pressed closed to each other; Oisin’s voice, tinged with tender sadness, saying, You’re not a burden, Adaine, like it’s the absolute truth of the universe.

She chews her lip, before pressing out a sigh. The only way to begin is by beginning, she tells herself, opening her message app and beginning to type.

Adaine: got a job today!

Adaine: so maybe i’ll be able to afford some materials soon lol

Oisin comes online quickly. He always does, whenever she messages him, with very few exceptions. Adaine watches as an ellipses-filled speech bubble pops up, signalling that he’s typing, before suddenly, it disappears.

She blinks, waiting with bated breath. Something curls in her chest, but she isn’t focused enough to pinpoint what it is.

The bubble pops up again, this time followed by a proper message — two, in fact, sent in quick succession.

Oisin: Oh.

Oisin: Do you really need one?

She furrows her brow. What kind of a question is that?

Adaine: yeah? obviously

Adaine: i don’t have money oisin

Oisin: How much are they paying you?

She winces, thinking of her paltry payment of two silver pieces a day. It didn't sound bad at the time, and really, the more beneficial part of this job is the hefty discount she gets at a shop that sells all the materials she needs, but… Her mind flashes through all the things Oisin has done for her throughout the past two years, the Spindle of Fate he gave her for her spring break quest. It still rests on her desk, gathering dust; she makes a mental note to bring it along with her to school from tomorrow onwards.

Adaine: does it matter?

Oisin: Yes? Obviously

Oisin: The materials are expensive. Idk what job you got that will let you afford them

Adaine: i’m fine, oisin, i swear

Adaine: but

She pauses, hesitating. Mentally, Adaine admonishes herself for being too hasty, for sending that message without thinking, before her mind catches up with her. Normally, she would just delete it, because the functionality is there for a reason, but Oisin has already seen the message, and getting rid of it would just raise more questions than answers.

Adaine chews her lip, uncertain. There’s that other aspect of her job she has to tell Oisin about, the lack of time, but… she’s not sure how he’ll take it. Well, I hope, she thinks, but doubt nips at her anyway.

A blip pulls her focus back to her crystal.

Oisin: But…?

Adaine: sorry. got distracted

Adaine: idk when we can hang out soon

Adaine: i work after school. eight hour shift

Adaine: so we might not be able to study as much this year :(

Oisin: I don’t like this job

Oisin: You should quit

Somehow, the directness of his messages makes Adaine snicker. It’s not even that funny, it’s just— It’s absurd, what Oisin is telling her to do.

Adaine: wtf

Adaine: i just got it. i’m not quitting before i’ve even started

Oisin: Yeah but

Oisin: How are we gonna hang out? You’re going to be busy with work and I’ll just be. Idk

Oisin: Alone.

Pity pangs in her chest. Without realising, her incredulous grin has melted into something softer.

Adaine: sorry

Adaine: i mean like. i’m not exactly super happy abt working either but. i need to afford the materials somehow

Oisin: You really don’t, you know

Adaine: no.

Adaine: i am not taking ten barrels of diamonds frm you.

Oisin: But it would be more convenient :(

Oisin: And you wouldn’t have to work

Oisin: So we could hang out together

Adaine: i’m grateful that you offered it, oisin. i rlly am! but no.

Her gaze flicks to the top of her screen — after midnight. The only light in the room is the dim light of her lamp, sitting on her dresser, and the faintest flicker of Aelwyn’s nemesis ward, ebbing and flowing in a dull glow, barely perceptible unless she focuses. Sleep doesn’t affect her, not like it does everyone else, but she still feels lethargy pulling at her limbs, and her mind is begging her for a nice, long trance.

Adaine: anyways i gotta sleep

Adaine: trance

Adaine: ykw i mean haha. you should prolly go sleep too

Oisin: Probably.

Adaine: i’ll see you tmr. goodnight! <3

Her heart thuds against her chest. She conjures Mage Hand, uses it to turn off her lamp so she doesn’t have to drag herself out of bed, and down the stairs of her bunk bed. “Night, Boggy,” she calls, glancing over at the glass terrarium on the lowest shelf of her wall. She hears a faint ribbit, sees Boggy’s beautiful, smiling face. She smiles back, heart easing itself into something calmer, only to skip a beat as she hears another blip coming in.

As she turns off the light, Adaine turns on her crystal, looking at the notification in the darkness of her room.

Oisin: Night, Adaine <3

Her skin tickles with warmth, and as she sinks into the murky sea of a trance, Adaine smiles.

How hard can working be? Adaine had asked herself on Tuesday, as she hurried out of class and made her way to the Synod Mall. Anxiety thrummed through her veins, but she wasn’t about to let it get the best of her. It’s just cutting and serving strudel. How hard can it be?

Pretty hard, apparently.

Working at Oodles of Strudel is exhausting. For eight hours straight, not that Adaine keeps track of any of it, she deals with the horrible mundane cycle of taking orders, cutting off pieces of strudel, serving it up, and dealing with payment. The best customers are the ones who simply order their food and leave without a fuss, but Adaine has also had to deal with what she’s learnt to call customers from hell — fussy, insistent, demanding, perceiving the world as circling around their existence.

For her first three days, she trudges home tired out of her mind, her back and legs aching after hours spent on her feet behind the counter. Her only saving grace is Boggy, beautiful round frog that he is; she had smiled tiredly at the few customers who complimented her familiar, and even slipped them just a bit more strudel and sauce. Adaine doesn’t need to sleep, but what does it say about her, that she crashes into a trance as soon as her head hits the pillow? Even then, it doesn’t seem to alleviate the worst of her fatigue. Kristen gives her her coffee one morning, saying “You look like you need it more than me,” and Oisin slips her snacks from the vending machines before and after lunch in spite of the fact that Adaine already has a treasure trove of snacks available from her jacket.

For once, Adaine can’t help but envy how her friends can take a power nap, regain just a bit more energy before going about their days. Trancing has its benefits, sure, but it’s a barebones necessity, more than anything else.

She just about hits her breaking point on Thursday, storming into her room after yet another long, tiring shift. Her wrist throbs, and her heart still hammers unsteadily within her chest, but more than anything else, Adaine is brimming with anger, indignation. She can’t keep this pent up, can’t keep the emotions inside, lest they explode out at the worst possible time, so she deals with it the only way she knows how.

Adaine: god today fucking sucked!

Adaine: i thought i’d seen all the customers from hell but today was something else.

The reply is immediate.

Oisin: What happened?

Oisin: Are you ok?

Adaine: i’m fine NOW. apart from like, being pissed off abt it

Adaine: this motherfucker grabbed my wrist while i was switching shifts

Adaine: leering bitch!!! told me how pretty i was, the absolute creep!!

Oisin: Quit your job.

Adaine: god i wish i could. but i need the money

Oisin: That guy assaulted you. It’s not safe

Adaine: ok i’m not denying that but also like. i screamed real loud and punched him, and then a bunch of other wizards saw what happened and they ended up slamming him with a whole bunch of spells

Adaine: so justice has been enacted. thankfully

The ellipses-filled bubble pops up again, then disappears. It resurfaces, then vanishes. Adaine stares at the screen, as the seconds tick by, but her eyes are drooping, and her wrist aches, and she just wants to lay down and trance and forget all about this.

Adaine: anyways ty for listening. i gotta go rest now. i’m rlly tired

Adaine: as always lol

Adaine: goodnight <3

She puts down her crystal, dims her light once more, calls another goodnight to Boggy nearby. As soon as her head hits the pillow, Adaine is out like a light, sinking back into the comforting dullness of a trance, unaware of the turmoil occurring on the other side of her crystal conversation.

At least, until the morning.

Because she only needs to trance for a few hours, far less than the average person needs to sleep, Adaine is usually up before dawn, eyes cracking open before the sun even peeks over the horizon. But Mordred Manor is empty, vacant of life this early in the morning, and so she usually wields this time for herself, to do what she wants before the rest of the house stirs.

Previously, Adaine would have taken this time for leisure, catching up on a book, or scrolling about her crystal aimlessly. But with her newfound job eating into her after-school hours, she’s since had to spend her early mornings studying, catching up with Tiberia Runestaff’s assignments, and trying to work out ways to tackle the work she doesn’t have the materials for. It’s frustrating, vexing, and her temples always throb with a dull ache as she stares down at the words, absentmindedly chewing the top of her pen as she works through problems and their solutions. Boggy joins her, as he always does, and she feels a flicker of inspiration cross her every now and then as she pats the perfectly round frog to keep herself sane.

She usually goes down to join everyone else once the rest of the house is awake, indicated by distant chatter, clattering noises, footsteps thumping across creaking wooden floorboards. She’ll then pack up her stuff, freshen up and change out of her pyjamas before heading down for breakfast, seeking to soothe her growling stomach. But today, there’s a change in the usual routine — as the sunrise bleeds warm hues across the sky, Adaine’s ears prick at the sound of knocking at her door, breaking her rigid focus.

“Come in!” she calls, placing down her pen as she turns in her chair.

A familiar, furry head pokes in. “Morning, kiddo,” Jawbone greets, hands curling around the jamb of the door. “Sorry to disturb you right before school, but uh—”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Adaine reassures, hands resting in her lap. “What’s up, Jawbone?”

Jawbone furrows his brow, ears twitching slightly. “Were you expecting a delivery, by any chance?”

She blinks. “No?”

“Because you have one,” Jawbone says, a little awkwardly. A silence hangs between them, before he sighs, shaking his head. “I don’t even… I guess you’ll just have to come on out and see this.”

So Adaine does. She follows Jawbone down the twisting stairs that lead up to her room, through the winding halls of Mordred Manor, with Boggy following behind. Finally, they emerge on the front porch, where a few people have already gathered — Sandra Lynn and Kristen, along with Zayn’s spectral form flitting about. Adaine squints as the light of the morning sun hits her eyes, raising a hand to shield her gaze. “What’s going on?” she calls out, just as Jawbone steps aside to reveal—

Her heart plummets.

“Oh my fucking god,” Adaine breathes, as she stares at the ten barrels of diamonds sitting around on the front lawn. The sharp, angular edges of the jewels glitter as they catch the sunlight, sparkling from every angle Adaine peers at. Her breath has been snatched away from her, replaced with a stunned, shallow disbelief.

She descends the front steps, watches as the gathered crowd turns to meet her. Sandra Lynn’s face is wrinkled with stress lines. “I don’t mean to dig into your affairs, Adaine,” she begins, eyes flicking between Adaine and the nearest barrel, “but is there a reason why someone delivered ten barrels of diamonds to our doorstep?”

“No reason,” Adaine says flatly, because there’s no way in hell she’s admitting to the stupidly steep cost of all her school materials. She steps up, picks up one of the diamonds, and turns it about in her hand. It’s perfectly cut, glistening whichever way she turns it. She dumps it unceremoniously back in the barrel, frustration wedging itself in her throat. “Do you know who delivered this? Can we get them to return it back to sender?”

“Delivery guy left a while back,” Zayn interjects. He’s floating around, peering carefully at the diamonds. Adaine watches as Edgar the rat lands on one jewel, nose twitching as it scampers about from gem to gem. “They just showed up and dumped it, didn’t even wait for anyone to get up. I saw it, ‘cause I don’t need to sleep, but—” Zayn shrugs.

A hand rests on her shoulder. “Adaine,” Kristen whispers, voice low. Her brows are furrowed, and her gaze keeps darting to the side. “Is this… y’know—”

“Yeah,” Adaine mutters. “I’m pretty sure it is.”

A grin crinkles at the corner of Kristen’s lips. “You’re lucky Fig’s sleeping right now,” she comments, causing Adaine to sigh. Kristen winks. “She’d be all over this faster than you can say hey.”

“All the more reason for me to get these sent back.” Reaching for her crystal, Adaine adds, “Can you just— help keep Sandra Lynn and Jawbone off my back? I just need to call him.”

Kristen’s grin grows wider. “You got it, girlie,” she promises with another wink, and Adaine rolls her eyes, knowing that she’ll never live this down. Not that I wanted this, she thinks scornfully to herself, as she storms off towards a corner of the property. She’s still in her bloody pyjamas, still hasn’t changed out yet, and her stomach is rumbling with hunger — and now, she has to deal with having ten barrels of diamonds forced upon her? Her finger trembles as she punches in the numbers, as she raises the crystal to her ear. The call rings more than once, and Adaine can only feel her impatience building with each ticking second that passes, like a bomb that’s about to detonate.

Finally, the line clicks. A tired, groggy voice, familiar in spite of slurred words. “Hello?”

“Why the fuck did you send me ten barrels of diamonds?” She doesn’t explode, not yet, but Adaine bristles with indignation, tapping her foot against the ground as she awaits an answer. “Well?” she demands, when the silence stretches out.

A throaty sigh. “Because you got assaulted by that creep at work,” Oisin explains, flatly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I don’t want you to keep working there, Adaine.”

“So you’re the one who gets to decide what I do now?” She drags a hand through her hair, exasperation seeping into her every word. “I want to work, Oisin. I’m not a charity case for you to throw diamonds at—”

“You’re not a charity case,” Oisin interrupts, voice suddenly fierce. “You’re my friend, and I hate this stupid job you’re working, and you deserve better than to be stuck doing this for eight hours every day.”

Adaine squeezes her eyes shut, sucking in a deep breath. Near her feet, Boggy chirps up at her. She kneels down, runs a hand over his head, tries to get her breathing under control. “That still doesn’t give you the right to force them on me like this,” she says, once she feels calm enough. The anger is still there, like a string pulled taut but not yet snapped, but there’s something in Oisin’s voice, suddenly loud and ferocious, simmering with conviction, that gives her pause. “I told you so many times, Oisin. I don’t want your barrels of diamonds.”

“Why?”

She exhales. “Because I’m not comfortable with it,” Adaine stresses. “So do me a favour, if you please, and take them back.”

“No.”

She blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said no.” The word comes out with a slight snarl, and Adaine feels a muscle in her jaw twitch. “I’m not taking them back,” Oisin says firmly, stubbornly, insistently. “They’re delivered; they’re not mine anymore, they’re yours.”

The string snaps. “Then I guess they’re just gonna have to gather dust in a room somewhere,” Adaine bites out, voice dripping with unrestrained venom, “because I’m not a fucking charity case—”

“You aren’t—”

“—and I’m not using your goddamn diamonds!”

A sharp silence suspends in the air, digging into her skin. Adaine’s breathing is raspy, shallow; through the receiver, she can hear Oisin’s own breathing, sharp and gruff, like a steaming simmer of air every time he exhales. “Well?” Adaine utters.

“What do you want me to say?” Oisin’s voice shifts, takes on an edge of vulnerability, almost pleading. “I want to help you, Adaine. I hate your job, I hate how all your time is taken up by it, and I just—” There’s a faint crash, and she jolts. “What’s the point of having all this money if I can’t use it?”

Can’t a friend just pay for his friend’s ice cream? For some reason, faint words stir in her mind — of another time, over a year ago, in a frosty ice cream shop, bickering over money spent. Is that so much to ask?

Adaine had relented on that, because ice cream was— well, inexpensive. And so were all the other trinkets Oisin kept buying for her — largely drinks and snacks; occasionally other things, like stationary or books; sometimes something a tad more pricey, like the cashmere blanket she’d brought with her earlier that summer. The most expensive thing he’d given her before today was the Spindle of Fate, and Adaine had only accepted it because she was rushing to leave, and she promised she would give it back, and Oisin hadn’t insisted on her keeping it at the time, even if that was what ended up happening.

“...You can use it,” she eventually says, quietly. “Just… not like this.” Not on ten barrels of diamonds. Not on me.

That same silence sinks back in, curling along her skin uncomfortably. Adaine waits, her heart stuttering unreadily, her grip on her crystal tightening without realising it.

“I—” Whatever Oisin was about to say, he cut himself off just as quickly. There’s a ragged exhale, before she hears him say, his every word strained and tight, “I’ll see you later, okay? I can’t—”

“Oisin?” calls Adaine, brows pressing together as concern flickers through her. But before she has the chance to say more, to express her confusion, to get out the frustration that has begun welling up again—

Beeping, before nothing. The line goes dead.

She pulls her crystal away from her ear, arm dropping to her side. Craning her neck, Adaine stares up at the sky — fluffy clouds dotting a warming horizon, streaks of orange and gold intersecting with a slowly-lightening blue. A sigh spills forth, so deeply that she feels it in her muscles, her bones, the depths of her soul.

Still knelt against the ground, Adaine reaches for Boggy, rests a hand on his round head. “What the hell am I going to do with ten barrels of diamonds, Boggy?” she asks, exhaustion bleeding into her words as she drags a hand down her face.

Boggy, predictably, does nothing else but ribbit in reply, nuzzling his head against the palm of her hand.

She drags the barrels of diamonds into a dusty, unused room with everyone’s help, summoning a massive, arcane hand to aid her along. Jawbone and Sandra Lynn help, of course, and Kristen seems pleased with an opportunity to show off her gains from working out all summer, though she quickly trips over a loose tile, clinking diamonds scattering all across the floor.

When all is said and done, Adaine casts Arcane Lock, washing the door in the shimmer of her magic. “There,” she declares. “I want nobody else to find out about this — especially Fig.”

“You have my word,” Kristen says, with a lazy salute. “I’m gonna get back to breakfast now. Gotta finish grinding those coffee beans.”

“Honestly? Breakfast sounds good,” Adaine says, falling in step with Kristen as they make their way to the kitchen together. Her stomach rumbles, empty and waiting. “Moving all those barrels took quite the toll.”

A teasing voice. “You say that like you didn’t just make a big hand do it for you.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, shut up,” Adaine grumbles, but her tone is light.

Fig joins them for breakfast, hair mussed to hell and back, stifling a yawn. It’s not that Fig has ever been an early riser, but she’s begun waking up even later ever since she began attending warlock classes. “Coffee,” she demands as soon as she steps into the kitchen, hand outstretched, fingers grasping thin air. Kristen shoves the pot into Fig’s hand, and Adaine watches in horror as she begins to chug it straight from the spout. With a relieved sigh, Fig slams it back down on the countertop. “That hit the spot!” Bold, red eyes open wide, flicking between the two of them. Pressing an elbow against the countertop, Fig asks, “Did something happen while I was asleep?”

“Nope,” Adaine says immediately, cutting Fig off before she can meander into useless speculation. “Nothing.”

“Really?” Arching an eyebrow, Fig lowers her voice. “Because I could’ve sworn that someone tried delivering ten barrels of diamonds.”

A crash splits through the air. Adaine stares at what used to be her mug of tea, now nothing more than porcelain shards and a puddle of room temperature tea, spilt out across the floor. She hears a yowl — Jawbone, probably — and footsteps padding over to her. “How did you know about that?” Adaine asks, voice sharp.

Fig’s lips split into a shit-eating grin, eyes twinkling. “That’s for me to know, and you to find out!”

Yeah, I’m not dealing with this. Before Fig can utter another word, Adaine casts Misty Step, allowing her magic to sweep her away from the crowded kitchen and into the quiet sanctuary of her tower. Boggy hops along with her, bouncing onto her desk as she begins preparing for the day — changing her clothes, freshening up quickly, packing everything she needs. Her bag is pitifully empty, void of any supplies, and her insides twist as she thinks of all the glittering gems locked away downstairs — tantalising, tempting.

She’s nearly finished when she hears footsteps coming upstairs, followed by another knock at her door. Jawbone cracks it open upon hearing her give permission, stepping inside, echoing the events that happened earlier that morning. “Hey, Adaine,” he greets, smiling. “Just wanted to let you know that I cleared up the mug downstairs. No issue at all there with breaking it.”

Her chest twinges with guilt. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve at least— cast Mending or something.”

“It’s no problem at all! I didn’t throw out the pieces, anyways. Was, uh— thinking about glueing it all back together, maybe. Anyways, that’s not what I came up here to talk about.” Scratching the back of his head, Jawbone looks at her with concern in his eyes, and Adaine feels her stomach drop. Oh. Oh no. This is precisely what she wanted to avoid, the reason why she didn’t want Jawbone to learn about those stupid diamonds.

“I don’t mean to press too hard about what’s going on in your life,” Jawbone begins, and Adaine hates the way he sounds so genuine, so caring, no ulterior motive beyond the urge to reassure her, to be involved in her life. Silently, she curses Oisin. “But ten barrels of diamonds is a lot. And you seemed pretty upset by it. Is there…” He gestures a little. “I dunno, something I can do to help?”

Adaine exhales. “Honestly? If you could figure out a way to return those barrels to sender, I’d really appreciate it.” Her heart thumps uneasily in her chest, and she doesn’t want to think about this entire mess anymore. “Thanks, Jawbone,” Adaine says, a little tersely. “I have to get going now, if you don’t mind.”

She Misty Steps away again before Jawbone can reply. It’s not like she’s going to need to save her spells, not when the only thing that awaits her today is another long, boring shift at Oodles of Strudels.

She bites back her annoyance in the car when Fig teases her again, shutting her up with a death glare. “Lover’s quarrel, I think,” Kristen whispers to Fig, causing Adaine’s lips to thin. “She sounded pretty pissed on the crystal. Best not to poke the bear about it.”

School goes no better, her day spent ignoring Oisin’s eyes staring at her at every occasion, keeping her attention trained on Tiberia Runestaff’s lecture and ignoring any attempt made to pester her. When the time comes for them to pair off, work on a task together — because of course they’d have one of those today, of all days, Adaine thinks bitterly — Adaine does something she hasn’t done before, not in the two years she’s spent in Aguefort: She turns in her seat, asks the person behind her, with a small smile, “Do you want to work together today?”

The classmate is stunned at her offer. Adaine ignores the eyes that continue boring holes into her skin, ignores the low growl coming from her side. She ignores the cracks and explosions that stutter from Oisin’s table as she works with this classmate whose name she doesn’t remember, ignores the sound of Tiberia scolding Oisin and whichever poor fool he’s paired off with.

Is it petty of her? Maybe. But she doesn’t want to talk to him right now — not after their call, not with all the gleaming barrels stored in Mordred Manor.

She rushes off as soon as the bell rings, ignoring the voice calling her name. Adaine flings herself into the synod at record speed, shows up for work before the last shift is even done yet. She winds up milling about awkwardly, staring through the windows of all the nearby shops, her spirit deflating with each new trinket spotted, each new artefact found. By the time her shift begins, she’s stuck in a dour mood, and even Boggy can’t do much to alleviate it, as adorable as he may be in his tiny paper hat.

The thing is… Adaine had already resigned herself to missing Fabian’s big, blowout party. She knew all along that she would be stuck working her shift at Oodles of Strudel, chopping up chunks of pastry and serving it up with slopping heaps of sauce to a sea of customers weaving in and out, in and out, their faces blurring together as she repeats her words, over and over, change clinking in the register, the ladle burning hot in her hand.

But it is one thing to know something — that she wouldn’t be there, that it would be a shame she couldn’t make it.

It is another thing entirely to experience it as it happens.

Her crystal keeps firing off with notifications, blips filling the air to the point where Adaine has to silence it, asking Boggy to keep a watchful eye on her screen and let her know if an emergency happens, or if anyone needs her desperately. Whenever she manages to steal enough time to take a peek, the line of customers finally cleared until the next one comes, Adaine’s chest twists as she thumbs through the screen, scrolling through the messages yelling back and forth — of last minute preparations, buying supplies, decorating Seacaster Manor, planning the shrimp jump over Fabian’s pool, which is now sloshing with tartar sauce.

It’s fine, she tells herself, taking deep breaths as she steadies the ugly, stabbing jealousy in her chest. She leans against the counter, eyes flitting from wizard to wizard, watching them all mill about the synod mall as her crystal lights up, again and again, flashing in the corner of her eye. It’s fine! Because Adaine’s here, working a job, like a self-reliant, responsible teenager. She’s here, doing the mature thing, even if it’s hard and she hates it, because she can’t rely on anyone else to fund her own education. This is her choice, and hers alone; she cannot blame anyone but herself for missing Fabian’s party, for being unable to go there and have fun.

But then Kristen’s goddess explodes with a curdling, searing, awful magic — red-hot and sharp, like piercing daggers slicing the air as a wave of magic bursts through the synod mall. Adaine has no choice but to reach through a rippling portal and yank her friends inside, stealing them away mere moments before the party of the year is set to begin, and they have to fight and fight as the synod mall turns into an obliterating minefield of red crystalline stars, glowing and humming. They have to fight, desperately, the way they always do, to try and save Cassandra in any way possible — reaching for her, performing miracles and magic, stabbing and slashing their way through—

And they lose. Spat out of the synod, thrown back in time to five minutes before Fabian’s party begins.

So now Adaine’s here instead. At Fabian’s party. And as she tries to focus on what just happened, to inspect the glittering, twilight shards in Kristen’s hands, her own chest resting uneasily with everything she’s just seen, she gets a blip on her crystal. It’s a message from Oodles of Strudel, telling her that her position has been terminated, that she owes the balance of her uniform and for property destruction, that she’s now in debt to her former company, losing more money than she could have ever afforded to gain.

Her last restraint snaps.

Fuck it.

“Let’s get drunk!” Adaine cheers, head swimming with too many worries, too many thoughts, desperate for any way out, out, out.

Laughter spills from her lips, free and easy. Her head spins with lightness, any lingering inhibitions released. The taste of the bad baby milk, as it hits the back of her throat, is unlike anything Adaine has ever drunk before — the chill of the frothy liquid makes her shudder, while the bitter vodka makes her gag, just a little. But despite its foul taste, she leans into the warm haze that comes with it, wrapping her up snug and tight. It’s what Adaine would imagine falling backwards into a fluffy cloud to be like, basking in a soft, wispy cushion as it brushes against her skin, allowing it to lift her far away, into the skies, the stars, and away from her worries, her anxieties, her frustrations — everything that plagues her in her daily life.

The crowd presses in around her as she squeezes her way through the party, her friends in tow. The many rooms and halls of Seacaster Manor, normally pristine and empty, are brimming with hot, sweaty bodies, people swaying back and forth. Adaine staggers into people, bumps into strangers, but they don’t turn and glare at her, hiss at her, for stumbling into them. Instead, she gets winks and smiles, friendly greetings — “What’s up, Adaine?” “Hey, Abernant!” and, from awestruck freshmen, wizards who gaze at her with stars in their eyes, “You’re Adaine Abernant!”

“I am!” she cheers, voice pitched higher than it normally is. Her cheeks ache from smiling so much but she can’t stop, not when the life of the party thrums through her. The bass of the speakers, somewhere in the house, or maybe out on the lawn, throbs through the walls, matching the pulse of her heart. She begins tapping her foot without realising it, following along.

And yet, there’s something missing. Or more precisely, someone. She grabs Fabian’s sleeve, pulls him to the side. “Faaaabian,” Adaine slurs, giggling all the while. It’s fun to say his name like that, stretching out syllables, toying with it like colourful playdough. She feels his calloused hands grab her, steadying her from swaying as much as she is, and her eyes meet one grey pupil.

“Woah, Adaine, you—” The eye squints. “Are you already drunk?”

“I dunno.” She laughs, tilting her head. “Am I?”

Fabian mumbles something Adaine doesn’t catch, but her focus is elsewhere. “Faaaabian,” she tries again, trying to focus. “You— you sure everyone’s here?”

“Well, obviously,” Fabian scoffs, like it’s even a question. “I invited everyone, even the freshmen. Though—” His brows furrow as he glances around. Adaine tries to follow his gaze, her eyes glossing over shiny uniforms and banal looking people. “I don’t think I invited anyone from… Mumple, or Hudol.” Fabian frowns a little, before shaking it off. “Well, the more the merrier, I suppose.”

“Cool.” Adaine grins. “Thank yooou.”

She wanders off, splits away from her friends with a single person in mind. Her heart rattles against her chest, but she barely notices it, the sound of her own throbbing heartbeat muffled by the warm haze of alcohol clouding her brain. But there’s too many people around, and Adaine frowns, the impossibility of her task suddenly dawning upon her. How do you look for a single person in a sea of everyone — all the students of Aguefort, and more?

Her hand fumbles for her crystal, pulling it out of her jacket. She nearly drops it while unlocking it, but manages to fire off Mage Hand before it hits the ground.

Adaine: wru??????

Adaine: miss u lol

Adaine: r u at fabisns party haaha

The reply comes in quick. It always does.

Oisin: Where are you? I’ll come find you

Where is she anyway? Her attempts to describe her location fail, and she winds up just taking a blurry picture of her surroundings at Oisin’s instruction. Adaine leans against a wall as she waits, thumbing her crystal in one hand, a glass of half-drunk bad baby milk in the other. She presses her head against the surface, thoughts swimming, emotions churning in her stomach. Or maybe it’s the milk, she thinks, as her stomach gurgles suddenly. Probably the milk.

A shadow falls over her. Tilting her head back, she feels her lips break into a stupidly wide smile. “Oisin!” Adaine greets, flinging her arms wide. Some of the milk sloshes out of the cup; she watches as it hits the ground, soaking into the floorboards. “Oh,” Adaine utters, blinking at the wet patch. “Whoops.”

A hand curls around her wrist, tugging her attention back to her friend. “You’re actually here,” Oisin breathes, eyes wide. “I thought you had work.”

“Got fired. Long story. Also I’m in debt now!” She throws her head back, her laughter coming out borderline hysterical — but it’s fine, it’s fine, she’s not going to think too hard about it right now, not when she can finally kick back and have fun. “God, I don’t wanna think about it right now,” she sighs, swaying slightly. A strong arm curls around her back, pulling her against a warm chest; she can feel the curve of Oisin’s muscles as he holds her close, keeping her steady. “I just wanna—” She hiccups. “I just wanna have fun.”

She hears a low, rumbling laugh, recognises it half a second too late as Oisin’s familiar, throaty laughter. “I’ve been playing beer pong in the back courtyard,” he tells her. Her eyes trace the curve of his smile, the fangs poking out. “You could join me.”

Another hic. “That sounds— great,” Adaine says, grinning up at Oisin, at her— her friend, her best friend. She meets amber eyes, the dark slits dilated. “Lead the way, dragonboy!”

They end up at the back of Fabian’s house, at the ping-pong table set up with plastic cups and ping-pong balls. Skrank and Shellford are at the other side of the table, and Adaine waves at them as Oisin pulls her over to his side, the muscles in her cheeks aching from how much she’s been grinning. There’s a slim, elven girl there as well, leaning against Oisin’s side of the table — short, dirty blonde hair, a dark crop top, her pointed ears pierced with glittering pieces of jewellery. Her smirk grows as Oisin and Adaine join her, and she arches a sharp eyebrow. “Look what the dragon dragged in! It’s about time, Oisin.”

Oisin’s cheeks flush purple. “Shut up.”

“I’ve waited far too long for this moment to shut up now.” The elf leans past Oisin, stretches out a hand. “Ivy Embra,” she introduces, dark eyes flashing with keen interest. Adaine stares, a little stunned, before some part of her brain tells her to put her cup down, and take the hand. Ivy’s fingers are calloused at the tips. “So good to finally meet you, Adaine.”

She blinks. “You know me?”

“Know you?” Ivy throws her head back, cackles wildly. “Oisin will not shut up about you! Adaine this, Adaine that—” She nudges Oisin’s arm as Adaine feels her face burst into flames — and judging by the way Oisin’s face has purpled even more, she’s not the only one. “I’ve had to put up with this idiot’s babbling since freshman year. And yet he never once had the audacity to introduce us!” She smirks. “Territorial much?”

“Shut up.” It comes out as a snarl, making Adaine startle slightly.

Ivy isn’t deterred. “You know, Adaine,” she says, “it’s a good thing you decided to show up, after all! My dear friend over here was moping about, all upset because his little oracle was busy with work.”

She blinks, takes a moment to process Ivy’s words. Turning to Oisin, purple in the face, averting his gaze, Adaine utters, “You were?”

“Of course he was! Not like you would even notice, since he keeps dawdling around his feelings.” Ivy twists her lips, eyes flashing. “Not gonna make a move, Hakinvar? Better hurry up, before I snap her up myself.”

A dangerous growl rumbles in Oisin’s throat. Heart hammering, cheeks bright red, Adaine wedges herself between the two of them, briefly wondering, in her head, what kind of a friendship dynamic this even is. “Can we play beer pong?” she says quickly, insistently, mustering as much force as she can. “I wanna play beer pong. Please.”

The tension beginning to coalesce in the air dissipates. Ivy only smirks as Oisin tears his gaze away, muttering out a “Fine.”

Across the table, Skrank and Shellford share a brief glance. “What just happened?” Adaine hears Skrank ask, only for Shellford to shrug, seemingly just as clueless. Your guess is as good as mine, she thinks dazedly, head swimming with Ivy’s words. She swallows down whatever strange feeling has overcome her, twisting in her chest — panic, maybe? It’s similar enough, that constricting, burning feeling. And yet, Adaine doesn’t want to flee, not when she sees flashes of blue out of the corner of her eyes, not when a rough hand presses a ping-pong ball into her palm.

“First shot is yours,” Oisin whispers, his breath hot against her ear. Her skin tingles, electric. A flash of teeth, a sharp grin. “Make me proud.”

Try as she might, Adaine’s aim is poor, impaired by the haze of alcohol muddling her brain. Most of the ping-pong balls she throws bounce off the surface of the ping-pong table, hitting the ground and rolling away. Adaine groans after her sixth consecutive failure in a row, dragging a hand down her face, only to squeak as a body presses against her back, a familiar, rough hand guiding her arm. “C’mon,” Oisin whispers, as Adaine’s face, neck, all of her, burns. He presses another ball into her hand, voice dropping lower. “I’ll help you. You got this.”

He guides her, angles her arm the way it should go, and Adaine bites her lip, her heart rattling so loudly she swears Oisin must be able to hear it. She clings to his voice, instructing her on how she should throw, and he holds her steady as her legs threaten to give out under her.

She holds the ball between her fingers, holds her breath as she raises it, and throws.

The ball sails through the air, and lands with a splash in an unoccupied cup.

“YES!” Adaine cheers, pumping her fists into the air as she lets out a whoop. “I did it! I DID IT! I—” She yelps as strong arms wrap around her waist, but quickly wraps her arms around Oisin’s neck as he lifts her into the air, spinning her around, just as giddy as she is. Laughter spills from her lips, free and easy, and her hair flies around her, a whirlwind of blonde locks.

She downs the cup of beer she won, pulling a face as the bitter drink hits the back of her throat. “I’m gonna… sit out for a bit,” Adaine tells Oisin, resting her hand on his arm as she steps back, smiling all the while. “That was fun. That was really fun.”

His mouth quirks. “Mind sticking around for a bit? I could use a good luck charm to win a couple more rounds.”

She ducks her head, cheeks tingling with electricity. “Well, if you say so…”

“Oh, I insist.”

She finds a chair from somewhere and drags it over, taking a seat as the next match unfolds. Oisin and Ivy, together, are a force to be reckoned with, landing their shots with such precision, though Oisin stumbles every now and then, notably whenever Adaine opens her mouth to cheer him on. She’s smiling, has been smiling for so long, but Adaine has never felt as happy as she does now — on top of the world, free of her stressors, with nothing but the now, the party and her friends, and spending time with Oisin playing stupid, trivial games like beer pong.

She’s in such a good mood that she lets her magic fly, summons ice mephits to chill everyone’s drinks, earning a cheer from the nearby crowds, who call her party wizard. She even bothers entertaining the handful of timid freshmen who come up to her, asking in quivering voices if she could help them maybe look into the future, to know what will come out on a test, or maybe if they’ll get a good grade on an essay they just handed in. Her visions are muddled, and it takes more effort than usual to tap into that specific corner of her magic, but whatever bullshit she blathers satisfies them enough for them to hurriedly thank her and scurry away.

She spots the rest of her friends milling about eventually — Riz is talking to a bunch of people Adaine doesn’t recognise, and Kristen and Fabian are talking to some human cleric Adaine also doesn’t recognise, but before long, Kristen splits off, heading back into the manor, while Fabian glances over at her. Adaine waves at him, and he comes on over. “Adaine!” he greets. “Have you been here the whole time?”

“Yep.” She grins. “Played some beer pong. Hung out with Oisin. He’s so good at this, Fabian.”

They watch, together, as Oisin stumbles, missing his shot. The ball ricochets off the surface of the table, knocking over a cup. Fabian’s brows press together. “Sure he is.”

“This one was a fluke, I swear.”

The shot misses again.

“A fluke. Sure.” Shaking off his unimpressed expression, Fabian pauses, lowering his voice slightly. “Listen, Adaine, er— I don’t mean to interrupt whatever you’re doing now, ‘cause you seem to be having a good time with Oisin over there, but… do you mind coming with me for a bit?”

She blinks at Fabian. Something in her sobers up slightly. “Yeah! Yeah, sure, um— Just let me… get up—” A hand sticks in her face, and Adaine grins gratefully at her friend, clasping his hand. “Thank you,” she says, as he pulls her to her feet. But before she can open her mouth to say anything, before she and Fabian can begin heading away—

A vision strikes.

(Seacaster Manor, under a clear night sky shimmering with stars, a crescent moon glittering bright. Crowds of raucous high schoolers press against each other, fists pumping in the air, their cheers breaking the twilit silence. Colourful birthday hats are strapped to their heads, and confetti flutters through the air, balloons milling about.

Kristen Applebees stands in the midst of it all, shouting a speech that Adaine cannot understand, the words slurring together — and yet, Adaine knows it is a victorious one. Her green eyes shine. Behind her, there are banners that read ‘Election Night,’ but there are also banners wishing Fabian a happy birthday, the decor tasteful yet loud—)

“...ine? Adaine?”

She jerks back to reality, the vision fresh in her mind. An arm wraps around her, steadying her. Fabian stares at her, face wrinkled slightly with concern. “Did you get a vision?”

“Yeah, uh—” God, her head is swimming. All of a sudden, she feels sick, all the alcohol she’s had to drink sitting uneasily in her gurgling stomach. Curling slightly into herself, Adaine swallows back the bile at the back of her throat. “I think… I saw your birthday party? But Kristen was giving a speech, and— god, I don’t—”

“Fabian, right?” A throaty voice interrupts them, causing them both to turn. Oisin looks at them both, a polite smile on his face. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“No, no, uh—” Hands leave her, and Adaine nearly stumbles, just managing to catch herself. “We were just— well, Adaine stumbled for a bit, and, er—”

“Well, your arrival is some good timing,” Oisin interjects, cutting Fabian off from more stammering attempts to explain why he and Adaine were clustered so closely together. He gestures at the ping-pong table, says, “I’m done with beer pong for a bit, but, well— Ivy’s still itching to go.” Behind him, Ivy wiggles her fingers, flashes a smirk, and Adaine watches as Fabian freezes, his eye stuck on the slender elf. “So if you wouldn’t mind,” Oisin continues, stepping around Fabian, “I think the two of us would really appreciate it if you took over for a bit.”

“Well, unfortunately I—” With a light shove, Fabian stumbles towards the table, managing to catch himself on the edge. “Wh—” Whirling around, his face flashes with anger. “Hey! We were in the middle of something!”

“What, you can’t spare a few minutes for beer pong?” Ivy says snidely, arms crossed as Fabian turns to protest otherwise. “Some kind of party host you are.”

“I am an excellent host, I’ll let you know—”

“Prove it.”

A familiar hand grabs hers, scaled fingers entwining with her own. “Hey,” Oisin breathes, voice hushed, lowering his head slightly. “How are you feeling?”

Adaine shrugs, eyes still trained on Fabian, roped into a game he hadn’t really wanted to play. “You really shouldn’t have done that to him.”

“Done what?”

“Push Fabian into a game of beer pong with Ivy.”

“Ah.” Raising his head, Oisin glances over at his friend — leaning against the table, slender curves and sharp edges, feather earrings swaying slightly whenever she opens her mouth to talk. “Well, she’s been itching to play with him,” Oisin eventually says, “and we haven’t seen him at all since coming out here.” He pauses, before he adds, “I suppose you could say he caught her eye, for a bit. I pity him, really. Ivy can be a real force of nature when it comes to pursuing people.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

She feels Oisin squeeze her hand, and she squeezes back. “Were you guys busy with something?”

“He… Well, Fabian wanted me to come with him for a bit, but—” Exhaling, Adaine shrugs. “I guess I’ll catch up with him later.”

Oisin’s mouth splits into a grin, teeth bared. “Then… mind if I steal you for a bit?”

The two of them squeeze through the winding halls and rooms of Seacaster Manor, braving the crowds of partying students together — Oisin leading, Adaine following. Their hands are held, fingers entangled, and Adaine clings to it like a lifeline, a buoy in the midst of a stormy sea, lest she accidentally lets go and streams of students swoop in to fill the gap, splitting them off.

Whatever lingering irritation she had about Oisin’s abrupt — and quite frankly, rude — intrusion into her and Fabian’s conversation, pushing her friend into playing beer pong without warning, slowly ebbs away with each passing second. As they cross through the massive living room, Adaine’s eyes widen as she catches sight of her friends — Fig and Kristen, Riz and Gorgug, all piled together on a couch. Their eyes widen at the sight of her, and Adaine averts her gaze as Fig grins like a maniac, as Kristen mouths Go get ‘im, girl, as even Gorgug gives a nod and a thumbs up.

She doesn’t get to stop and chat with them, not with Oisin pulling her along like this. As they ascend the stairs, twin footsteps thudding against the steps, the crowds begin to disperse, fading out into small handfuls of people milling about in corners, looking for a moment of peace and quiet. Oisin tugs her down the hall, and Adaine follows, only opening her mouth to murmur, “Not that room,” when Oisin stops by what she recognises as Fabian’s door. She gets a squeeze in response, and the two of them move on.

The room they tumble into is void of any life — elegant and fancy, but stripped of personality; one of the many spare rooms lying dormant and dusty in Seacaster Manor. Here, the clamour of the party is distant, faint, barely audible. It’s like they’ve stepped into another dimension, a different plane, with nobody around but the two of them.

Their eyes meet, amber against blue.

And because she’s lightheaded, still slightly tipsy with her restraint gone, Adaine utters the first thing that comes to mind, and says, “Hey.”

A pregnant pause kicks in.

“Hey,” Oisin echoes.

Within moments, they’ve both broken into laughter, the sound ringing through the air. “Sorry,” Adaine gasps, cheeks aching once more. “I didn’t— I didn’t know what to say.” She attempts to tug her hand away from Oisin’s grip, and he loosens his fingers, letting hers slip through. Adaine folds her arms, a fondness settling in her chest, nestling itself somewhere between her heart and soul. “You said you wanted to steal me for a bit,” she says, recalling his earlier words. Adaine tilts her head slightly. “Well. I’m here.”

“You are,” Oisin says. He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “I… I was really surprised that you came, actually,” he begins. “And also that you messaged me.” There’s a seemingly-permanent dusting of purple smattered across his face, along his cheeks and snout. He pushes up his glasses, seemingly restless; Adaine takes a step closer, pricking her ears to pay attention, and Oisin clears his throat, a little awkwardly. “I thought you were still mad at me.”

Adaine frowns, racking her mind, alcohol-addled as it is. Why would I be mad at you? It takes her a while to sift through cloud-fogged memories, pushing aside the relaxing influence of all the booze she’s drunk so she can plunge into the depths of her mind, and close her fingers around the relevant memories. But eventually, it comes back to her — Jawbone pushing open her door; stumbling out onto the porch to see so many diamonds glittering in the sunlight; anger and frustration pulsing through her as she argues through her crystal.

“Ah,” Adaine says intelligently. “Right. The diamonds.”

“Yep.” Oisin nods. “The diamonds.”

A beat of silence.

“I just… wanted to help, you know?” Oisin exhales, and Adaine can feel it, standing this close to him, the little huff of warm air that looses through his snout. “Like… I don’t know. Feel free to yell at me for saying this, but—” His mouth curls into a wry smile. “I’m actually glad you got fired. Er, not so much the debt thing, but—” He frowns, arms hugging himself close, tail curling around his legs. “I really hated you having a job.”

Her brows press together, and a throb of confusion pulses through her forehead. “Why?” Adaine asks. “It’s not like it impacts you.”

“It does impact me,” Oisin argues, gesturing with a hand. “Because we can’t spend much time together anymore.” He pauses. “Well, we couldn’t,” he corrects. “I guess your job’s a thing of the past now.”

“Don’t remind me,” mutters Adaine, her mood darkening at the memory of that blasted text message, tipping her past her limit and well into the realm of not giving a single fuck anymore.

Another pause hangs over them, presses down against their shoulders. Adaine averts her gaze, staring at the rug on the ground instead — nautical themed, as all things in Seacaster Manor tend to be. It’s fraying at the edges, and there’s a thin layer of dust on it. She has half a mind to break the silence, to tell Oisin that, if there’s nothing else, maybe she’ll just— go back to her friends, or something. Or maybe seek out Fabian. But before Adaine can open her mouth—

“I just want to know one thing,” Oisin says. There’s a firm certainty in his expression, and yet, his eyes glint with what Adaine recognises as hunger — the desire to know something, to pinpoint the truth. She suddenly feels pinned to the spot, stuck where she is. Oisin takes a deep breath, before he asks:

“Why did you reject my diamonds?”

Adaine hears the question, lets it pass through her ears. A deep sigh escapes through her teeth.

Normally, she would keep her mouth pressed shut. She would fire off a sharp “None of your business,” with a smile, a warning to back off, that she isn’t interested in talking about this. With Oisin, with someone she cares about, maybe she would treat this with more tact — quietly affirm herself, state that she doesn’t want to talk about this before Misty Stepping away. But right now, her thoughts are swimming about her mind like fishes circling around and around in a cramped pond, looping endlessly, not making any sense. Inebriation obfuscates her mind still, leaving her a muddled mess of half-baked thoughts and too-strong emotions.

Her lips move before she can even think.

“I told you already,” Adaine says quietly. She still keeps her gaze pointedly on the rug, away from probing, amber eyes, from a face that her heart aches to look at. “I don’t want to be a burden. Even if people say I won’t be, I…” Her fingers ball into white-knuckled fists. “I know I’ll be,” Adaine finishes, exhaling bitterly. “I don’t wanna put people’s money to waste. I…”

She thinks, then and there, of hypotheticals. In another universe, Adaine tells Jawbone about her list of materials, and is forced to watch him work himself to the bone, tangle himself in deals he refuses to divulge, all to ensure she can go about her studies like any other student. Even knowing it’s an imaginary scenario, guilt still rises in her throat, bitter and raw at the back of her mouth. “If someone gets me everything, and then I fuck up and it all goes wrong— then what?”

For a moment, Oisin doesn’t speak. Her chest aches with a hollow hurt, a yawning cavern that grows little by little.

And then he speaks.

“That’s not all of it, is it?”

She startles to attention, head snapping up to meet inquisitive, amber eyes — digging and digging, leaving her exposed and aching. “I understand not wanting to burden Jawbone,” Oisin says, carefully, slowly, each word tearing deeper within. “But I can afford it, Adaine. I sent you ten barrels of diamonds. It’s not a burden on me at all. So… it’s something beyond that, isn’t it?”

A ragged sigh escapes her lips. “Y’know, I really wasn’t looking to get called out today, of all days,” Adaine says, failing her attempt to keep her voice lighthearted. She closes her eyes, escapes into that vacant darkness in favour of meeting amber eyes and feeling a pang in her chest. “It’s just…” She trails off, bites her lip. “Ten barrels of diamonds, Oisin. That’s so much. That’s— too much. How can you spend that much on me? How can you just— drop ten barrels like it’s nothing?”

Memories of her childhood emerge from the recesses of her mind, murky and unbidden — cold, cruel voices lecturing her, lamenting about how much money was wasted on her. Did she even know how much everything cost — her school fees, the clothes on her back, her food, her supplies, everything? When she succeeded, she was greeted by steely nods, no words of praise; when she failed, she was reminded, again and again, of how much she was losing them.

She was always the black sheep, the family disgrace, disposable in her parents’ eyes. And even though Adaine has learnt from that, grown from that, grabbed her crumpled self-esteem and rebuilt it with the help of people who did look at her and see someone worth something, all that insecurity, of being worthless, has crawled back out of the dark place she had banished it to, forgetting it existed after two years of unabashed love and affection.

How could she be worth enough for someone to drop that much money on her without any regret?

Rough hands grasp her own, cradling them close.

“Because you’re worth that to me.”

Her eyes fly open. She holds her breath, not daring to loose it as her eyes dart up, taking in her friend’s face. Oisin smiles at her like she hung the moon and stars, eyes brimming with something so strong, so powerful, that it steals her breath away. He interlocks their fingers together, squeezes tightly.

“...How?”

She hates how weak her voice sounds, miserable and sad. She hates the way her heart can’t stop beating against her sternum, fighting frantically, yelling at her to get out, flee! But she only hears a small chuckle, watches Oisin continue to smile at her. “Are you seriously asking me that? It’s because it’s you, Adaine. You’re— you’re incredible. You’re brilliant.” Reverence bleeds through every word, fervent and devoting; it’s different, settling strangely in her stomach, and it leaves her tingling with adrenaline while her skin prickles with discomfort, unacclimated to such passionate words. “You’re so smart, and so sharp, and you’re— you’re the most talented person I know. You’re miles ahead of everyone else in class— no, in school.”

Her lips curl into a wry smile. “So I’m worth it because I’m smart?”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Oisin chides lightly. He pulls a hand away, reaches up to trace a claw along the side of her face, brushes it against her cheek. She leans into his touch, ever so slightly. “Do you know how brave you are? You’ve saved the world three times, stared down gods and monsters most parties can only dream of fighting. I spent my first two years fighting rats in the woods.”

That, at least, makes her laugh a little.

“You’re so thoughtful,” Oisin says, a touch of frustration entering his voice. “You’re so goddamn thoughtful, to the point where you’re just making everything so much harder for yourself, just to avoid burdening anyone else. I don’t know how many times I just… wanted to take on all your burdens, help you with all that stress. It didn’t even matter anyway, because you never said yes, you just told me you could handle it, and I just—”

“Oisin?”

His mouth snaps shut, eyes blinking at her from behind his spectacles. “Y-Yeah?”

With a thin veil of intoxication smearing her mind, her heart running a million miles a minute as it beats against her ribcage so hard that it hurts, Adaine pushes herself upwards on tiptoe, reaches with her hand to cup Oisin’s face, the curve of his cheek, ridged with sharp points—

And she kisses him. Shy and nervous, her heart about to burst, Adaine kisses him.

It’s a brief, hesitant thing, chaste in nature. A small press of her lips against his mouth, brushing against the rough expanse of scales. Just as quickly as it happens, Adaine pulls back, sets her heels back on the ground. She averts her eyes, a sudden wave of dizziness washing over her. She can hear her heartbeat thumping in her ears, taste the bitter bile of nauseous anxiety nipping at the back of her throat. “Sorry,” she murmurs, pulling her hands against her chest, curling into herself slightly. “I-I didn’t mean—”

She squeaks as strong arms wrap around her, swinging her up into the air in the blink of an eye. Before Adaine can speak, can stumble out an apology, can make sense of her situation, there’s a hot mouth pressing against hers, capturing her lips, and her brain short-circuits, stutters to a screeching halt. She slings her arms over Oisin’s shoulders, cups them around the ridges and fins at the back of his head, brushing her finger along sinew and scales. The kiss deepens, hot and heavy, and her head spins, her lungs pleading for mercy. But neither of them stop, pull away; they only cling to each other with desperate fervour, tipsy and stupid and so in love, and Adaine’s chest explodes with stars, her heart bursting with all the secrets of the universe.

At last, after forever, they pull apart, panting and breathless. Oisin still holds her up with his muscular arms. Adaine still cradles the back of his head with her slender fingers.

“Holy shit,” she breathes, eyes wide, chest heaving as she sucks in whatever oxygen she can. “Holy shit.”

“I love you,” Oisin blurts out, quick and rushed — a dam flooding free, powerful waves of water shattering a barrier and bursting through. He lets her down, but just as quickly grabs her hands, holding them tightly in a trembling grip. “Ever since that first day of freshman year, when I saw you, I— I just wanted to get to know you, to learn who you were, this… pretty, blonde elf who kept to herself. Do you know how happy I was, when you agreed to partner with me on that project? When you liked me enough that we could be friends?”

He sucks in a breath, a whine emitting from the back of his throat. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I wanted so badly to tell you, but I was so scared of ruining this, ruining what we had.”

“Why would this have ruined it?” Adaine stares at him, blinking in disbelief, not understanding. “I like you too, Oisin. Even if it… took me a while to realise that,” she admits, flustering slightly as she thinks back to her vehement denials, rolling her eyes as her friends nudged her, teased her, about talking so often to Oisin.

Oisin lets out a raspy laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Because I’m a dragon, Adaine. And we… we love hard.” He leans forward, resting his forehead against hers, warm to the touch, rough where scales meet skin. “You know what dragons are like with their hoards,” he tells her, voice soft, a warm breath against her face. “Obsessive, territorial, possessive over what’s ours, what’s mine.” A growl undercuts his voice as he lets the last word loose, and Adaine feels a shiver ripple through her body, gooseflesh prickling along her skin. “Are you prepared for that, Adaine? Will you still accept me, knowing all this? Knowing how desperately I long to claim you as mine?”

Her lips split into a grin. Pulling back, Adaine takes in Oisin’s face, observes the way fervid passion melts into a lingering, tenuous uncertainty. Fire burns in his eyes, the amber hue appearing more like flickering flames. “Really, Oisin, who do you take me for?” asks Adaine, with a teasing lilt to her words. Her own fervent desire burns white-hot, flames licking across the expanse of her chest. “I trust you. I know you. I care about you. You’re not just some— some creep who looked at me and went, oh, that’s a pretty girl, I’m gonna make her mine.” Memories of freshman year flash through her mind, and a vein of anger throbs through her, melts in the flames. “You’re— you’re my friend, one of my best friends. And…” She trails off, suddenly bashful. “I guess now, perhaps something more.”

Oisin kisses her again, and again — red-hot and incandescent, intensely passionate, his claws trailing sparks where they brush against her cheeks, against the expanse of her neck. When he pulls away, he rasps, in a low, rumbling voice, “You have made me the happiest dragon alive, Adaine Abernant.”

Time melts into nothingness, unquantifiable, flying by without notice. Adaine doesn’t know how long they do this, bodies pressed against each other, arms tangling, mouths colliding in hot, passionate kisses, but when she leans forward a little too much, her mind a floating mess of feral desire and the urge to get closer, she collides into Oisin, letting out a sharp yelp as they tumble down into a heap. They pause, staring at each other, Adaine crouched on top of Oisin, pressing him against the floor, before laughter spills forth, uncontrollable and free.

When they get up, Oisin takes her by the hand, leads her over to the bed. “My first request, as your boyfriend,” he begins, as they sit down together, knees touching, “is to ask you to close your eyes.”

She arches an eyebrow, cheeks aching. “Hm? What’re you up to, Mister Hakinvar?”

A laugh. “You’ll see.” A finger taps against the space between her eyes, and Oisin smiles at her. “Close your eyes, now.”

Adaine hums, but complies. As her eyes slide shut, she feels Oisin take her left hand in his palm, can feel the warmth of his rough skin. “Too shy to hold hands while I’m looking?” she teases.

“Well, of course. Hand holding is rather scandalous, as you know.”

Adaine laughs again, the sound spilling forth as easily as it has been all throughout this night, constantly rippling through the air.

She hears clinking, feels Oisin manoeuvring her hand about. Something cool and hard wraps around her wrist, snug against her skin, and after some fiddling, she feels something round being slid onto her finger. Adaine presses her brows together, but before she can speak, she hears a satisfied huff. “Alright. You can open your eyes now.”

And when she does, Adaine stares down at her wrist, her eyes widening at the sight. Her breathing hitches. “This is—”

But there are no words to encapsulate how stunned she is, her breath stolen by how beautiful the bracelet clinking against her wrist is — a winding bangle of pure silver that curls around her wrist, gemstones inlaid into the sterling: sapphires and aquamarine and diamonds, amidst a slew of more jewels Adaine doesn’t recognise. A chain connects the bracelet to a small band wrapped around her ring finger, matching the bracelet in its design, and as Adaine moves her hand about, she feels the chain slide around, pulled taut as she curls her hand into a ball.

A hand wraps around her own. There’s a faint rumbling in the air, and Adaine doesn’t pinpoint where it’s coming from until she pricks her ears, realising that it’s coming from Oisin. He’s purring, Adaine realises, eyes wide, head dizzy. “I’ve been meaning to give this to you since you got back,” he says, a rumble undertoning his words. His eyes shine; he traces the winding curve of the bracelet, the ring, with a claw as he speaks. “It’s your birthday present. I made it myself, from the most precious jewels of my hoard, the finest silvers.” His cheeks purple slightly. “But so much has been happening, and I never got the chance to give it in private, between everything my party’s been busy with, and your job, and… everything else.”

Oisin’s frustration at her lack of time, his irritation at his party interrupting their plans — suddenly, it all made sense.

He leans in, presses a kiss against her hand. Her cheeks burn. “Happy belated birthday, Adaine. I love you.”

She wants to say something, anything. And yet, when she opens her mouth, Adaine pauses, runs through what she was about to say. This is too much, too expensive; I can’t possibly have it. Except she can already see Oisin’s reaction in her head, bliss morphing into something vexed, an expression that screams this again? They just had this conversation earlier, Adaine spilling the ugly truth she never allowed herself to think too hard about. So as strange as it makes her feel to do this, uncertainty prickling across her skin, she accepts the gift.

“Thank you,” she says, smiling at Oisin — at her boyfriend. And god, is that a loaded word, brimming with so much love and affection, a title that finally fits the way her heart bursts with fireworks, her soul ebullient and alive.

They wind up cuddling together, laying down on the plush mattress, clothed bodies pressed up against each other. Oisin wraps his arms around her, and Adaine shivers as she feels his claws curl into the back of her jacket, tugging her closer against his chest. “Clingy much?” she quips, though she doesn’t resist. She leans in, accepting the unadulterated, unabashed affection.

Something heavy curls around her legs — Oisin’s tail, Adaine realises, raising her head slightly to see the long, blue-scaled limb wrapping around the curve of her calves. “I did warn you,” Oisin says happily, not apologetic in the slightest. “I am a dragon.” Purring emanates from his throat, soothing and sweet; “Do you know how long I’ve waited to do this? Let me have this, Adaine.”

“Okay, okay!” She backs off, though there’s no heat behind her words, no real anger or frustration. Adaine presses her head against Oisin’s chest, wiggling slightly until she has curled herself into the warmth of Oisin’s body, resting snugly in his muscular grasp. And maybe it’s the comfort this brings her, safe and protected within her boyfriend’s arms, but after a while, her eyes begin to flutter shut, the tranquil cosiness of it all luring her to slip into a languid trance.

“Do you…” She trails off, blinking tiredly, before she says, “do you mind if I trance for a bit?” Everything is catching up to her now that the adrenaline of the party is wearing off. She can even feel her mind sobering up slightly, no longer as lackadaisical, as carefree, as before. Exhaustion drags at her limbs, pulling her down; she remembers, suddenly, with distant clarity, the battle she fought just before — her spells expended, taking damage, flinging herself back and forth in the rush of a fight. No wonder I’m so fucking tired.

Oisin rests his head on top of hers, tucking her into the dip of his chin. “Not at all,” he tells her, voice brimming with unabated affection that makes her chest squeeze. “Go rest, Adaine. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

I believe you, she thinks, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. And as she allows her eyes to slide shut, to slip down, down, down into the gentle embrace of a misty trance, the last thing Adaine hears is a low, murmuring purr, as claws stroke her back, trace the skin of her arm — reverent, adoring, a quiet worship a world away from everyone else.

Chapter Text

A faint thud pierces through the haze of her trance.

“Adaine, are you— What the fuck?!”

The sound of a familiar voice, turned shrill at the end, is enough to pull her out of her stupor. With a groan, Adaine cracks open her eyes, a throbbing pain slowly making itself known, pulsating through her head. Her limbs feel like they’ve been carved from solid rock, impossibly heavy, and to make matters worse, trying to raise her arms, to push herself upright on this soft surface she’s laying against, feels like trying to swim through honey — sticky and thick, resisting her attempts to push through.

Still, she does her best, wiggling out of heavy limbs and pushing herself upright. Adaine raises her head, blinking repeatedly until the blurry fog lifts from her eyes — and it is only then that she recognises the people before her, her friends.

Fabian stands before the bed, his grey eye practically bulging out of its socket as he gawks at her in some horrified, scandalised outrage. His appearance is dishevelled — though a cursory glance towards the open doorway, to the other Bad Kids peering in, reveals that he’s not the only one. Fabian’s eye flicks from place to place, his hands curling into fists. “Wh— I—” He stumbles over his words until, gradually, his voice sharpens, wavering with slight desperation. “Did you hook up with him, Adaine?!”

He gestures a hand at her, and Adaine blinks again, turns her head to catch sight of blue scales along a familiar body, a tail that winds around her legs. Her heart skips a beat, her breath catching in her throat. All of a sudden, the memories of last night come rushing back — her hand in Oisin’s, him pulling her into a secluded room, her admissions, his confession, their lips pressed against each other in heated kisses, tumbling into bed and cuddling close.

But just as quickly, Adaine catches her breathing, wrangles everything under control. “We didn’t!” she protests, slightly outraged at the prospect. Adaine gestures at herself, at the clothes still clothing her body. “Does it look like we fucked?”

Maniacal cackling rises from the door — from Fig, grinning wildly where she leans against the jamb. Fabian’s eye twitches. “Well— I— You two are in bed! Together!”

“Okay, first of all, it’s not your bed, Fabian,” Adaine groans, rolling her eyes; beside her, she can feel Oisin’s body moving, reaching out with his arms, scrabbling against her body in a desperate bid to pull her back into his hold. She pats his head, feels him still, and when Adaine looks at him again, she meets a pair of amber eyes, wide awake. “We avoided going into your room,” Adaine says, turning her attention back to Fabian. “And anyway, everyone’s hooking up here! It’s a party, for god’s sake—”

“Yes, but—” Fabian gesticulates, seemingly at a loss for words, before finally, he says, “You? And him?”

Adaine flushes, the skin along her face and neck burning with embarrassment. “What’s that supposed to mean, huh?” she challenges, her words sharp as daggers. Beside her, she hears the sound of the bed creaking slightly, feels the mattress dip in places as Oisin pushes himself upright. She falters slightly as arms curl around her waist, a snout coming to rest against her shoulder, but quickly pulls herself back together. “A-Anyway, what are you guys doing here?”

A flat, unimpressed voice. “Looking for you.”

Adaine’s head snaps in the direction of the noise, meets a pair of piercing, yellow eyes, twitching slightly. Riz stands in another corner of the room — When did he get there? Adaine wonders, head aching — arms crossed, tail lashing behind him as he stares with poorly-disguised revulsion. “You disappeared from the party ages ago,” Riz continues in a deadpan, and Adaine notices annoyance in his gaze as his eyes peer past her.

She feels a rumbling against her shoulder as Oisin rasps, “Must not be a very good rogue if it took him this long to find us.”

But his voice isn’t quiet, isn’t hushed in the slightest, and as Adaine stiffens, several things happen at once. A chorus of ooo’s erupts from the doorway, along with a resounding whoop as Fig yells “GET HIM!” Fabian stiffens, and Riz’s face curls into a snarl, a hiss pouring out of his throat. The arms around her waist tighten, pulling her against Oisin’s warm chest.

“That— that doesn’t—” Fabian squeezes his eye shut, shaking his head. “A-Anyways, focusing here! Focusing.” He slaps his cheeks, taking in a deep inhale. “The Ball, you have got to stop hissing—”

Riz’s mouth snaps shut. Averting his gaze, he curls his lip, hostility radiating off of him in waves.

After a beat, Fabian opens his eye. He crosses his arm, his voice taking on an air of finality. “The party’s over. You—” He points a finger at Oisin, and Adaine feels claws curling into the fabric of her shirt, “—can leave now.”

“How inhospitable,” Oisin says under his breath.

“I don’t give two fucks about hospitality,” Fabian retorts, startling Adaine with the venom underlying his words. “The sun’s up, everyone’s leaving— get out.”

As soon as she hears a growl building in Oisin’s throat, Adaine twists around, presses a hand against Oisin’s cheek. The silver of her bracelet, her ring, brushes against the scales covering Oisin’s face, and at that simple touch, he falters, quieting. “It’s alright,” she murmurs, and her breathing hitches as Oisin nuzzles into the crook of her neck. Nearby, she hears Fig practically shriek. “Just… don’t fight with them, please?” She’s not at all happy about Fabian and Riz’s open hostility, at the daggers in their glares and the poison in their words, but the last thing Adaine wants, her head throbbing with a hangover, sensitive to everything around her, is for a fight to break out over her.

A rumbling sigh. “Fine,” Oisin mutters, his breath hot against her skin. “But only because you asked.”

Fabian and Riz’s eyes follow Oisin as he and Adaine get out of bed, clothes rumpled but still decidedly dressed. Adaine ignores the sting of their distrusting gazes; instead, she leans into Oisin with a fluttering heart, cheeks flushed as he takes her hand, entwining their fingers.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Kristen says as they step out of the room, the remaining three Bad Kids stepping back to let them through. Her green eyes shine, and there’s a grin pressed into her face, the scattered freckles along her cheeks bunching together. “I mean, fucking each other in Fabian’s house?”

“We didn’t fuck,” Adaine reminds Kristen, rolling her eyes as Fig lets out another yell, and Gorgug’s cheeks darken, muddying with a blush. She can still feel eyes boring into her back. “Like, yeah, we hooked up—” And her face does ignite as she says those words, all while Oisin squeezes her hand tighter, pulling her against him, “—but, like—” Adaine throws her hand up, exasperated. “We didn’t have sex.”

“Mm.” Kristen waggles her eyebrows. “Sure you didn’t.”

There’s no getting through to her, Adaine thinks, stifling a sigh.

It’s something like a walk of shame, Adaine observes, as she makes her way down the winding corridors of Fabian’s house, her friends by her side. There’s a permanent fire igniting underneath her skin in spite of her best efforts to hold her head high, and although Oisin’s hand in her own is a steadying force, keeping her grounded, it’s also, undoubtedly, part of the problem.

Her head throbs. Her entire body aches. Every time she passes a window, Adaine ducks her head, squinting her eyes against the blinding light of the dawning sun, its rays more powerful than ever before. She may have gotten her trance in, rested the hours she needed to, but each step feels like lifting weights, and the bile roiling in her stomach makes her nauseous and dizzy.

As they make their way down the stairs, a throaty voice speaks in her mind. Are you okay? Oisin asks, words cutting through the pounding headache that bangs against her skull. She doesn’t even get the chance to respond before another message comes in. Do you want me to kill them?

It’s such an absurd question that Adaine nearly bursts out laughing, only catching herself because sudden, hysterical laughter would raise more questions, perhaps more suspicions, from her friends. Are you kidding me? Absolutely not!

A grumble. They’re harassing you right now.

They’re my friends, Adaine points out. They’re meant to do that. And, well— She smiles at Gorgug as he steps closer, his eyes fixated on the jewellery around her wrist, some tinkerer part of him curious about its craftsmanship. I did disappear on them last night. Not that I regret any of it, of course—

A satisfied purr fills her head.

—but I can’t really fault them for being, well, concerned. And curious, Adaine adds, as Fig darts into view next to Oisin, startling him out of his focus, the connection between them flickering. Adaine grins as Fig begins to barrage Oisin with a slew of questions, aided by Kristen, the two girls bursting with devilish curiosity. Adaine overhears some of it, biting back a laugh as she hears Fig threaten cheerily to flay Oisin’s skin if he ever fucks with Adaine — “Not that you would, of course, would you?” — only to snicker as Oisin sends a feeble Help me.

By the time they step out onto Fabian’s front lawn, rendered a haphazard mess after a night of partying — empty cups and cans strewn about; decorations lying limply over shredded topiaries and bushes; the skin-curling, vile stench of vomit staining the air at certain corners, all while a few remaining party-goers lay passed out across the lawn or stand talking in different corners — Adaine actually has to say, “Guys, lay off my boyfriend for a bit, will you?” But she’s smiling all the while, giggling as she speaks, and Oisin curls his mouth at her, slightly betrayed.

“I can’t believe you,” he sighs as she walks him to the gate, all her friends hanging behind. “Letting me get interrogated and threatened like that.”

Adaine hums. “What, you can’t deal with my friends?” she teases. She swings their arms back and forth lightly as they walk, their steps slow as though savouring every last second before they part ways. “Honestly,” she adds, after a moment’s thought, “if you can’t deal with my friends, I don’t know if this is gonna work out.”

She means it lightheartedly, even if there is a kernel of truth in it. Because so far, everyone the Bad Kids have ever dated — Ayda, Zelda, Tracker, even if some of those relationships have fallen apart — have been subjected to scrutiny by the rest of their group, and Oisin is no exception to this. Still, when she hears a low growl, she pauses, coming to a halt. “Hey,” she says, turning to face Oisin head-on, taking his other hand in hers. “If it’s any reassurance, Fig and Kristen seem to like you.” She pauses, averting her gaze. “They’ve been— ah, teasing me about you for ages.”

Some of the tension escapes his shoulders. Even so, he still shoots a glare off to the side. Turning back to Adaine, he exhales heavily. “I just don’t like your other friends. The way they’re looking at us.”

A cursory peep to the side reveals a certain dancer and rogue studying them suspiciously from afar. “You mean Riz and Fabian?” Adaine asks, to which Oisin nods. She exhales. “Yeah, I’ll— I’ll deal with them,” she says, even though she’s really not looking forward to that. Riz has held onto his stubborn grudge for Oisin for so long, and Adaine has the sneaking suspicion it’s only going to get worse.

“Hey,” Adaine begins, raising their entwined hands and squeezing reassuringly, “my friends mean well, but… they aren’t going to stop me from dating you, okay?” Sparks fly in her chest, an explosion of light; she beams up at Oisin, conviction burning through to the very core of her soul. “Because I want this. I want you.”

A purr rumbles forth from Oisin’s throat. He swoops down, captures her lips in a fiery kiss — and in the distance, there’s a whoop that pierces the air, which Adaine pointedly ignores. It’s intoxicating, dizzying; her head is a spinning mess by the time they break apart, her heart sprinting a million miles a minute, colliding with the bone of her ribcage over and over again.

“Listen,” Oisin begins, his voice lowering into a whisper, a hot breath against her ear. “Why not come with me? I think it’d be much nicer to… I don’t know. Spend some time together today.” He smiles at her, reverent and adoring, and the skin along the back of her neck prickles, tingling with electricity. “I loved our time together last night. Call me greedy if you want, but I want more. I am a dragon, after all.”

A laugh spills forth at the reminder, cheeks flushing as the memory of Oisin’s possessive purr fills her mind, his low, rumbling voice whispering heated words — You know what dragons are like with their hoards. Obsessive, territorial, possessive over what’s ours, what’s mine. She hadn’t dwelled for too long on the implications of that last night, inebriated as she was, her mind rendered a spinning, unfocused mess due to all the alcohol she had drunk, the bad baby milk that had sat uncomfortably in her stomach. But now, Adaine can’t help but blush at the thought, realising that maybe, just maybe, Oisin viewed her as something precious, as part of his hoard of priceless treasure.

Strangely, it doesn’t make her feel uncomfortable like she thought it would. It only leaves her lightheaded, tingling, skin aflame and heart aflutter. To be regarded as something so dear, cherished and treasured — it’s a little unsettling in the sense that Adaine isn’t used to it, that tiny voice in her mind protesting against such treatment because she doesn’t deserve it. But she knows she does, recalls Oisin’s words last night with striking clarity, words that still steal her breath away:

Because you’re worth that to me.

“So how about it, Adaine?” Oisin asks, eager and persuasive. The idea settles comfortably in her mind, and she revels in the thought of more languid, lazy hours spent cuddling together, catching up for the lost summer days Adaine longed so badly to have. She opens her mouth, a yes dangling from the tip of her tongue, when—

“Actually,” someone interrupts, voice flat, “we need to talk to Adaine.”

Adaine jolts out of her stupor, turning her head to see Riz standing nearby, his inquisitive eyes darting between her and Oisin. Riz jerks a thumb over his shoulder, says, “Party matters,” and a tinge of embarrassment comes over Adaine. How had she forgotten about the rest of the Bad Kids, lingering nearby?

Oisin doesn’t seem pleased in the slightest, tail tense as he meets Riz’s eyes, glowering at him. But Adaine intervenes before the two of them can get into another hiss/growl-off, like they did the other day. “You heard him,” she says with an apologetic smile and a shrug of her shoulders. “Party matters. Duty calls.” She softens, lowering her voice slightly as she reaches up to cup Oisin’s cheek. “I’ll see you on Monday, alright?”

He relaxes under her touch, turns back to her. Despite the lingering frustration that vexes him, Oisin still returns the smile. “Yeah. See you on Monday.”

Adaine watches as he departs from the grounds of Seacaster Manor, smiles to herself whenever he glances back over his shoulder to look at her. Despite the burning light of the sun, the ache that throbs all throughout her body, she feels whole — completely and utterly satisfied, and so in love.

An elbow nudges her arm. “Can we go back in now?” Riz asks. There’s a thin veneer of annoyance underlining his words despite an obvious effort to obscure it.

As though snapped out of a trance, Adaine squints her eyes, raising her hand to shield her gaze from the sun. “Let’s,” she agrees hurriedly, turning around to rush back into the shadowed safety of Seacaster Manor, away from the blinding rays of the sun. The chain hooking her ring to her bracelet jingles about her hand as she sprints, and her heart swells at the reminder of Oisin’s gift — a physical representation that what he feels for her is real, that she is, and will always be, worth his hoard to him.

“Hey,” she greets, breathless, as she bounds back into the large, airy rooms of the manor. Adaine slows as she approaches the rest of her friends, and she can hear Riz’s tail swishing as he follows behind, not bothering to mask his footsteps like he would when stealthing around. She smiles, awkwardly. “Sorry for the hold up.”

“Oh, it’s no issue at all,” Fig says breezily, waggling her eyebrows at Adaine. Nearby, Fabian is talking to a couple of stragglers, Gorgug and Kristen by his side. “Fabian’s just tryna get a bunch more people out,” Fig explains, when she sees Adaine glancing over. “Party’s over, after all. Anyway, did you have a good time with lover boy?” Her lips split into another wide grin, and Adaine knows, deep in her soul, that she’s not gonna be able to wiggle her way out of this one.

Salvation comes in the form of the firbolg the others are talking to, who abruptly screams “Hey, fuck you man!” and begins fighting Fabian. That snatches Fig’s attention away from the topic of Oisin, as they all rush over to watch the fight go down.

They spend the rest of the morning chasing people out, before they settle in to discuss what Riz had aptly described as party matters. Except before they can even begin that, Kristen gets a call from Tracker, which spirals into a whole other mess that leaves her curled up on the couch and all of them crowded around her crystal, opened to Tracker’s socials. Adaine recognises the elf cozied up to Tracker in her photos, recognises the name in the description, and they all briefly enter an existential spiral, trying to figure out if they’ve met her in Kei Lumennura last year.

Kristen texts Tracker. Adaine texts Aelwyn. She wrinkles her nose at the thought of working at 5am on a Saturday, but the rumbling of her stomach distracts her from that train of thought. “I’m gonna ritual cast Unseen Servant, and I’m gonna tell it to make us breakfast sandwiches,” she declares, followed by a chorus of voices asking her to make this and that. It doesn’t matter, in the end, because the Unseen Servants can’t cook, and all that comes out is a bowl heaped with various ingredients that Fig flings a Fireball at just to sterilise it.

Hands slam against the table. “Can we focus now?” Riz asks, practically pleading. “Please?” There’s a haphazardly made conspiracy board on the wall nearby, and Adaine marvels briefly at Riz’s skills for pulling those together so easily.

“I dunno, Riz,” Kristen says, staring at her crystal dully. “Can we focus now?”

But they get cracking, anyway, buckling down to fill Adaine in on everything she’s missed. And as Adaine sits and stares, overlapping voices rushing to tell her everything that happened in the hours she spent snogging Oisin upstairs, her voice eventually pitches, shrill and shocked:

“What do you mean, his cleric died?!”

Her heart thuds uneasily in her chest, ice forming in her veins. Her wide eyes flit from side to side, staring at everyone with bewilderment.

“You didn’t know?” asks Gorgug, sounding just as bewildered as Adaine feels.

“Of course I didn’t know! I—” Like a flash of lightning, it hits her: That period of time when Oisin was mostly quiet, when Adaine figured out he was dealing with—

A personal loss, she realises, her head spinning, dread sinking in. The timeline lines up too: The ‘in memoriam’ slip means that Lucy must have died at the end of sophomore year, after the yearbooks went to print, and as Adaine thinks back on it, draws all her memories to mind, she distantly recalls how, around that point of time, Oisin had suddenly grown distant.

“Fuck!” Burying her head in her hands, Adaine bites back the urge to just— scream. “I’m such a goddamn idiot—”

“But you should have known, right?” Kristen asks, and when Adaine raises her head, she sees the way Kristen’s brows press together, doubting her words. “You guys are like— practically superglued to each other. How could you not know?”

“I… knew he had a loss,” Adaine says, hesitantly, “but— well, he never specified who it was, only that it was someone close to him, a-and he doesn’t really talk much about his party with me—”

“Which is weird as fuck, by the way,” Fabian adds, with a huff.

Adaine throws her hands up. “Not denying that! But also not the point right now.” She takes a breath. “The point is,” Adaine continues, some soft, sad sympathy slowly soaking in her chest, a weariness overcoming her, “Riz’s timeline tracks.” She absentmindedly drums her fingers against her cheek as Riz gestures at his board on the wall. “We left… like, right before summer started, correct?”

The rest of her friends nod in agreement. At the time, they had just gotten back their grades, and they had spent the rest of the day at the pool at Strongtower Luxury Apartments, where Riz’s mom had noticed the multitude of tattoos all over Riz’s body, and the rest had been history. In hindsight, Adaine realises that Oisin had been quiet around the time too, not as responsive — but with the Night Yorb loose, all thoughts of checking in had slipped her mind, causing her to only recognise Oisin’s quiet behaviour after she hit the road.

“It’s confirmation enough that something happened to her,” Riz eventually says, turning back to Adaine from where he’s been jotting some stuff down and pinning it to the wall, ignoring Fabian’s outraged yelp. His eyes narrow, the way they do when he’s fixated on a particular mystery; behind him, his tail lashes from side to side restlessly. “Still, it’d be good to have more information.” He darts back over, spreads the yearbook out on the table; all of them lean in, focused, as Riz flips through the pages, something building in his mind. “The ‘in memoriam’ page,” he says, after a pause. “It probably narrows down her time of death to somewhere after finals, ‘cause they print these out in time for graduation, but we also have those few weeks after our exams, remember?”

“We left during those last year,” Gorgug points out. “The Night Yorb sprung out around the time.”

“And we got our grades back before we left.” Scratching his chin, Riz bites his lip, fangs sticking out. “You switch to pass-fail if somebody from your team dies, but if she died after exams…”

“They wouldn’t have swapped to that at all,” Adaine finishes, and Riz nods at her. Still, something about this sits uneasily with her, stomach roiling with anxiety and the remains of her scorched mess of a breakfast meal. She swallows it down. “Riz, where are you going with this?”

“Getting there,” he answers, abrupt and short. All of them wait together uneasily, another brief pause only punctuated by the sound of glossy papers being flipped rapidly, until finally, Riz says, “I think… they’d be able to start a new year with a different adventuring party. ‘Cause if something happens to your party during the school year, you just get kicked to pass-fail.”

Kristen’s eyes widen. “Which is where Buddy comes in.”

Riz grins. “Exactly.”

All Adaine can do is sit back, slightly dizzy, as her friends launch into a discussion amidst themselves. She grasps, from context, and from Gorgug helpfully leaning over and telling her, that Buddy is the Rat Grinders’ replacement cleric, stepping into the empty shoes Lucy Frostblade left behind. But as they all speculate, their theories rest uneasily in her stomach like a rotten meal — Fabian saying that they might have killed Lucy deliberately to bring Buddy in; Fig wondering if Lucy’s domain wasn’t healing-focused enough.

Doubt bites at her mind, and she thinks of Oisin. Could he genuinely have done something like this to his own friend? Oisin had grieved for Lucy, Adaine is sure; there’s no other reason why he would have kept so quiet throughout the first part of her quest when it was only natural for him to text her regularly, often enough that she began associating random notifications out of nowhere with only him.

He wouldn’t, Adaine thinks. Her hand brushes absentmindedly against her bracelet, her ring, its connecting chain. The cool metal feels heavier than usual, squeezing against her wrist, weighing her down.

She opens her mouth without thinking. “But why would they have killed her?”

Five pairs of eyes snap in her direction. She bites her lip. “They were a party.”

There’s sympathy in Kristen’s eyes, in Gorgug’s and Fig’s too, and even Fabian and Riz glance at each other with something a little like pity. Adaine closes her eyes, bites back a sigh. “Sorry. I know, I know, not every party gets along, I… I just—”

She can’t picture Oisin doing something like that. The boy who carried her in his arms, who spoke to her with such reverence and adoration — but even before that, his thoughtful actions and kindness towards her, from the Spindle of Fate to all the instances of him gifting her or buying her things; his care and concern, constantly asking her Are you okay? and spelling Sense Emotion to get a proper grasp on how she’s feeling.

How could someone like that kill his own friend?

(But even in the midst of her own denial, darker thoughts rise to counter herself — his sudden, striking frustration upon receiving a text from someone in his party; the unreadable cadence of his voice when he asked her, Is it… really so important for you to know about my party?; the way he actually laughed when Adaine made a subtle jab at Kipperlilly, as polite and restrained as an insult could possibly get.

Oisin’s voice echoes through her mind. Kipperlilly and I… don’t usually see eye-to-eye on things. It’s not that we can’t work together, but… I guess we’ve had some recent strife.

And suddenly, Adaine isn’t so sure anymore.)

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Riz finally says, his words carefully inscrutable, neutral, lacking any of the frustration that vexes him whenever he touches upon the topic of the Rat Grinders. Turning around, Riz asks, “Kristen, could you ask your teacher about it? She might know something. Lucy was also a cleric, so… you guys probably had the same teacher.”

“Yeah, I can ask Yolanda,” Kristen says easily. “But also, like— couldn’t Adaine also ask Oisin about it?”

Adaine jolts slightly at the sound of her name, and as she comes back to attention, she meets Kristen’s green eyes, something in those pupils softening. Despite her chaotic nature, Kristen has always held a kindness within her, an empathy unlike anything else. “I mean, yeah,” Kristen continues, “shit seems pretty suspicious right now, but…” She pauses. “I dunno,” Kristen finally says, with a loose shrug. “I think it’s only fair to figure out how the Rat Grinders felt about Lucy’s death.” She sticks her arm out, waving it at Adaine with a grin. “And that’s where girlie over here comes in!”

“I can ask him,” Adaine says quickly, shoving away her earlier anxieties, her wavering doubt about her own friend. “Or well, I could try.” It hits her then, what exactly all this entails, and Adaine exhales loudly. “I, uh— Well, I have to figure when’s a good time to do it. I can’t just start texting him like, ‘Hey Oisin! Thanks for the amazing night together! Could you tell me about your dead friend?’” As her voice pitches, a mockery of a jovial tone, everyone winces. A nervous laugh bubbles forth. “But— I’ll try. I’ll try to talk to him. Maybe on call, or something, I-I don’t know.”

Maybe she’s a little high-strung right now, a bit restless and uneasy from the horrifying prospect that Oisin’s party might be behind the murder of their own cleric. Not that Adaine believes it — not really. But Riz sits back, satisfied, and everyone else seems good with their current course of action, so Adaine forces her shoulders to relax, eyes darting between her friends.

She fidgets with the chain linking bracelet and ring, twiddles it between her fingers.

“We’re heading over to Mordred soon for lunch, right?” Gorgug asks, before adding, “We wanted to ask Ragh’s mom about the red crystals,” by way of an explanation when Adaine blinks at him confusedly.

“Yeah,” Riz confirms. He runs a hand through his hair. “We just have to… find Ragh. Assuming he hasn’t left yet—”

“Wait, shouldn’t we, like, show Adaine the other thing?” Her head snaps over to Fabian. “The footage,” he adds, gesturing slightly. “You know, of the basement? The engine?”

“Ohhh, right.” Fig facepalms, letting out a groan. “God, I can’t believe we forgot that!”

“What footage?” Adaine asks, bewildered, out of the loop. Her brows press together. “Did something happen?”

Riz pulls out his crystal, passes it over to her. “I think it’s probably best if you just… watch this,” he says, as Adaine stares at the screen, at what looks like a paused video of grainy security footage. The room is undoubtedly a part of Seacaster Manor, its decor the same style as the rest of the house, and there are bodies pressing together, standing around. When she hits play, the video resumes — mouths part in silent laughter, and drugs are readily passed around, smoke wafting through the air.

I don’t get it, Adaine thinks, slightly flummoxed. She almost says as much, about to open her mouth and ask what the purpose of watching this is, when, all of a sudden, tiny little balls of magic, frosty and frigid, zip into the room. They zigzag about, riling up the other kids, tapping them and blowing balls of frost at them until they’re tousling and wrestling, wreaking havoc in the basement.

“They must have gone haywire,” Adaine breathes, flinching as she watches one kid punch another, thrashing the basement in the process. “Maybe because I was trancing. God, I’m so sorry, I should’ve— kept an eye on them, or maybe de-summoned them—”

“That’s not all of it,” Riz says. He comes on over, taps a claw against the screen. “Look.”

And she does, watching as a box tips over in the midst of the chaos, lying on the ground in a completely ruined room.

“It’s a Cloud Rider Engine,” Riz explains, as Adaine stares at the footage, heart stuttering in anxiety, palms growing clammy. “We tried looking at it, but—” His face twists into a frown. “I’m not really— good with knowing all these different pieces of tech, and Gorgug tried, but he couldn’t figure it out, and Fabian didn’t know either—”

“I didn’t know this was in my basement, okay?”

“—but something got stolen from it, we think,” Riz finishes. He fidgets anxiously, tail lashing from side to side at a mystery unsolved.

Adaine’s heart plummets in her chest, connecting all the pieces together — the mephits, her mephits, by the looks of it; the brawl that broke out in the basement, like a distraction; the engine that tipped over, tampered with, something stolen.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

The rest of the day goes… fine.

Ragh emerges from somewhere in Seacaster Manor, and Fabian hires a car to get them all over to Mordred for lunch. By the time they’ve all crammed into the vehicle, Adaine’s stomach has mostly settled, her throbbing headache reduced to a dull thrum along with a bit of sensitivity to light. Even so, a knot of uncertainty remains, wound tightly inside her chest. Her mind can’t stop wandering, mulling over— well, everything: Lucy Frostblade and her mysterious death; Adaine’s ice mephits going rogue; her festering anxiety as she thinks about Oisin, clashing against the lingering, giddy feelings of deep affection that permeates her very soul.

Lunch with Lydia Barkrock goes lovely. The rest of her friends ask her for information but Adaine mainly sits back, distracted. The food is good, though, and she does ask one or two things, but it’s mainly everyone else that presses for more answers — the gem, the pit fiend trapped in her chest, her dead teammates, and dead gods. Adaine rests her hand against her cheek as their voices blur together, lost in her own mind; the glittering gems embedded in her bracelet and ring catch the light of the kitchen, glinting at different angles and stealing her attention bit by bit.

It doesn’t help that all throughout the rest of the day, her crystal keeps going off with notifications, text messages. And the thing is, Adaine has always received plenty of notifications, plenty of blips, to the point where she’s begun associating the sound with Oisin, more than anything, but—

It’s a little overwhelming, she thinks, turning off her notifications for a while, just until everyone else has left and she feels more ready to talk. Lucy Frostblade looms over Adaine’s head, her mind haunted by images of the ‘in memoriam’ slip, and her stomach roils uncomfortably at the reminder that she agreed to ask Oisin about this.

Later in the afternoon, after everyone goes their separate ways, Adaine ends up in her room, lying on her bed. She stares at her crystal, notifications unmuted; her thumb swipes through the screen, going through all the previous messages: rambling tangents and reminders of I love you’s, pictures of priceless treasures captioned with I want to give this to you, messages of care and concern — I hope everything’s going ok with your party. Miss you.

Switching off her screen, Adaine rolls onto her back, letting out something between a groan and a sigh. She rests her arm against her head, squeezing her eyes shut; there are far too many uncertainties swirling about her mind, and her heart thumps over and over, a drumming song of her love melding with all her anxieties. She can’t stop thinking of the doubt she’d felt earlier — the strife between Oisin and Kipperlilly; the realisation that maybe, just maybe, homicide was not an impossibility after all.

As she’s stringing together words in her mind, trying to figure out the best way to start this conversation, to talk to Oisin not about their passionate night together, of kissing and cuddling and feeling so loved, but about his friend’s death, Adaine’s ears prick. She hears footsteps winding up the stairs leading to her room, and before long, there’s a familiar knocking at her door, accompanied by Jawbone’s voice. “Adaine? You there, kiddo?”

She tosses her crystal to the side, sitting up in bed. “Yeah!” she calls out, trying to hide the waver in her words. “Come on in.”

As the door cracks open and Jawbone enters, Adaine leans back with a short sigh. “You really don’t need to knock every time.”

“I know,” Jawbone answers readily, “but I want you to have your own privacy. That’s important for a kid your age; I don’t wanna intrude without warning.” It’s the same old song and dance they always do. It’s not that Adaine doesn’t appreciate Jawbone’s courtesy — because she does, genuinely — but some part of her feels bad that he has to wait for permission every time.

In any case, Adaine watches as Jawbone clambers up the stairs to her bunk bed, sitting down on a step. “Wild night, huh?”

“Oh, definitely.” She reaches for her pillow, hugging it against her chest. “I got drunk,” Adaine admits, after a pause. “For the first time.”

Jawbone arches a brow. “Really?” His mouth curls into a smile. “Well, you didn’t hear it from me, because I’m not supposed to be encouraging underaged drinking, but… congrats, kiddo.” He raises his hand, curled into a fist, and Adaine reaches out with her left hand, the two of them bumping knuckles. “How was it?”

She pulls a face. “Eugh. The sun was horrible when I woke up. And I felt sick for hours.” Her fingers dig into the soft fabric of her cushion, twisting and playing with the strands. “I think I’ve only just started feeling normal again,” Adaine admits. “Probably because of the chicken parms.”

“Lydia does make the best food, doesn’t she?”

A dreamy sigh. “I could eat those forever.”

They settle into a brief silence. It’s not uncomfortable, because Adaine trusts Jawbone, loves him dearly, even if she struggles sometimes to try and express it in return. But she knows he cares for her much more than both her parents ever did. The little stuffed animals he got her, all sixteen of them, sit along the side of her bed, all lined up in a row; an indescribable, overwhelming emotion still comes over her sometimes, when she lets her gaze linger on them, thinking back to the moment she arrived back home after her spring break quest, where Jawbone gave her a gift for each birthday he’d missed, put a manila envelope with adoption forms on her desk, and hugged her back when she embraced him.

But Jawbone’s care for her is part of the reason why she doesn’t tell him everything. She still thinks of that horrible possibility of him working himself to the bone that crossed her mind the night before, and she suppresses a shudder. It doesn’t matter, Adaine thinks, watching Jawbone’s tail wag slightly as he looks around her room, perfectly content to sit in the quiet. Her grip around her pillow tightens as something sparks within her chest, and she can feel her ring brush against the soft fabric.

She doesn’t need to trouble him with school matters. But she also doesn’t need to rely solely on herself anymore.

A long, drawn out sigh pulls her attention back to the present. “Say,” Jawbone begins, stretching his legs as he leans back, elbows resting against the step above the one he’s sitting on, “I couldn’t help noticing your new-fangled jewellery there.”

Adaine’s eyes widen, hand instinctively flying to brush against the cool silver, the finely-cut jewels. “Oh! Yeah, um.” She ducks her head, feeling a warm blush spread across her face. Somehow, she hadn’t expected Jawbone to notice, to ask her this — which is stupid, in hindsight, Adaine realises, because he’s attentive, perceptive, always looking out for her. Coming home with what must be an incredibly priceless relic wrapped around her wrist — and it is priceless, one-of-a-kind, carved by Oisin’s own claws from the riches of his own hoard — must have caught his curiosity. Especially since Adaine doesn’t really wear much jewellery to begin with.

She coughs, trying to choke down the lump in her throat. “It was a gift,” Adaine eventually says, a little raspily. “From my— well. Boyfriend.”

Jawbone perks up, tail wagging as he beams at her — and somehow, that enthusiasm only flusters Adaine more. “Hey, congrats!” he says, genuinely excited for her, and she laughs a little nervously, chokes out a thank you. “So who’s the lucky guy, huh? Is it that dragon pal of yours, Oisin?”

She stutters. “How did you—”

Jawbone laughs. “It’s not exactly hard to figure out. I’m not sure if you’ve ever noticed the way he looks at you, but it ain’t exactly subtle. I’ve seen it from time to time at school, or when he walks you back to Mordred.” He leans in, eyes fixated on the bracelet, and a corner of his mouth quirks. “It would certainly explain why the bracelet’s so dang fancy, for one. I heard dragonborns are big fans of gifting jewellery to those they love.”

It feels like an obvious enough observation, a common piece of knowledge. It still leaves her heart bursting, cheeks warm, reaching to stroke along the elegant, sweeping curves of the bracelet with trembling fingers. “Yeah,” Adaine chokes out, avoiding Jawbone’s gaze. All the fervent, passionate emotions of the night before have crept back in, her mind working overtime to remind her how her heart continues beating for Oisin in spite of the earlier morning’s revelations, all her doubts and uncertainties and suspicions. She slips her finger underneath the chain, winds it around slightly. “That checks out.”

A brief pause.

“Hey, Adaine?” A warm, furry hand comes to rest on her shoulder. She raises her head, meeting Jawbone’s warm eyes, his crooked smile, the weak sunlight that streams through her window reflecting off his spectacles. “I’m happy for you,” Jawbone tells her, heartfelt and proud. “You’re gonna do great.”

Despite the embarrassment flushing across her skin, the awkwardness of the entire situation, Adaine still finds it in her to smile, genuinely touched by Jawbone’s caring words. “Thank you, Jawbone,” she murmurs, meaning it. If she were still living in that large, empty mansion under the cruel, uncaring eyes of her parents, Adaine knows neither of them would give a damn about her dating someone. At worst, they might have even objected to it, prejudiced against anything outside of high elf ancestry. So to be told, reassured, that someone is happy for her, that she’s going to do great dating for the first time?

Simply put, it makes her happy.

“But hey, if you ever need anything, just let me know, yeah?” Jawbone pulls back, teeth flashing in a grin. “I trust you, kid, and I know you’ve got things under control. But I’m still your dad!”

She grins back. “I know, and I will.”

She watches as Jawbone makes to leave, scurrying down the stairs of her bunk bed. Just as he’s about to open the door, however, he pauses, scratching his head. “What was I…?” His eyes widen, like a lightbulb going off in his mind. “Oh snap, yeah! Almost forgot. I also wanted to let you know that I managed to track down the delivery guys. You know, the ones who dropped off those barrels of diamonds? They’ll be back on Monday to pick it up, send it back to sender.”

Ah, Adaine thinks, blinking at Jawbone. Admittedly… she forgot she had asked him to do that. Faint recollections of the request she made before Misty Stepping away come to mind, and Adaine furrows her brows. “Well— thank you, but…” She bites her lip. “If it’s not too much trouble, could you cancel that? I worked things out with the person who sent them, and it’s fine now.”

“Oh, yeah, no problem at all!” Jawbone says readily, causing Adaine to release a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. God, why is she so anxious about this? It’s not like Jawbone has any reason to say no, not when this is Adaine’s problem to handle. “They don’t work on weekends, so it’s not like they were gonna come ‘til Monday.” He quirks a brow. “Mind if I ask who sent them?”

She laughs. “Oisin, obviously. Who else?”

Jawbone is satisfied enough by that answer, and as he bids her goodbye, Adaine hears a small blip from her crystal, abandoned to the side. As the door shuts with a thud, and the sound of footsteps against the stairs slowly ebbs into a peaceful quiet, Adaine reaches for her crystal, turning it on and reading her messages.

Oisin: You there?

Oisin: Just saw that you saw my messages

A smile slips onto her face without even realising it.

Adaine: no yeah i’m here. sorry

Adaine: was busy backreading everything and then i was going to reply but then jawbone came in for a sec

Adaine: sorry to keep you waiting!

Oisin replies fast. He always does.

Oisin: I wish I convinced you to come with me today

Oisin: Been missing you all day

Adaine: been missing you too! but yk how it is. party stuff comes first

Adaine: you’re no exception to that lol

Oisin: Believe me, if I could, I’d just skip everything

Oisin: But Kipperlilly would probably throw a hissy fit and I don’t wanna deal with that

Adaine: leave your group. join my party

Oisin: Wish I could

Oisin: I’d be there in a heartbeat

Oisin: Adventuring with you sounds like a dream

Her cheeks are burning. Adaine takes a moment to bury her head in her pillow, letting out a muffled screech. Is this normal? Is any of this normal? She’s always bantered with Oisin, back and forth, but in light of everything they did last night, the kisses that still linger on her lips as phantom claws curl around her hips, she’s just— so flustered.

And yet, the knowledge of what she has to do lingers on her brain, like a sour stain amidst saccharine sweet affections.

Adaine rolls onto her side, stifling a sigh. This isn’t the type of conversation you can have over text, she realises distantly, tapping a few letters before deleting them. The thought of seeing a message there — sorry to change the topic but like, did your cleric die at the end of sophomore year? — burning a hole into her screen causes her heart to spike with panic, her hands clammy with sweat.

So she types, instead:

Adaine: is now a good time to call?

Oisin: With you, anytime’s a good time

She smiles in spite of her raging panic, her anxiety, her uncertainty. She doesn’t even need to hit the call button; within mere seconds, there’s a call coming through, the familiar chime of her ringtone filling the air, Oisin’s name and picture showing up on screen. It’s a photo she snapped of him a year ago, during one of their study sessions at Basrar. He hadn’t been paying attention to her, spoon sticking out of his mouth as he stared, with intense concentration, at his conjuration assignment. They took as many classes together as they could, but there were a few lessons where they had to split off into their own separate schools of magic, in spite of their efforts to overlap and take each other’s specialties.

She’d taken the photo that day simply because she thought Oisin looked cute. In hindsight, her emotions feel so blatantly obvious — it’s not like looking at the rest of the Bad Kids make her heart flutter and skip a beat, and the photos Adaine takes of them are more for blackmail than anything else: Riz passed out on a sofa while Kristen and Fig draw on his face with a marker; Fabian and Gorgug belting out a duet at a karaoke night together, getting really into it; Fig blushing in a corner as she stares at a letter in her hands, her usual wicked confidence replaced by lovelorn eyes and flustered cheeks, a condition only made possible by Ayda Aguefort.

But she’d taken the photo of Oisin because he looked cute, and her heart skipped a beat as she watched him scratch a sentence across the page with the pen she gave him long ago. She snapped it, her shutter going off, and his amber eyes had flicked up to her, met her gaze, causing him to smile and say, teasingly, “See something you like?”

Adaine takes a deep breath, and hits accept.

“Hey, Oisin.”

“Adaine.” There’s an audible smile in Oisin’s voice, and it makes her heart skip a beat. “I missed you.”

She smiles. “It’s only been, like— a couple of hours.”

“And? Can’t I miss my girlfriend?” Raspy laughter comes through the receiver. “I feel— I don’t know. A little insane, maybe. I just… want more of what we had last night. More time together.”

“And you’ll get it.” Her words are composed, sweet — but internally, Adaine is combusting, exploding, every single word that she hears reaching deep into her chest, squeezing her heart and soul. She slides down the bed slightly, sprawled out on the mattress, crystal pressed against her ear. “Just… let me rest a bit first?” she asks weakly. “Yesterday was… a lot, admittedly. Not that I hated it,” she adds quickly, “because I didn’t, but, um— god, I just— drank a lot, a-and I don’t know.” She shuts her eyes, sucks in a breath, feels it fill up her chest. She exhales. “I think I need to rest for the rest of the weekend.”

“Mm.” Oisin hums. “Makes sense. I still miss you though.”

Her lips quirk. “God, you’re so clingy now.”

“I did warn you.”

She laughs. “That, you did. I guess I’ll just have to get used to it.”

They sink into a comfortable silence. Adaine can hear Oisin’s breathing through the receiver, every little raspy inhale and exhale. Her chest is brimming with such sweet warmth, her heart beating against her sternum uncontrollably. It would have been perfect, peaceful, if not for that niggling beat of anxiety coiled within her chest, a flicker of uncertainty that nags at her incessantly.

“So what’s on your mind?” Oisin’s voice pulls her from her thoughts, and Adaine clings to his rumbling tone, using it to ground herself. “Why did you want to call? Not that I’m objecting, mind you,” he adds. She can practically hear his grin, smug and full of himself, as he says, “What, did you miss my beautiful voice?”

She laughs. “Don’t flatter yourself, Hakinvar,” Adaine teases, smiling uncontrollably. Her heart skips a beat as she says his last name, a strange intimacy in it, in this way they nudge and tease each other, a sense of normality in the midst of these confusing, passionate feelings. “Jeez,” Adaine sighs, shaking her head dramatically, “you spend one night making out with your best friend, and, all of a sudden, he develops this massive ego.”

That makes Oisin laugh, throaty and raw. Her skin tingles, electric.

She takes a breath, trying to prepare herself. “Just… promise me you’re not gonna get mad at me for asking this?”

“I could never get mad at you.” Oisin’s voice is firm, brimming with such surefire conviction, and although a part of Adaine relaxes at that, another part of her raises an eyebrow, doubtful. “I promise,” he assures, when she doesn’t speak.

She fidgets, brushing her fingers along her bedsheets. “I know this seems… really out of nowhere,” Adaine begins, “but…” She hesitates. Through the call, she hears Oisin’s breathing, can practically feel his attentive focus. “The loss you had a few months ago,” she says, mustering up all her courage, pushing through her throbbing anxiety. “Was that Lucy Frostblade?”

The line goes silent.

Panic flickers in her as the quiet stretches out, only broken by shallow breathing. “Oisin?” she tries, her fingers curling tighter around her crystal. She pushes herself upright, presses her back against the wall her bed is pressed up against. “I’m sorry,” she says, instinctively, seeking to assuage whatever uncomfortable memories she must have surely dredged up.

There’s a confused noise. “Wh—? No, you’re— you’re good, Adaine.” Oisin sounds slightly dazed, his words a little slower. But there is, unmistakably, sadness interlaced with his words, and Adaine feels her heart pang. “I…” He pauses, chokes down a breath. “Yes,” Oisin confirms, with a wavering voice. “It was Lucy Frostblade.”

She closes her eyes. “I’m sorry,” Adaine repeats, again.

“How did you… find out about her?”

“It wasn’t me, actually.” She leans back, tells Oisin everything she can — that her friends spoke to Buddy Dawn, the Rat Grinders’ new cleric; that he told them he had been specially requested to join his team; that her friends found an old yearbook, found the slip of paper labelled ‘in memoriam’ and the pictures of his team together, young and smiling and happy. Oisin remains quiet all throughout, Adaine’s voice filling the silence; she stumbles over her words, apologises here and there, and wraps it all up with a long sigh.

“So… yeah,” she finally says, a little awkwardly. A breath escapes through her teeth. “I knew you had a loss, but you never… told me about it.” She taps her fingers against her knees, a restless energy going through her. “Not that I’m privy to it,” Adaine adds, “but… she was a member of your party. She must have meant a lot to you.”

She hears a deep exhale. “Yeah,” Oisin says, voice cracking slightly. Her chest pangs. “She did. To all of us, really. She… Lucy was always so kind. Kipperlilly might call herself the leader, but Lucy was undoubtedly the heart of the party.” He pauses, briefly, before he says, “She was the one who encouraged me to confess to you, you know that?”

Adaine blinks. “Wait, really?”

“Not— not yesterday,” Oisin adds quickly. “Not at the party, I mean. But…” A sad laugh. “I’ve wanted to confess to you for a long time now, Adaine. And… I was going to after you came back from your spring break quest.”

Her eyes widen as it hits her, the context for Oisin’s actions finally falling into place. The way he’d reached out to her, sent a Sending spell asking when she would be back, strangely anxious about wanting to see her before going off on his own quest. The way he had stood on the porch, observing from afar, apparently waiting for hours, based on what Jawbone told her. The way he stuttered while speaking to her, said I… actually came to talk to you about something while his tail tensed, his body language reeking of anxiety and terror.

“Is that why you came over?” Adaine bursts out. Her grip on her crystal is white-knuckled, hand trembling. “You… you were going to confess?”

A beat.

“Yeah,” Oisin confirms. “But I chickened out.” Another sad laugh. “Lucy wasn’t happy about that, you know? She never really got angry, but she just looked at me with this disappointed expression, and I felt so bad.” He pauses, before he speaks again, voice soft, “I miss her, you know? She’d be proud of me for confessing to you.”

Her chest aches, mind filling with what-ifs — if Kristen had died, if her own party lost their cleric, their friend, all of them would grieve miserably, aching and raw, a hole that couldn’t be filled. “Yeah,” Adaine says softly. “I’m sure she’d be proud of you.”

How could she have ever entertained the possibility that Oisin might have gladly killed Lucy? Pity floods her soul, something in her aching for this person she’s never even met as she listens to Oisin’s wavering voice, tinged with sadness, mourning for someone lost. And yet, at the same time, her mind reaches past that initial anxiety, digs deeper until it closes around something else — the hint of animosity in Oisin’s voice as he uttered the name Kipperlilly, so subtle that, if she hadn’t known him for so long, Adaine would have surely missed it; the general aura of frustration and anger surrounding Oisin whenever he talked about matters concerning the de-facto leader of his adventuring party.

Doubt grows within her, new suspicions blooming forth from the ashes of old ones. Adaine has never liked Kipperlilly, not since the halfling turned to her with expectant eyes and a smug smile, like her existence was important just because Adaine knew someone in her group.

But she shrugs that off, tucks it away for later. “Thank you for telling me,” she tells Oisin, voice kind. “And… we can talk about something else, if you want. I don’t want to, like, dredge up any more feelings, or anything.”

“I’d like that,” Oisin says, taking the way out that Adaine offers to him. His voice perks up, that liveliness and enthusiasm returning to it. “How do you feel about a date at Basrar’s on Monday?”

Adaine: talked to oisin

Fig: NICE!!!!!

Gorgug: what did you find?

Adaine: well i can’t say whether they killed lucy or not

Adaine: but i don’t trust coppercunt bitchface

Gorgug: ?

Adaine: kipperlilly

Kristen: fourdoggy whatshername

Adaine: squatterpot pissbottle

Adaine: fuckfather shithead

Kristen: woah ok this is personal

Kristen: also youre not even rhyming anymore wtf?

Adaine: i hate her

Fabian: Why?

Fabian: I mean ok she doesnt give good vibes at all but like

Fabian: This feels excessive

Adaine: ok. so

Adaine: my working theory is that, at minimum, kipperlilly’s the mastermind behind lucy’s death. i can’t rule out if everyone was involved because tbh that’s kind of impossible to figure out from one crystal call? but oisin got sad talking about her (lucy) and i know he’s had a lot of recent strife with pissface bc he told me about it on monday. he also described lucy as the heart of their group, while mollybog’s the leader, and who’s gonna pose a threat to the leader, if not the person everyone likes?

Kristen: holy shit. adaine gukgaked

Fig: ADAINE GUKGAKED

Fabian: Channeling her inner Ball......

Riz: Why are we using my surname as a verb

Kristen: bc it fits? duh

Fabian: You say that like youre not the one going around solving every single mystery, the Ball

Riz: Okay. Fair.

Adaine: anyways i don’t fucking trust that bitch. i’m betting all my gold on her being behind this entire goddamn mess.

Adaine: i bet she’s a fucking control freak. probably got pissed at lucy for something and slit her goddamn throat herself

Fabian: ????? ADAINE?

Fig: why are you surprised shes a profesional hater lmao

Adaine: i killed my fucking dad! idk what you guys are expecting from me!

Kristen: idk man seems more like ur being kinda protective abt ur bf to me

Fig: deserved

Adaine: dhut up

Fabian: Ok but seriously wtf do you see in him Adaine??

Fig: ifnore him. fabian doesnt understand the perils of young love

Fabian: I understand PERFECTLY well thank you very much

Adaine: i am not going to wax poetics about my bf in chat

Fabian: And I don’t want you to?!

Fig: i do. go on girlie

Kristen: stealing my catchphrase...... i see how it is

Riz: Okay. Can we meet on Monday? After school? Kristen will have talked to Yolanda by then (Please don’t forget) and I think we can probably discuss what we’ve found.

Gorgug: can’t. fabian and i have owlbears

Adaine: i’m busy too sorry

Fig: with what????

Fig: adaine

Fig: afaine i know ur looking at these messages adaine Reply Me

Gorgug: riz don’t you have like a hundred clubs?

Riz: Oh. Yeah.

Riz: I guess we can talk about it over here instead? Or on call. Whenever we’re all free.

Adaine: ghtkdkskaaaaaaaaaac. s sa))&;&;

Fabian: ??!!?!?!

Adaine: FFIGG GGgf

Kristen: lmao fig dimension doored into adaine’s room

Kristen: i can hear them screaming from downstairs

Kristen: oh. fuck

Fabian: Are you guys ok????

Gorgug: i think fig is dead

Riz: Not surprised.

On Monday morning, while the rest of Mordred Manor attends to their morning routines, Adaine stands outside the room that stores ten barrels of diamonds, and stares down the door.

Her Arcane Lock spell hums, a light buzz emanating through the air. Taking a deep breath, Adaine steadies herself, quells her nerves — she kneels, briefly, to run her hand across Boggy, sitting by her side, letting him comfort her. Rising up, she steps forward and runs her hand down the wooden surface. At her touch, the spell is dispelled, winking out of existence in the blink of an eye. “You got this, Adaine,” she murmurs to herself as her hand closes around the doorknob, twisting it open.

The door creaks loudly as Adaine inches it open, the hinges rusted by time and not yet oiled into silence. Light spills in from the hallway, casting long shadows of herself across the ground, and as Adaine fumbles around for the light switch, she catches the way the light reflects off hundreds of well-cut jewels, glittering like rainbows from every angle.

For a moment, as she stands before the barrels, Adaine very nearly quits. She nearly turns on her heel, fleeing the room and abandoning the barrels once more, in spite of her earlier resolution to open that door and take some of the diamonds for herself. All throughout the morning, as she marched down the stairs from her room and found her way along the right corridor, she heard Oisin’s voice echoing in her mind — reassuring her that he wanted to help her, that giving her his diamonds was no problem at all. But that was then, and this is now, and seeing all the diamonds with her own eyes, for the first time since Friday morning, is very different from envisioning them in her mind.

As her eyes dart from diamond to diamond, bile licks the back of her throat. It’s so much, too much; how can she be worthy of this? But just as she’s about to turn around, to flee the room with her chest tightly wound and panic ebbing through her veins, the light from the dull, flickering lightbulb above, one of many not yet replaced in Mordred, glints off the shining expanse of jewels along her hand, the silver ring-and-bracelet combination wound around her wrist and finger.

It is a reminder, more than anything else, that she is loved. That someone looks at her and sees something worthwhile — a precious treasure of insurmountable value, cherished and adored by another’s heart.

So Adaine chokes down the lump of anxiety in her throat, balling her hands into fists as she gathers all her resolve. She reaches with trembling hands to shove some diamonds into her bag, the jewels cool against her skin. She doesn’t need all of them, because those ten barrels are for the year, and she doesn’t need to use them all in one day. But Adaine’s also not sure how much she needs right now, so she grabs fistfuls at random and dumps them in, all while Boggy hops onto one of the barrels, chirping encouragingly at her.

Adaine smiles at her familiar, slightly strained. “I can do this, Boggy,” she says, somehow breathless. The words are more for herself than for Boggy; he’s simply happy to be here, ribbiting at her as she grabs diamond after diamond. “I can do this— accept this.” She shuts her eyes. “I can.”

Boggy simply blinks at her, smiling and happy, nuzzling her hand when she reaches out to pet him.

“Finally getting some use out of those diamonds, eh?” Fig grins at her later that morning when they’ve all piled into Jawbone’s car, about to head to Aguefort for the school day. Adaine rolls her eyes, hugging her bulging bag protectively against her chest as Fig’s red eyes glint knowingly. “It’s ‘bout time, Adaine!”

“What do you mean, finally?” Adaine complains. “I’ve literally only had them since last Friday,”

Fig shrugs. “And? You could’ve started using them right away.” She laughs, leaning against Adaine, squashing her between Fig’s warm body and the window of the car. “Y’know, it is pretty romantic. To just… get all those diamonds as a gift, no strings attached whatsoever. Because someone loves you enough to do it.”

“Is it as romantic as getting fossilised messages and an entire order of knights dedicated to delivering you a letter?”

“I’d say so, yeah,” Fig says with a shrug and a smile. Adaine smiles back, waveringly. “Takes one to know one. And hey,” Fig adds with a wink, “you’ve got a date later today!”

Adaine stifles a sigh, thinking back to Saturday night — Fig bursting into her room in an explosion of heat, jolting her enough for Adaine to let out a startled shriek, followed by a mad tousle for Adaine’s crystal. It culminated in Fig throwing up violently on Adaine’s floor while Kristen stared from the doorway in dead silence, all while Adaine stuffed her crystal under her pillow while Fig wasn’t looking.

She had, eventually, told them both about her date. Mainly because Kristen asked a bit more nicely, and she felt a twinge of guilt seeing Fig retch violently again and again.

“If you crash it,” Adaine deadpans, “I will kill you.”

Fig bats her eyelashes, feigning innocence. “No promises, Adaine. No promises.

“You say that like we didn’t, like, crash Gorgug’s first date with Zelda,” Kristen points out, turning around in the passenger seat to glance at them from the front. The radio is blaring with one of her healthy living podcasts, but she isn’t paying attention anymore, her focus grabbed by the conversation between Fig and Adaine.

“That— that was different,” Adaine protests. “We were just making sure she was fine. That she wasn’t, you know. Kidnapped.”

“Well, maybe we should make sure you’re not kidnapped too,” Fig teases, flicking Adaine’s forehead. Adaine rolls her eyes. “He’s a dragon, Adaine,” Fig says dramatically, though her voice brims with a trickster mirth rather than any actual seriousness, light and playful underneath. “Who knows what he’s gonna do to you now that you guys are dating?”

“Right,” Adaine says drily, “because he’s definitely going to kidnap me on the first date. Nevermind the fact that he’s had two years to do it.”

Jawbone finally cuts in. “Alright, kiddos, can we lighten up a little? Maybe stop discussing kidnappings for a bit?”

“It’s par for the course of being an adventurer, Jawbone,” Kristen points out with a lazy laugh. “We just keep getting tangled up in more and more bullshit.”

The surprise assembly that the school springs on them this morning is entertaining at best, and absolute havoc at worst. Adaine can’t help but laugh at the chaos Fig creates, eyes crinkling as laughter wracks through her body. Things are significantly less entertaining, though, by the end of the aarakocra’s speech, and even less so when the stupid robot principal rolls onto stage, and demands mandatory drug testing for the entire school.

“Since when were drugs illegal in Aguefort?” Adaine hisses to her friends as the principal wheels around. She’s bewildered, confused; it’s not like she’s done many drugs in her life, but there’s an active group of druids smoking on campus regularly, out near the Far Haven Woods, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Her heart hammers in her chest as the robot principal rolls past her, but everything comes up clear, and she exhales in relief.

As Principal Grix hovers at Fabian for a while, scanner whirring as Fabian holds his breath, a familiar throaty voice enters Adaine’s mind. Morning. Took any drugs recently?

A smile slips on her face. Oh, I took all of them while you weren’t looking. Had a real drug party yesterday.

Laughter fills her mind. I can’t believe how much of a delinquent my girlfriend is, Oisin muses. Whatever shall I do?

She stifles her laughter, lest the principal notices. Adaine doesn’t want to have to explain herself to an absolute rules-abiding freak, technological nature be damned. As a hologram of Fabian’s dance teacher pops up and Principal Grix rolls on, seemingly satisfied, Adaine dares to look around, turning left and right, hoping to spot familiar blue scales somewhere in the thick of the crowd. Where are you?

To your right, somewhere at the back. It takes a few more directions, and plenty of turning, but eventually, Adaine sees him — seated somewhere near the back. Their eyes meet across the auditorium, despite the yawning distance between them, and Adaine smiles, raising her hand in a half-wave. Oisin grins back. Next to him is Ivy, looking bored out of her mind, and a little ways from them both is Buddy Dawn, but beyond that, Adaine can’t see the rest of Oisin’s team.

She raises an eyebrow. “Interesting,” she murmurs.

Riz’s ears prick up. “What is?” he asks, immediately turning to her like a hellhound who just caught a whiff of blood, except it’s Riz’s detective intuition picking up on a point of interest for any kind of mystery.

“Oisin’s not sitting with his party,” Adaine explains. Riz’s eyes flick to where she was looking, and Adaine winces slightly as the smile drops off Oisin’s face, as her boyfriend looks away. “You know my working theory,” she says to Riz, hoping to distract him from glaring daggers at Oisin from across the auditorium. “That there’s strife in the Rat Grinders, that something happened between all of them.”

Riz hums, a familiar glint entering his eyes. “It seems a bit more plausible.”

“Or maybe they’re just, y’know, not sitting with their party,” Fabian interjects, leaning in. “We’re, like, kind of the anomaly here. I don’t know if all the other parties get along like we do?”

Adaine and Riz both blink at him. Fabian sighs. “Nevermind.”

You’re not wrong, Adaine thinks as she leans back. I just never thought of it that way before.

But before she can put those thoughts into words, Principal Grix booms, “Delinquents detected,” and begins shooting nets at a rapid-fire pace. The auditorium devolves into utter insanity, screams reverberating through the air as thunderous footsteps echo across polished floors. Adaine is forced to flee as well, hurrying away with the rest of her friends, all of them hiding in a corner, debating amongst themselves about whether to help or not.

As they reach a decision, all of them hurrying over to Max Durden, who’s pinned against the ground under the weight of his net, a rough hand wraps around Adaine’s own, pulling her off to the side. “Stealing you away for a bit,” Oisin tells her, breathless, amber eyes wide, a smile edging at the corner of his mouth. His gaze flicks back to her friends, and Adaine follows it. Everyone is distracted, bickering over the best way to free Max Durden from his net — all except Fabian, who narrows his eye at the two of them, lips twisting into a scowl.

Oisin only smirks. “C’mon,” he tells her, pulling Adaine along as more screams erupt through the air, accompanied by the thwacks of nets hitting against solid surfaces. “Let’s get out of here.”

And what can Adaine do but follow? Her heart begins to thud, the way it does whenever she’s around Oisin — incessantly loud, banging against her chest over and over until she swears she can’t breathe. She lets him lead her away, only glancing back momentarily to mouth a sheepish apology at a displeased Fabian.

Together, the two of them slip out of the auditorium, hand in hand. They dodge around the poor, unfortunate students pinned to the ground by nets, staring at them with pleading eyes as they escape through the hallways together. Slowly, the chaos ebbs away into a dull, faint noise, and the thronging crowds of panicking students dissipate into only a scattered few here and there — a quiet, less chaotic corner of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy.

Oisin jostles with the door to a nearby classroom before it clicks open, swinging open. He pulls her in, kicks the door shut behind them, stamping out the last few traces of sounds in the process. In the silence of the unused classroom, Adaine finally feels like she can breathe, sucking in a shaky breath as Oisin presses her up against the teacher’s desk, letting go of her hand to wrap his arms around her waist. “You could— you could have just asked me to go with you,” she says, a little weakly. Her knees feel wobbly, skin flushing at the intimate contact.

“And risk you saying no?” A rumbling laugh. “Well, apologies if I was being too forward there, Adaine,” Oisin says, not sounding sorry in the slightest. “I just wanted to spend some time with my girlfriend before class. Is that so much to ask? That, and…” He pauses, eyes darting off to the side, even as his claws curl into the back of her jacket. “I didn’t want you to get caught up in that entire mess,” Oisin adds, a little abashedly. “Pinned against the floor by a net, or whatnot.”

Adaine snickers, raising a hand to her lips. “You know I didn’t actually do drugs, right?”

“Oh, I know,” Oisin answers, with an amused huff. “But I saw poor Buddy get hit by one of the nets, and I know for a fact that that guy’s never drank a single sip of alcohol in his life, let alone taken hard drugs.” A flash of teeth, a grin that makes her heart flutter. “I couldn’t risk you getting swept up in all that.”

Adaine lets a dramatic sigh spill past her lips, leaning into Oisin’s hold as she smiles. “Ah, my saviour.”

Pulling her close, Oisin presses his forehead against hers, hot breath warm against her cheeks. “For you,” he rasps, eyes shining bright, the curl of his claws like a dull pressure dipping into her back, “I would fight the world.”

She flusters, blood rushing to her cheeks. Tilting her head back, Adaine averts her gaze, mumbling, “You can’t just say things like that.” It’s not fair, the way Oisin can so easily make her flustered, taking on a strange, sleek confidence now that the truth is out between them, and they’ve officially gotten together. She rests her hands on his shoulders, fingers digging slightly into the fabric of his shirt, feeling his muscles below.

She hears a rumble forming in his throat. “Say what, exactly?” Oisin asks, teasingly.

“You know what I mean,” Adaine mutters, cheeks aflame, heart beating a thousand times a minute. It’s the words that spill past Oisin’s lips, revering and affectionate, cherishing her in such a passionate, intimate way, the polar opposite of the frigid care she received growing up. “Don’t make me spell it out for you.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Oisin says, leaning in, his snout pressed against her ear. The warmth of his raspy words makes a shudder ripple down her spine, tensing in his hold. “I’m only admiring how lovely my girlfriend looks today. Can I not do that?”

Static prickles along her skin. “Oh, don’t flatter me,” Adaine says, rolling her eyes despite the way her cheeks ache. “I don’t look any different than usual.” And it’s true — she’s wearing the same denim jacket as usual, the same clothes; compared to many, many other students, Adaine doesn’t go to extremes to make sure she looks pretty before heading off to school.

“And yet, I find myself more drawn to you today.” A low purring forms in Oisin’s throat. He dips his head in, presses a kiss against the crook of her neck. “Maybe it’s just… the satisfaction of seeing you wear something from my hoard.” As he speaks, one of his hands slips away from Adaine’s waist, reaches for her left hand instead, tracing the winding patterns of her bracelet and ring, the jewels glittering along the jewellery, with the claw of his thumb. His voice softens, a sudden, tender vulnerability exposed. “It really does make me happy, Adaine. More than you could ever imagine.”

She stumbles a little, flustered once more. “D-Does it, really?”

“Why wouldn’t it?” Oisin pulls back, smiles at her, plain and true. “I already told you last night, what we dragons are like with our hoards.” He intertwines their fingers together, lifting their joined hands; Adaine watches as the dim light coming through the windows glints off of Oisin’s gift for her, shining silver and sparkling blue. A raspy laugh spills forth. “Honestly, this is probably what drugs feel like. Just… it’s intoxicating, seeing you wear what’s mine.”

“Well,” Adaine says, a playful smile slipping onto her lips, “you best make sure a certain robot doesn’t catch wind of that. The last thing I want is for you to get pinned down by one of those stupid nets.”

“You say that like you wouldn’t come save me.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You will.” Oisin grins at her, voice filled with such firm conviction, such steadfast, loving faith in her. “I believe in you.”

God, Adaine thinks, seized by something feral, all of a sudden, I want to kiss you so fucking bad. Her hands fly up in a flash, cupping Oisin’s cheeks, her thumbs stroking along pointed ridges, tracing the winding lines and curves and patterns of those lovely blue scales. “I love you,” she breathes, taken by some madness — love, heady and addicting, making her head swim and her knees wobbly. “Fucking hell, I love you.”

But before she can close the gap between them, pull Oisin down and capture his mouth in a passionate kiss, one that matches the fervour burning in the trenches of her soul—

A sudden slam bursts through the room, smashing right through the silence of the air. Adaine jerks backwards, fingers falling away from Oisin’s cheeks. Her head snaps in the direction of that sudden, sharp sound, heart thumping wildly not out of love, but out of a spike of panic — skittish and jittery. There, standing in the doorway, rooted in shock, is some random kid she’s never seen before — an elf, or maybe a half-elf, eyes blown wide, mouth gaping wide enough for flies to enter, body scrawny enough to be a freshman. They stand there, staring stupidly, and Adaine stares back.

Thunderous growling rumbles through the air, like the rolling clouds of an incoming storm. “Get out,” a hoarse voice booms, causing the poor kid to startle wildly, practically jumping out of their skin as they babble out a series of apologies, excuses — “I-I-I was j-just trying to— to escape the principal— Eep!” — while their hand twists at the doorknob. In the blink of an eye, there’s another loud thud as the door is slammed shut, followed by the distant sound of footsteps scurrying away, before silence shrouds them once more.

For a moment, neither of them speak. There’s still a low rumbling in the air, a growl still spilling forth from Oisin’s throat, and Adaine raises her hand, pressing it gently against the side of his neck.

The rumbling stops.

“I think you scared the life out of that poor kid,” Adaine eventually says, turning to fix Oisin with a pointed look.

He shrugs. “They interrupted us.”

“So you growled at them like you were about to claw their throat out in response?”

Oisin opens his mouth, before snapping it shut. Throwing his hands up, he sighs. “What else was I supposed to do?”

They tumble into class late, stumbling over each other as they burst through the door together. It’s embarrassing, and Adaine ducks her head as she does the walk of shame to her desk, because she can feel everyone’s eyes boring holes through her skin, staring at them in overt curiosity. Even worse, though, is the silence that sinks through the air as Tiberia Runestaff’s sharp, icy gaze follows them, her thin lips pressed tightly together as they make their way through the classroom.

“Ms. Abernant, Mr. Hakinvar,” Tiberia greets as they’re taking their seats. “What a pleasure for you two to join us at last.” She arches an eyebrow. “I assume that whatever matters you were tending to were far more interesting than attending my classes, were they not?”

She can hear a laugh from somewhere in class, causing her to shrink back in her seat. “No, Professor,” Adaine says quickly, heart hammering, immediately regretting letting Oisin distract her — distract the both of them, really, tucked away in an empty classroom, making out with each other through the shrill ringing of the first bell. “Sorry, Professor. It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t,” Tiberia says with a haughty sniff, turning back to the chalkboard.

Adaine rests her hand on Oisin’s shoulder when she hears the beginnings of a growl, a silent Don’t. “This is your fault,” she hisses under her breath when Tiberia isn’t paying attention; there’s no point using a Message spell in a class of wizards, instincts sharpened specifically to notice spells strumming through the air, possibly even intercepting her magic. “Don’t you dare complain about it.”

Oisin rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say another word.

Despite the awful start to the lesson, the hot, liquid shame that slides through her veins like lava, having Oisin’s diamonds help. It helps, not just with the lesson, but also with gaining back some of her teacher’s approval, because when Tiberia makes her rounds later as they’re doing class work, those sharp eyes peer over at her, at the diamonds spilling out of her bag, and the barest sliver of a smile forms on her stern face. “I see you’ve sorted out your little diamond conundrum, Ms. Abernant,” Tiberia says approvingly, causing Adaine to duck her head, mumbling her thanks. “I am glad to see it.”

It makes Adaine wonder, silently, with a bitter taste tainting the back of her mouth, if there was ever any point in even working a job to begin with. Who was she kidding, believing that she could afford these expensive materials on a paltry payment of two silvers a day? Adaine had clung stubbornly to her pride, her refusal to be a burden, to accept gifts so expensive they made her feel like she was about to collapse and die — and yet, her obstinacy would have gotten her nowhere.

It’s still a bit much to swallow, something wedging itself in her throat when she takes out sparkling gem after sparkling gem, turning them around in her hands, watching the shining side catch the light and glitter brightly. But a hand comes to rest on her arm each time she hesitates, a reassuring touch, and Adaine’s uncertainty ebbs away, escaping somewhere deep in her mind where it will lurk until another moment of insecurity arrives. She smiles at Oisin, and he smiles back; he’s constantly reaching for her, touching her here and there, stealing small moments of affection as they do their work. It’s borderline a distraction at this point, but Adaine can’t bring herself to say no, to shake off his touch, not when he purrs happily at the sight of his diamonds in her hands, and not when her heart melts, feeling cherished in a way she has so rarely felt before.

Even so, although the diamonds relieve her of her biggest stressor, Adaine still faces another issue. I need the other materials, she thinks to herself midway through class. It’s a relief that today, all the additional items she needs are trivial, inexpensive; she sticks her hand into one of her jacket pockets and pulls out exactly what she’s seeking. Still, the thought of letting Oisin pay for every little thing makes Adaine bite her lip. She still has her pride, her sense of self-sufficiency. Sure, there was wisdom in relenting, in accepting the diamonds because that was way out of her realm of affordability — but what about everything else?

Maybe I can get another job, Adaine thinks as she crushes a diamond into powder the way Tiberia had instructed. Her brows press together, uncertainty flickering through her. But where?

She’s not keen on the thought of working someplace unfamiliar again. Oodles of Strudel still lingers on her mind, making her bristle whenever she thinks about it. She still owes the company money, and it irks her whenever she dwells on it for too long. Her hours were horrible and the location was unfamiliar, impossible for anyone but wizards to visit, and to top it all off, the memory of the absolute creep who harassed her causes bile to rise in her throat.

“Something on your mind?” Oisin asks her at one point when Tiberia is making the rounds around the class, far enough away that they can talk.

Adaine pauses, forehead wrinkling in thought, debating whether she should be truthful with him. Two sides of her clash in conflict, one lovestruck, the other prideful. Eventually, though, the latter prevails. “It’s nothing,” she eventually says with a smile, recalling the way Oisin reacted to her last job — annoyed, hostile, upset. When he fixes her with a suspicious look, she adds, “I’ll tell you soon, I swear. I just need to sort it out first.” Raising an eyebrow, Adaine hits him with the “Do you trust me, or what?”

That, at least, gets him. Oisin nods, backing off, but she can tell by the way his eyes narrow that he’s not fully satisfied — not yet.

When lunch finally rolls around, her spirits are high. The embarrassing moment from the morning aside, the rest of the day has gone well so far — Tiberia even graced her with a few more words of praise when inspecting her concoction! It’s a high she’s riding as she gets out of class, practically skipping across the floor, and she only stills when Oisin grabs her hand. “Wait,” he calls, stopping her where she stands.

Adaine tilts her head, watching the students swarm around them like the tide of a river rippling around an obstructive rock. “What is it?”

“Come have lunch with me?”

That gives her pause.

Lunch is a period reserved for her friends, for the Bad Kids. It’s been that way for as long as Adaine can remember, all the way since the start of freshman year — she would go eat with her party, and Oisin with his. She can’t recall ever actually having lunch with Oisin during school hours; lunch and break times were reserved for her party, while after school hours were reserved for him.

And yet, as Oisin watches her with wide, dilated eyes, his tail whisking from side to side — Like it’s wagging, Adaine observes — her conviction wavers. It feels so hard to say no. “I’d love to,” Adaine says uncertainly, hesitantly. “But my friends—”

“They can spend a day without you, can’t they?” Oisin points out. He smiles at her. “Come on, Adaine. Let’s get lunch together, just this once.”

Maybe it’s the desire in his sweet words, blatantly obvious to her ears. Or maybe it’s the plea flickering in his eyes, blinking at her hopefully. Maybe it’s even the anticipation that bristles through him, fins flicking on end, like having a meal with Adaine, spending time with her, is the most important thing in his life. Maybe it is, Adaine thinks wryly, flashing back to Oisin’s possessive words, his shameless admission of draconic instincts and the selfish urges that came with them.

Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter in the end, because Adaine’s resolve crumbles when Oisin squeezes her hand, thumb tracing the metal of her bracelet. “Alright,” Adaine relents, shoulders slumping slightly. She gives a small smile. “Just this once.”

And for the first time since the start of freshman year, the first time in her two years of attending Aguefort, Adaine doesn’t meet the rest of her friends for lunch. Instead, she holds Oisin’s hand as they walk through the cafeteria together, ducks her head as he leads her to an unused table in a corner of her room. She only dares to steal a glance at her usual table, at the stares coming after her, ranging from Fig and Kristen’s bright-eyed enthusiasm, to the disgruntled doubt flickering across Riz and Fabian’s faces, to Gorgug’s neutral, supportive thumbs-up.

She stifles a gloating smile when she catches sight of Oisin’s party, of Kipperlilly in specific — eyes bulging like a bug’s, veins practically popping out of her skin. Her fist is clenched so tight that Adaine swears she’s about to punch a wall and scream, and a smug satisfaction settles inside of her. See? she thinks, a part of her mind bragging, conceited and cocky. He cares about me more — not you, but me.

Together, throughout the rest of lunch, they tuck themselves away from either of their parties, lingering on the outskirts of the tables in the cafeteria, away from the chatter and yells of the other students. Adaine smiles at Oisin, and he smiles back, and their hands keep finding ways to tangle together as they eat the horrible school slop, and complain and laugh about how awful it is — together.

After school, when they head to Basrar’s for their first date — and god, does it make Adaine giddy to think about how different this particular trip is from all their other visits before — Adaine’s eyes catch sight of a poster pasted on the wall of the shop.

She slows down, her attention fixated on the colourful poster. Help wanted! it reads, before going into further detail: A part-time job as a server at Basrar’s, with a wage that’s just a bit better than what she got at Oodles of Strudel. It’s rather nicely designed, Adaine observes; there’s even a small cartoon illustration of Basrar himself in the corner, smiling bright, with a speech bubble that says See you at Basrar’s!

A shadow falls over her. “What are you looking at?” Oisin asks, and Adaine turns at his voice, watching him lean in and glance past her shoulder to peer at the poster as well. She watches his eyes dart from side to side, reading through the printed words carefully, before he looks at her, forehead scrunched slightly. “Why were you looking at this?”

“I was just curious,” Adaine says with a dismissive shrug, even as Oisin stares at her. She holds her ground, fighting off the urge to spill the truth, knowing that, deep down, they would get into yet another spat about working jobs. “It’s a change of decor,” she adds, by way of explanation. She’s not wrong, technically; the poster is different, and it wasn’t here the last time she stopped by.

Adaine squeezes Oisin’s hand, changing the subject. “Let’s go sit down, shall we?”

But her attempts to change the subject, to avoid talking about the truth, fail miserably. Because after they’ve sat down in a corner booth and ordered their desserts — with Oisin paying, of course; Adaine has long since learnt not to protest against it — Oisin looks at her and says, “You’re not thinking about getting another job, are you?”

Welp. “And if I am?” replies Adaine, keeping her voice carefully composed.

Oisin’s expression sours, eyes thinning, mouth pulled into a frown. A huff escapes his nostrils. “Why? Money’s not an issue anymore.”

“You’re not wrong,” Adaine concurs, leaning forward with her arms crossed. “The diamonds were the most expensive part of that list. But there’s still all the other materials. Phoenix feathers, troglodyte nuggets, and— like, a stupidly large amount of eggs?” She pauses, racking her brain, before she sighs. “There’s still more. I just can’t remember them right now.”

Amber eyes stare at her, glinting with a powerful intensity. “I can get those for you.”

And this is what I was afraid of, Adaine thinks drily.

She clasps her hands together, steeples her fingers and rests her chin on them. “You know I love you, right, Oisin?” He stares at her, nods along. “And I love that you’re offering all this,” Adaine continues, “but—” She sighs. “Just… let me have some pride, please? I can’t let you provide everything for me.”

“But consider this,” Oisin counters, wagging his finger. “It would be so easy. And—” His voice softens, the way it does when he dips away from playful banter and into tender sincerity, “—it would make me happy.”

A pause.

Adaine buries her head in her hands, stifling a groan. “You—” She drags her hands down her face, glares at Oisin. “You are making this very hard, you know that?”

Oisin sulks. “I just don’t want your time to be eaten up by another pointless job when you could be spending time with me.”

She throws her hands up. “Can we compromise?” Adaine practically pleads, trying to stand her ground against her stupidly generous boyfriend, who keeps lauding money and riches on her, who doesn’t understand that, for however wobbly it makes her, unfamiliar with how cherished it makes her feel, she can’t just— take everything. “Can we compromise on this?”

It takes the greater part of their date to negotiate, to work things out. Oisin is stubborn as all hell, and on more than one occasion, Adaine finds herself sorely tempted to throw in the towel, to concede and just let him win. But something spurs her on, shoves her through that quitter’s mentality; as their spoons clink against ice cream glasses and the table piles up with more and more empty cups, as both of them ignore the notifications beeping from their crystals, ignore the way the clock ticks slowly towards sundown, arguing back and forth about the pros and cons—

(“You know you can come visit me at Basrar’s anytime, right?” Adaine points out at one point, gesturing her spoon about the air, trying to make her point. “It wouldn’t be like my previous job.”

“Counterpoint,” Oisin refutes, causing Adaine to roll her eyes at how obstinate he’s being, “you’d be busy serving people, and you’d be working, and— why do you even have to work at all?”)

They finally reach an agreement.

When the two of them finally walk out of Basrar’s, the sun is melting behind the horizon, night encroaching on the lingering blue skies. Adaine steps out with a part-time job under her belt, working thrice a week at Basrar’s, along with a reluctant agreement to let Oisin pay for whatever else she can’t afford. She had been hoping to prevail — and god, did she try so badly to win this argument — but for whatever reason, Oisin’s words came out stronger.

Still, it’s not a complete loss. She’s not relying completely on Oisin, and she’s not letting him cover everything. Just most of it, her mind reminds her, causing Adaine to wrinkle her nose and mentally swat that thought away. Her fingers entwine with Oisin’s, his hand keeping her steady, and she can’t help it — a laugh spills out. “Some first date this was, huh?” Adaine sighs, turning her head to meet amber eyes. Her lips twist into a wry smile. “We just ended up arguing the whole time.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles. “Somehow, I would expect nothing less from you.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean, hm?”

She still has a few lingering questions in her mind, the most pressing of which is Aelwyn’s message to her when Adaine texted her earlier, while Basrar was calling her sister about Adaine’s qualifications. She had stared at the message, eyes wide — Heard you got a bf. Congrats, dear sister — but no matter how many messages she fired back, asking how Aelwyn learnt about that, and from whom, the only thing she received were a slew of heart reactions to her frantic texts.

But it’s nothing too pressing right now, nothing to concern her mind about. She can grill Aelwyn about it later, or tomorrow — whenever her sister is free.

“Hey.” She blinks at Oisin’s voice, turns to meet his gaze. “I know today… probably didn’t turn out the way we expected,” Oisin says, his voice low, curling into himself, suddenly shy, “but…” He smiles. “I had fun. I really do love you, Adaine.”

That same, powerful affection seizes her. Rising up on tiptoes, Adaine cups Oisin’s cheeks, strokes his scales as she kisses him, short and sweet. “Love you too,” she breathes as she pulls away, chest bursting with warmth as his clawed fingers curl around her hips, digging in slightly.

They share another kiss, one last time, as the last rays of sunlight send dying rays of orange across the horizon. Under the bright, cold lights of Basrar’s parlour, under the few stars that wink in the light-polluted skies above, the two of them melt into each other — young and foolish, and so in love.

She settles into a new normal, a new routine — attending classes, working occasionally at Basrar’s, hanging out with the Bad Kids, and spending time with her boyfriend. Extra emphasis on the last point, though, because with each passing day, Adaine finds herself spending more time with Oisin, the two of them nigh inseparable. They meet whenever they can, whenever Oisin’s party doesn’t need him — before classes, during lunch breaks, after school is done for the day; all of it. Her days are punctuated with stolen moments — Oisin pulling her into an empty classroom, or between two parallel lockers, nipping at the skin along her neck and stealing sweet kisses as she leans into the possessive curl of his claws, mind dizzy with a million whirling thoughts, above which one stands strong: I love you, I love you, I fucking love you.

He visits her on the days she works, curled up in their usual corner booth, ordering ice cream while attending to his assignments. Adaine usually leaves Boggy with him for company, the frog wearing a cute little paper hat, and on more than one occasion, she catches sight of him petting her familiar with a smile on his face, thoroughly distracted from his studies.

Oisin keeps leaving her hefty tips, though, tips large enough to make Basrar’s eyes widen like they’re about to explode. The kindly man keeps insisting that Adaine pocket it all in spite of her offers to split it, which frustrates her a bit. It’s just way too much for her, for the menial task of serving ice cream that she’s doing.

“You really don’t have to keep tipping so much, you know?” Adaine tells him every so often, when she circles back to his table during her breaks.

Oisin lets out an amused huff, one hand resting on Boggy’s head. The paper hat is knocked askew. “Why not? The pretty waitress who takes my orders is doing a fantastic job, don’t you think?”

Her cheeks pink, and she curls her lip, feeling betrayed at the ribbit that Boggy lets out, almost like an agreement. “No word from me,” Adaine mutters, averting her gaze as Oisin laughs.

But she doesn’t complain about the tips, about Oisin’s presence, because as annoyed as she acts, it’s all— well, an act. Adaine likes Oisin’s company, likes seeing a familiar blue dragon in Basrar’s, peering with immense concentration at his notebooks and tomes, the tattoos on his arms rippling as he adjusts his position every so often, reaching up with a hand to readjust his glasses. It’s nice to be able to slide into the chair across from him when she takes her breaks, getting lost in a sea of aimless conversation, smiling until her cheeks ache and her chest feels like it’s exploding with hundreds of colourful fireworks.

It helps that Oisin’s also extremely good at ejecting a particularly troublesome group of customers.

Word must have gotten out somewhere, somehow, that the elven oracle was working a menial job at an ice cream parlour in Elmville, because with each shift she takes, Adaine finds herself accosted by a great many high elves, desiring her to seek visions of their future with impetuous insistence. It’s grating, annoying, and no matter how many people she turns away, telling them in a no-nonsense voice to buy something or get out, they keep coming back. They spin long-winded stories about making long pilgrimages all the way from Fallinel to the supposed mythical ice cream shop of Elmville, Solace, and all Adaine can do is grit her teeth to stop herself from bursting out and saying that all they’re doing is teleporting here in the blink of an eye.

“I’m so fucking sick of them,” Adaine seethes, raking her hand through her hair during one of her breaks on a particularly awful day of work. Basrar is as kind as ever, but the elves barging through the door are not, and there’s an entire tourist group of them here today, bursting through in droves. It hit the point where Basrar had to temporarily close the shop down, allowing only paying customers to stay in and finish their ice creams while he dealt with the unruly, conceited customers outside.

She practically sags into the table, head face-down against the cool surface, biting out an irritated sigh. “Why can’t they just leave me alone?”

“I can kill them for you, if you want,” Oisin offers in-between a bite of ice cream.

His words don’t hit her immediately, uttered so casually and nonchalantly. But when she processes what Oisin said, Adaine raises her head, a grimace coming over her face. “God, I wish,” she sighs, resting her cheek against a fist. “But it would probably spark another diplomacy issue with Fallinel if word got out that all the elves trying to visit the freaking elven oracle got killed.”

Oisin pauses, tapping the end of his spoon against his cheek thoughtfully. “What if they didn’t die?”

That’s how Adaine finds herself peering through the window at her next shift, watching as an earth elemental intercepts an approaching elf — a high elf from Fallinel, from their prim and proper appearance. There’s a short back and forth that Adaine can’t hear, only see from the movement of the high elf’s lips, but just as they begin to open their mouth to argue, eyebrows dipping down in anger, the elemental grabs hold of them and hurls them off into the distance, soaring through the sky.

“And you’re sure this isn’t going to cause any issues with Fallinel, right?” Adaine asks, turning to Oisin, who’s also watching the kerfuffle at her side.

“They’re just being thrown,” Oisin says with a shrug. “They’re probably not going to die.” He sighs. “Basrar let me station these guys here, but he said I could only evict the high elves that weren’t going to buy anything.”

“Well, that makes sense. He does have a business to run.”

The presence of the elementals does make it more bearable to get through work, however, much to Adaine’s relief. She pecks a kiss against Oisin’s cheek by the end of her shift, only needing to deal with as many elves as she could count on one hand. “I guess they really don’t want to buy anything,” she observes by the end of it, as he walks her home from her shift, swinging their hands back and forth. “Which is stupid. I feel like I should get paid if people want me to crank out constant visions.”

Oisin only shrugs, pleased and pacified. “It’s their loss.”

Life is good for a while, however busy it is. But between her shifts at work, her studies at school, and the sheer amount of time she’s spending with Oisin, Adaine’s time with the Bad Kids begins to dwindle, bit by bit, her contact with them reduced to mainly messages and calls in lieu of real life interactions. It’s not for a lack of trying, of course, but everyone’s busy right now — Gorgug’s juggling four years of school along with owlbears, Fabian’s on a popularity quest, Riz is taking every single extracurricular, Kristen is swamped with her presidential campaign while dealing with not having spells, and Fig is grappling with what she actually wants to do in life. They send her updates on their findings, about the Rat Grinders and everything else, and Adaine takes the time to back-read every message they send, regardless of whether it’s stupid, playful arguments, or serious discussions.

The time she does spend with them often ends up with her distracted whenever Oisin drops in to visit her, the giddy, intoxicating addiction of love creeping back in when he pulls her to her feet, and captures her lips in a kiss. But really, can anyone truly blame her for letting Oisin pull her along, unable to resist sweet words and a caring touch, reaching for her soul in a way that nobody else has done before? She smiles gratefully at how supportive Fig and Kristen are, even if Fig’s constant pestering and Kristen’s insistent mentions of sex get on her nerves — but it’s better than the maddening suspicion in Fabian and Riz’s glares each time Oisin stops by, the two of them somehow determined to find anything to hate about him, culminating in a constant back and forth each time the subject of her love life pops up.

“I keep telling you,” Adaine insists, over and over, dragging a hand through tousled blonde hair, “there’s nothing wrong with this.” She’s exasperated, tired to the bone; no matter how hard she tries, Riz and Fabian continue to wrinkle their noses, bringing up, several times, how much they dislike Adaine’s absence. “Like— you guys don’t have an issue with anyone else—”

“Because they’re not monopolising your time,” Riz argues, insistent and determined.

Adaine’s voice rises. “Tracker and Kristen fucked pretty much every day they were together, and yet I’m the one being monopolised?”

That, at least, shuts the both of them up for a bit, embarrassment sinking in as they try to stammer counterarguments. The conversation is shut down in full when Kristen herself leans in lazily, waving her hand about as she says, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure Tracker and I had sex, like, non-stop.” She grins lazily. “God, those were the days.”

“T-That’s different,” Fabian eventually forces out.

“Because Oisin goes here?” Fig interjects swiftly, going in for the kill. “Kinda hard to monopolise someone’s time if you’re not attending the same school.”

“Also, you guys could just visit me at work,” Adaine complains. “So why don’t you just— I don’t know, visit me?”

“Can we stop arguing about this?” Gorgug interjects, pulling his headphones off as he fixes everyone with a stern look. Somehow, that’s all it takes for them to shut up, the argument shelved until another day — until Oisin shows up again, and Riz and Fabian glare bloody daggers at him as he pulls Adaine away, and Adaine has to fight for her fucking life defending the integrity of her boyfriend, and the fact that he just wants to spend time with her, clingy like the dragon he is.

The argument, the discourse, is like an ouroboros eating its own tail. An endless loop, eternally circling, with both sides warring against each other, but neither side ever truly winning.

On the day of the Frostyfaire Folk Festival, Lydia Barkrock drops off a slew of research materials pertaining to the Bakur case, arcane tomes and documents researched by her old party members. All of them are at Mordred except for Gorgug, and Adaine dives right in, casting Comprehend Languages to parse the Giant language, and taking Fig’s offer of a bardic to aid her investigations. Boggy chirps at her from his terrarium, and she gives him a little wave.

Unfortunately for her, when she blows on one of the pages, thousands of dust mites fly into her face, causing her to stumble backwards, hacking and wheezing. All Adaine feels, as she squeezes her eyes shut against the onslaught, is a sharp, sudden pain in her head as she slams against her bunk bed, followed by another massive burst of pain, exploding into the sweet relief of unconsciousness.

When Adaine comes to, groaning as her eyes flutter open, it’s to the ensuing chaos of everyone yelling back and forth — Fabian frantically pointing out how fucking weird all of that was, while Riz’s necktie beeps, scanning Fig with a Detect Good and Evil. Pressing her hand against her head, Adaine pushes herself up from the ground, shutting her eyes against the burst of vertigo that floods her.

“Sorry,” she hears, almost a whisper. She opens her eyes, spots Kristen staring at her with a wobbly smile. “I wish I had my spells right now. Could probably help more that way.”

“‘S fine,” Adaine insists, waving Kristen off. The dizziness is getting less bad with each moment she spends upright, and Adaine thinks she’ll be able to handle this. “I just need a bit,” Adaine says, slumping against the frame of her bed where she sits on the floor, head pressed against the firm structure.

Kristen nods at her before diving back into whatever chaos is ensuing with Fig — a curse, apparently, or at least that’s the theory forming. Adaine massages her temple with one hand, the other resting against her thighs, when, all of a sudden, she hears the telltale blip of her crystal going off. She twists her head, trying to remember through the haze shrouding her mind where she put the damn thing, and upon spotting its familiar case, she scoops it up, turning it on.

Oisin: Good morning <3

Oisin: I miss you

Oisin: Come to my place today?

A small smile slips onto her face at the request, at Oisin’s clinginess. It doesn’t matter how long they spend apart, be it minutes or hours or, on rarer and rarer occasions now, days — Oisin always seems to be missing her every moment they’re not together. It’s a little overwhelming, but Adaine can’t deny the crackling warmth that has taken up a permanent residency in her chest, the loveliness of being wanted.

“What’re you smiling about?” Kristen asks her again, attention momentarily drawn back to Adaine. There’s still a bit of a scuffle happening between Fig and the others, though Riz’s eyes snap over to Adaine at Kristen’s question, alert as always.

Adaine rolls her eyes. “You say that like you don’t already know the answer,” she complains, rewarded by the sight of Kristen breaking into a grin. “Who else could it be?”

“Well, what does ol’ dragon boy want with you now?” Kristen asks, waggling her eyebrows.

Adaine fidgets. “Just to go to his place today,” she eventually says. “That’s all.”

It’s not like this would be the first time Adaine visits Oisin’s home. They’ve been friends for long enough that she has, on occasions, visited him, and he, her. But the frequency of these visits, these hangouts, has only increased after they began dating each other, their newfound relationship made official by the jewellery around Adaine’s hand.

It’s a little strange, reflecting back on things like this. The first time Adaine ever visited Oisin’s home was the summer after freshman year — after she and her friends escaped jail, after Kalvaxus was defeated, and after her parents fucked back off to Fallinel. Oisin stayed in — and still stays in — the same neighbourhood she lived in before her house caught on fire and exploded, a nice little coincidence they found out about early into their friendship. But Adaine hadn’t dared step foot on his lawn until she moved in with Jawbone, lest her parents somehow catch wind that their failure of a daughter was fraternising with a dragonborn boy.

The memories of that first visit are still sweet, resting happily in the archives of her mind. Oisin had led her to his door, trembling with an anxious yet excited energy that caused him to accidentally drop his key. His parents had been out — and this was normal for him, as Adaine later found out; “They’re off most of the time, busy with work,” Oisin had explained a little nervously as Adaine studied a framed photograph of a draconic family of three — and so they’d had the house to themselves, spending the day watching movies together and sharing snacks, laughter filling the air as they lounged on Oisin’s bed.

It’s no different from what they’re doing now, if Adaine’s being entirely honest. There’s just more touching claws, cuddly limbs, and hot, passionate kisses involved.

Kristen leans in, green eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Well, what did you say?”

“I haven’t replied yet.”

“You can’t go anyways,” Riz pipes up stiffly. “We have Frostyfaire, remember?”

Oh, right. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Adaine sighs. “God, that’s right. I must have forgotten.”

“Well, you did just get knocked out,” Fabian points out as he leans back, leaning against his arms. He fixes her with a concerned stare, forehead wrinkling slightly as he asks, “Are you sure you don’t have a concussion, Adaine?”

She furrows her brow. “Probably. I guess.” Adaine pauses, thinking about it a bit more. Her head aches, throbbing slightly. “I don’t know,” she decides eventually, still uncertain, “but I don’t, like— think I have one?”

A beat of silence. Her friends all stare at her.

“Doesn’t matter,” Adaine eventually sighs, turning her crystal back on. “I’ll just… let him know I can’t make it.”

“Ooh, wait!” Fig’s excited voice rings out, and she leans forward, all her earlier anxieties concerning her curse gone, just for a moment. “What if you invited him to Frostyfaire?”

“FIG!” Riz and Fabian both yell, voices colliding together messily as their heads whip in her direction, twin scowls marring their faces.

“What?” Jerking back, Fig wrinkles her lip at them. “Listen, someone’s got to stand with Adaine here! I don’t know what’s with you two, and your grudge against her boyfriend, but—”

“We can’t trust him,” Riz protests.

“It’s not a bad idea though,” Kristen interjects, leaning in. “Adaine gets to spend some time with her boy, while we still get to check out Frostyfaire.” A flash of teeth as she grins. “Problem solved. Two birds with one stone, baby!”

“It’s a horrible idea,” Fabian argues. He gesticulates, stuttering over his words; “I— wh— are we just inviting anyone now?”

“He’s not just anyone, for fuck’s sake—” Adaine grits her teeth, something that’s equal parts defensive and protective flaring up within her, like a shield. “He’s my goddamn boyfriend! Remember?”

“Unfortunately,” Fabian mutters, averting his eye away from Adaine’s scowl.

Riz slams his fist down against the ground. “I thought we were supposed to be investigating the Faire!” he fires back. His tail lashes from side to side, and Adaine swears he’s going to start hissing any minute, pent-up as he is with such stubborn objection. “Ruben’s band is playing there, the Rat Grinders might be up to something— this isn’t the time for a date—”

Adaine’s voice is cold. “Going by that logic, then,” she utters, narrowing her eyes at Riz, “isn’t it better if Oisin is there? You know, because he’s a Rat Grinder himself?”

Riz jerks back, eyes blown wide. “That’s—”

“No, wait,” Fig breathes, butting in. “Adaine’s right. If she gets Oisin to go there— they’re friends, right? Or at the very least, they’re a party. So maybe they’ll talk, and maybe something will slip—”

“And I can always ask Oisin about it after,” Adaine concludes, with a smug smile. “Loose lips sink ships, and all that.” Raising her head, she turns her nose up at Riz and Fabian. “So how about that, huh?”

Both boys stare at each other, twin expressions of some emotion Adaine can’t pinpoint briefly shadowing their faces. But before either of them can speak, can open their mouths to protest with some lame, feeble excuse for why she shouldn’t invite Oisin to join her at Frostyfaire — Seriously, Adaine bristles, as Kristen reaches out to pat her on her shoulder, what is it with their goddamn suspicions?! — there’s the sound of footsteps thumping against the stairs, before the doorknob turns.

The hinges squeak as the door opens inwards. “Hey,” Gorgug breathes, hurrying in to join the rest of them. “Sorry for the wait. I, uh—” His cheeks flush with a muddying hue, blood rising underneath his green skin. “I don’t really wanna talk about it,” Gorgug finishes, voice flat. He’s flustered, a little sweaty, but with his arrival comes a distraction — Fig is immediately swept away in poking and prodding Gorgug about his morning, while Riz begins filling him in on what they’ve done, and Fabian moves over so Gorgug has somewhere to sit.

She hears a breath against her ear. “C’mon girlie,” Kristen whispers, drawing out the syllables so it sounds like a hiss. Adaine stifles a laugh, ducks her head to avoid Kristen’s ticklish breath. “Send it, send it—”

“Alright!” Adaine whispers back, shoving Kristen lightly. “Just— get off of me!”

Kristen winks. “I’ll distract ‘em,” she promises, before she crawls forward, back to the absolute mess of tomes and documents spread across Adaine’s floor, leaving Adaine by herself, leaning against her bed, her crystal in her clammy hands.

There are a few more messages waiting for her as she unlocks her crystal, opening the app.

Oisin: You there?

Oisin: Oh wait you just went offline

Oisin: I hope you get back soon

Adaine: i’m here!! sorry

Adaine: the bad kids are here and we’re doing some party stuff. got distracted for a bit talking

Oisin: Ah yeah, I see

Oisin: Party matters come first?

Adaine: yeaaahhh you know how it is

Adaine: unfortunately i can’t come over today. we’re heading to frostyfaire. but!!

Adaine: do you wanna meet me there?

She sends off the last message and waits, heart catching in her throat. Adaine watches the screen intently, her attention pricked — watches Oisin come online, the ellipses-filled bubble popping up, before fading, and then reappearing. Her friends’ voices melt into the background, their findings as they dig through the documents no longer as important to her as this one reply. Her head still aches slightly, the remnants of that earlier injury.

She holds her breath, until a reply comes through.

Oisin: I’d love to!

A sigh of such utter relief escapes from her, drawing the attention of her friends. As multiple eyes land on her again, studying her closely, Adaine flushes. “Just— ignore me,” she insists, as she types out a reply — fills Oisin in on when they’re probably heading over, where the place is. Which, she realises just moments later, is probably stupid, because it’s not like the festival details are obscure; a quick search online will probably reveal everything. Beyond that, Oisin’s party member is playing there, and they’re all suspecting them of doing something, so why is she even—

Burying her face in her hands, Adaine lets out a haggard groan. “Ignore me,” she says again, tossing her crystal to the side with that last message sent, her heart hammering against her chest. She’s an utter fool in love, any composure lost, any shred of common sense thrown aside. Moving forward, Adaine readies Comprehend Languages again, running her hands across the texts written in Giant, translations springing to mind. “Let’s just focus on this,” she says, pointedly avoiding everyone else’s gazes. “Okay? Okay.”

She bites her lip as Riz and Fabian’s eyes linger on her for just a bit longer, scrutinising and sharp.

“Woah,” Adaine breathes, her steps slowing to a stop as they arrive at the Thistlespring Tree. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people here before.”

Gorgug’s neighbourhood of Little Branch is usually, in Adaine’s own words, quaint. It’s a quieter corner of Elmville, with quite a sizeable number of gnome and halfling families, and in contrast to some of the more suburban areas of town, where rows of identical, two-storey houses line up like soldiers along the streets, identical with their manicured lawns, here, nature runs wilder — lush greenery blooming everywhere, with houses carved from trees and mushrooms and mounds of dirt.

Whenever Adaine visits, it’s usually tranquil, peaceful. Even the frequent banging and clanging of Gorgug’s parents’ tinkering adds to the calm, more atmospheric than it is distracting. There’s plenty of space along fields of grass, and, at night, the stars shine brighter here than the other corners of town. But today is different — massive throngs of festival-goers mill about, laying on picnic mats, setting up tents, playing music and dancing and mingling with each other. Strings of lights wink from the trees, casting the area in a pleasant sunny glow, and a steady stream of music trickles out from the speakers set up near the stage.

“It’s kinda overwhelming,” Gorgug admits as they all make their way into the festival together, moving as one. He wrinkles his nose at some nearby objects, covered by large tarps. “Don’t touch those,” Gorgug warns, pointing them out.

“Why?” Kristen asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out. You don’t either.”

“I’m going on ahead,” Riz announces, out of nowhere. Before anyone can say anything, he disappears in the blink of an eye, stealthing away into the crowd. Adaine hears an annoyed noise from Fabian — “Come on, the Ball,” he hisses under his breath, “we’re supposed to be a team!” — but none of them protest, really, mainly because they can’t. When Riz goes into stealth mode, he’s nigh impossible to spot — light-footed and silent, quieter than a scampering mouse.

As they ease into the festival, peering around while making their way through the crowd, Fig runs a hand through her hair, fiery sparks of magic winking as she takes on a disguise. In the span of seconds, the tiny, petite form of Wanda Childa stares at the rest of them, blinking her big eyes, thick with layers of eyeliner. “I’m gonna go hide in the crowd,” she announces, flashing a Fig-like grin as she begins walking backwards. “Don’t wanna be spotted with y’all if you run into Ruben!”

“Don’t touch the tarps!” Gorgug shouts after her, as Fig scurries away.

It’s easier to move around with only four of them left. As Fabian makes a face at the food options, pulling out his crystal to open a delivery app, Adaine cranes her neck, glancing left and right. She knows Oisin is here, because he texted her while she was on the way, saying he’d arrived, that he couldn’t wait to see her again, but his directions of I’m near this big tree aren’t very helpful, given just how many trees there are around here.

She feels a tap on her shoulder. Turning her head, Adaine looks up at Gorgug. “Hey,” he whispers. There’s a small smile on his face as he points off into the distance. “There’s your boyfriend.”

Sure enough, when Adaine turns her head that way, she spots a familiar, blue-scaled dragon standing near a group of ancient druids who are lingering around a treant. He’s talking to one of the druids, attention wholly focused on the conversation, and Adaine’s heart skips a beat at the sight of him. Instinctively, she brushes her hand against her bracelet, tracing the edges of the jewels with her thumb.

“Thanks,” she whispers to Gorgug, who merely gives her a nod. Briefly, Adaine steals a glance at Fabian — hunched over his crystal with Kristen, the two of them bickering over what takeout to order and send here in lieu of the hay-filled festival food. Raising her hand, Adaine pats Gorgug’s arm. “Cover for me for a bit, will you? Fabian’s going to be really annoyed when he sees Oisin.”

“I got you,” Gorgug assures with another nod, and Adaine grins. If there’s anyone she can trust, it’s Gorgug — steady, reliable, a grounding force in the sea of chaos lashing about their group on the regular. He doesn’t have any particular stake in this stupid, petulant back-and-forth between Riz and Fabian and the rest of the Bad Kids, and Adaine is eternally grateful to him for that.

With cautious, stealthy steps, Adaine slips away, weaving through the crowd carefully. As she draws closer, Oisin’s expression becomes clearer — there’s a slight wrinkle to his forehead, and his tail twitches every so often, the spines along them pricked up. He’s so distracted by the conversation — And who is this druid, actually? Adaine wonders, studying their moss-covered skin closely, the ancient lines etched into their skin — that he doesn’t notice her until she’s practically right next to him.

Reaching out, she wraps her hand around his arm, squeezing tight. “Hey,” Adaine greets, smiling as Oisin’s head snaps to the side, seemingly startled.

Oisin’s slitted pupils dilate in an instant, all the tension in his body loosing. A big smile spreads across his face, fangs poking out, and as he pulls her into a sweeping, crushing hug, swinging her up into the air as laughter spills from her lips, Adaine notices his tail begin to wag, the thunderous trill building in his throat. “Hey Adaine,” he breathes. “I missed you.”

“You always miss me,” she points out, but she’s smiling, laughing, craning her neck slightly as a snout nuzzles into the crook of her neck, equal parts affectionate and greedy. “I’m glad you came, though. Um—” Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Adaine adds, “Not that this place is usually my scene, but like…” God, her words are failing her, carefully thought out sentences reduced to a jumbled mess of alphabets with the claws and teeth all over her. “I don’t know,” she finally says. “It’s just nice to see you here.”

Oisin pulls back, smiling. “I’m glad you invited me.”

She reaches out to peck a kiss against his snout, stifling a laugh at his confused blink. “Mind letting me down now?”

He pouts. “I don’t want to.”

“My friends are here,” Adaine sighs. “It’d be a little embarrassing if they noticed.” Shifting slightly, she cranes her head back, just enough to catch a glimpse of her friends off in the distance — Fabian and Kristen, still at it with their argument, although now joined by Gorgug, who appears to be their tiebreaker. She can’t hear them from afar, but Adaine can practically imagine it in her head, can all but hear their voices — both Fabian and Kristen pleading their cases as to why they should get this particular takeout, or that specific delivery, leaving Gorgug as judge, jury, and executioner, the deciding factor for what meal they’ll eat instead of the weird, raw festival foods.

From the looks of it, Kristen’s scrunched up face and Fabian’s triumphant smirk, Fabian seems to be winning.

The arms around her tighten slightly — not enough to hurt, but just enough that she senses the pressure, the gentle dip of claws, digging into her body. “So I can’t cuddle my girlfriend?” Oisin huffs. “I can’t carry her in my arms so everyone knows she’s mine?”

She’s burning, face hot, probably red all over. Wrapping her arms around Oisin’s shoulders, Adaine exhales. “Riz and Fabian would probably skewer you if they heard that.” Nevermind the fact that heat pools inside her at those possessive words, some part of her, deep down, preening prettily at such a blatant show of devotion.

“Let them! I’m not afraid of them.”

You really should be, Adaine thinks, biting back a wry smile. She hasn’t seen Oisin in battle before, so she can’t gauge his prowess properly, but for all his strength, Adaine knows, with perhaps some pride, that the Bad Kids are plenty capable of handling their own. They’ve killed diabolical dragons, nightmarish gods, creatures of the depths of night — what’s one dragonborn going to do against one of Fabian’s graceful attacks, against the sharp humming of Gorgug’s axe?

She feels a pair of eyes digging holes into her skin. Turning her neck, Adaine meets the gaze of the druid Oisin was talking to earlier. She fidgets under their stare, shifts in Oisin’s hold. “But really, could you let me down now?”

“Yeah, Oisin,” the druid says, “why don’t you let her down?” There’s an impish, teasing quality to their voice, causing Oisin to stiffen, and before long, Adaine’s feet are planted firmly on the ground, although a clawed hand still rests on her shoulder, nails curled into the fabric of her jacket. Narrowing his eyes, Oisin flicks his fingers, firing a Dispel Magic spell at the druid. In a flash, magic winking away into thin air, the druid is gone, leaving Ruben Hopclap standing in their place.

The gnome rolls his eyes. “Killjoy.”

“You’re one to talk,” Oisin replies sharply.

“Eh, doesn’t matter.” Tilting his head at her, Ruben flashes her a lazy smile. “Ruben Hopclap. Though I bet you already know me.”

“Oh,” Adaine utters — memories of that first day of school, of listening to a blonde-haired bitch brag about her teammates, come to mind, along with Fig’s vicious insistence that something is up with Ruben. “Yes, I do.”

“No thanks to this guy though, I’m betting.” Nudging Oisin’s arm, Ruben laughs wryly. “God, Kipperlilly was pissed off when you didn’t recognise her.” Now that makes Adaine laugh, raising her hand to cover her mouth. “That was a killer move, if I say so myself.”

“Why, thank you!” She grins. “So, why were you disguising yourself? Probably ‘cause you’re a celebrity, right?”

Ruben flashes a grin. “Yeah, you got it. I’m a little bit too famous, so I kinda like to put on a disguise and wander.”

Adaine hm’s. “I feel like that’s just not the vibe of this festival, though.”

“Also, it’s not like you’ve got any fans around here,” another voice interrupts out of nowhere. Adaine turns to see Kristen wandering over, flashing a lazy smile and a peace sign at all of them. “‘Sup, Adaine, Oisin.” Oisin nods tersely at Kristen, though Adaine doesn’t miss the way his grip on her shoulder tightens when Fabian joins them too, Gorgug trailing a bit behind. “Anyways,” Kristen continues, eyes flashing as she stares at Ruben. Despite the smile painting her lips, there’s a sharp glint in her eyes, and Adaine settles back, waiting for what’ll come next. “You’ve got at least one fan attending today.” Lowering her voice, she whispers, “I heard a rumour that Wanda Childa’s gonna be in the crowd.”

The effect is instantaneous. Ruben jerks back, eyes bulging comically wide. His entire body tenses, rigid, trembling with adrenaline. “W-Wanda Childa?” he echoes, voice wavering, uncertain, hopeful. “Are you for real?”

“Yep,” Kristen says, popping the ‘p’ as she winks at Ruben. Jerking her thumb over her shoulder, she adds, “I’m preeetty sure she’s off somewhere in the crowd right now. I heard she wanted to take a lil’ look-see around.” Kristen hesitates, pausing for dramatic effect, and Adaine bites her lip at just how desperate Ruben looks, leaning in, clinging to Kristen’s every word. “Don’t tell her I told you this…” Kristen begins again, slow and steady, every word enunciated carefully, “but I’m pretty sure she’s here for you.”

Ruben practically explodes. He inhales sharply, straightening up, but even as he does so, he’s trembling with energy, unable to stay rooted in place. “E-Excuse me,” he forces out awkwardly, “I think I gotta go now.”

And without another word, without even looking back, the gnome takes off — darting into the thick of the crowd, voice pitched, desperately searching for someone he barely knows.

Kristen leans back, a smug, catlike smile resting on her face. “Got ‘em.”

Fabian splutters. “Kristen, wh— what was that for?”

“We like to do a little trolling around here,” Kristen says with a laugh. Fabian gawks at her, and Adaine does too, thinking back to Fig’s insistence on disappearing for a bit, to wait for the right time to flash Ruben with her Wanda Childa disguise and then pounce.

She hears a confused noise. “You guys know Wanda Childa?” Oisin asks, face furrowed in bewilderment, eyes darting around the four of them. Adaine sees the moment it hits Kristen — that Oisin does not know what they do, does not know that Wanda Childa is, in fact, Figueroth Faeth, and that he could very well give up the whole jig if any of them let that fact slip.

But Kristen salvages this mess, despite briefly freezing in place, despite the anxiety that flashed through her eyes. “Yep!” she says readily, breezing through like she wasn’t just about to collapse into panic — and Adaine admires that, because even with the passage of time, with therapy and talks with Jawbone and Boggy’s presence and the help of medication, if she was caught red-handed in something like this, there’s a high chance she would have simply clammed up. “She’s a friend of a friend. We got to talk to her, like, a while back.”

“I helped her with her podcast,” Gorgug interjects.

“I financed it,” Fabian adds.

“I… listen to it,” Adaine chips in, wincing at how artificial her voice sounds.

A beat of silence.

“That’s… coincidental,” Oisin eventually says, eyes darting between all of them. But his shoulders have relaxed, and the confusion that clouded his eyes has dissipated, and Adaine can breathe a sigh of relief. “Ruben’s been talking non-stop about her since the first day of school. He’s been going insane trying to find anything about her.” A short laugh; “Of course, none of us actually believed she existed, because we couldn’t find anything, but… I guess we were wrong?”

“Well, you know how it is,” Kristen replies smoothly, waving her hand as though she were flourishing her words. “Sometimes people just prefer staying off the grid and all that. Social media rots your brain, or whatever.”

As Oisin leans back with a satisfied nod, the Wanda Childa situation finally resolved, a strained silence sinks in, tension stretched taut over them. Fabian’s lips thin, pressed tightly together, and as he glares at Oisin, he crosses his arms. Oisin narrows his eyes in return, his tail stiffening, spines and fins standing on end.

In a matter of seconds, the tension becomes tangible, thick and suffocating. Adaine’s eyes flit between Fabian and Oisin, Oisin and Fabian, her throat drying at the wordless war being waged between the two of them. A lump forms in her throat; she chokes it back down, clears her throat with an ahem. “Well,” Adaine begins, somewhat awkwardly, searching for anything to break the awful, all-encompassing stress in the air. “Okay, uh—”

A squeak escapes her lip as, all of a sudden, a strong, muscular arm wraps around her tightly. Oisin pulls Adaine against the side of his chest, fingers digging into her arm, and, as she stands there, her mind working overtime to hurtle past the way the action leaves her feeling weak and wobbly, something coils around her leg. A cursory glance down reveals the end of Oisin’s tail wrapped around her ankle, and as she raises her head, a quick glance around reveals she’s not the only one who notices.

Fabian’s hands are balled into fists, hanging by his side. He grits his teeth, and when he speaks, every word is tightly drawn, like a piece of string being pulled to its breaking point. “Do you— have to hold Adaine like that?”

“Well, she is my girlfriend, Seacaster,” Oisin purrs in return. Distantly, Adaine hears Kristen’s voice going “Ooh. Damn, he hit him with the surname,” but she can’t tear her gaze away from— from whatever the fuck is happening right now. “I think I’m entitled to holding her close to me, if I want.”

Right now, caught between hostile stares, Adaine feels— a lot of things, a lot of conflicting, warring emotions: There’s a curl of pleasure and happiness, the same one she always feels whenever Oisin holds her, whenever he’s openly affectionate with her, but it’s quickly overpowered by frustration and humiliation, her skin aflame as her friend and boyfriend fight a silent war amidst themselves, without sparing a single thought for what Adaine herself wants.

As she sees Fabian’s eyebrows press down into a scowl, as she feels Oisin’s arm curl around her tighter, Adaine thinks, Fuck this.

“Can you guys— not fight?” Struggling away from Oisin’s hold, Adaine manages to break free, stumbling a little ways from her boyfriend. She ignores the bite of pity that nips at her as she catches sight of his surprised expression, a flicker of hurt crossing his eyes. Raking a hand through her hair, Adaine sighs. “I didn’t come out here to get fought over. I can handle myself.” Those last few words are directed at Fabian, an icy stare shot his way. Seriously, Adaine grumbles internally, ignoring Fabian’s annoyance and reaching out to grab Oisin’s hand instead, why can’t they just trust me?

She forces herself to take a deep breath. “As for you,” Adaine says drily, shooting a hard stare at Oisin, “it would be nice if we could go one interaction without you goading my friends.” This isn’t the first time this has happened; there have been several occasions, while Adaine had been spending time with Oisin at school, or just outside of school, when one of her friends stumbled upon them. Even with someone like Fig or Kristen, who would flash her a supportive thumbs-up and a grin as they back away, Oisin would still get agitated, biting out a snarl. And frankly? Adaine’s getting a bit sick of it.

For what it’s worth, despite initially opening his mouth to protest, Oisin shuts up pretty quickly. His tail droops, and as he averts his gaze, Adaine hears a soft, muttered, “Sorry.”

It’s not a lot, that one word, but it satisfies her just enough. She squeezes his hand, a slight reassurance; some semblance of sympathy blooms within her, intertwined with the knowledge she’s been holding onto since Oisin’s confession — those draconic instincts, the urge to hold and have and claim something as his. “Come on,” she tells him, a soft smile overcoming her. “Let’s go look around.”

Raising her voice, she glances back at her friends. Fabian pointedly avoids her gaze, but both Kristen and Gorgug look over as she calls their names. “I’m gonna go off with Oisin for a bit,” Adaine says. “Just text me if you need anything, alright?”

“You got it!” Kristen shouts back, grinning as she flashes an okay sign at her with one hand. Gorgug only nods before he turns back to Fabian, both their backs turned to Adaine as they converse in hushed tones.

Adaine bites back a sigh as Oisin begins to lead her away, her eyes lingering on Fabian’s form. Equal parts frustration and confusion well within her, only to be batted away by Oisin’s voice as he squeezes her hand, leaning in to talk to her. “So. What first?”

Shoving those thoughts and feelings away for later, Adaine smiles up at him. “I don’t know. I guess we could just walk around?”

“Fine by me.” As Oisin leans in to press a kiss against her forehead, Adaine lets out a laugh, squirming slightly under the affectionate display. It’s sweet, enticing, intoxicating, and as she lets herself get swept up in that unrivalled affection, skin tingling with electricity at all these little touches dancing along her skin—

Adaine fails to notice the way Oisin looks back, ever so briefly, at the rest of her friends, lip curling with an emotion she does not see.

The thing is—

Frostyfaire isn’t Adaine’s thing. It’s not a festival she would have voluntarily gone to if she had to pick for herself. There’s too many people, and it’s too slow — music circling through the air, people laughing and dancing, food being passed around that she wrinkles her nose at. Even the… faster-paced parts of the fair aren’t to her fancy; her face flushes with embarrassment as a nearby tent practically shakes, all but yanking Oisin in the complete opposite direction, irregardless of where it actually goes.

“I’m not going back there,” Adaine mutters, as Oisin laughs. The raspy cadence of it soothes her, pulls her back from awful thoughts of whatever delirious acts must be happening in there. Shaking her head, Adaine sighs. “God. What the hell.”

“I don’t know, Adaine.” She can hear the smirk in Oisin’s voice, the egging tone. “Could be a fun time.”

“Yeah,” Adaine says drily, “it sure could. And so could be me breaking up with you.”

But even if the Frostyfaire Folk Festival isn’t her thing, it doesn’t give fucking Principal Grix, robotic piece of shit that he is, any right to crash the party. It doesn’t give him the right to come swooping in in the midst of Ruben’s song, crackling with electricity as his booming voice fills the air, and it certainly doesn’t give him any right to sic a bunch of sex machines on them on Gorgug’s lawn!

The minute Grix rolls in, chanting something about perfect order, Adaine doesn’t even think. A dangerous buzzing engulfs the air as Grix sticks his finger out, preparing to fire a spell at Ruben — panic-stricken, still standing on stage. In a flash, on pure instinct alone, Adaine throws her hand up, firing off a Counterspell. Grix’s Disintegrate spell bounces off of it like light bouncing off a mirror, and Adaine can’t help but punch the air in triumphant glee.

Her elation quickly shrivels as Grix’s head rotates around, though, firing a deathly glare in her direction.

“You ready?” she calls to Oisin as her hand reaches for the hilt of her blade. In one quick movement, Adaine yanks her sword from its sheath; the Sword of Sight hums in her hand, brimming with arcane energy. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Oisin whip his spellbook out from its leather holster, pages flapping in the winds that have kicked up around them. He gives her a terse nod, a dangerous bolt striking through his eyes.

She runs her free hand across her belt — her pouch of spell components, the Spindle of Fate, everything she could possibly need tied snugly against her waist. She’s a little less prepared than she would have liked to be, but not as unprepared as she was at the synod mall. Taking a deep breath, Adaine opens her eyes, sets her steely gaze upon the crackling form of Principal Grix, levitating above. I can do this.

Fighting is a second instinct to her after everything she’s been through — all the battles she’s fought throughout her years at Aguefort, all the times she’s battled by the Bad Kids’ sides. Her mind works quick, no longer bogged down by panic the way it was in freshman year. None of us can fly, Adaine thinks, narrowing her eyes at Grix. An idea forms in her mind, materialising, when—

“ADAINE!”

Sharp metal pierces through her as the lawnmower comes revving in, front blades whirring. Adaine stumbles back, hissing as pain explodes in her arm, a nasty gash tearing through the denim of her jacket, the fabric of her shirt sleeve, slicing her flesh below. Instinctively, her other hand flies up to press against the wound, and her fingers come back stained with blood.

“I’m okay,” she insists shakily as Oisin comes into view. His amber eyes are blown wide and he rushes in, claws touching her all over with desperation. “I’ll be fine,” she assures, seeing the panic in his eyes. “I—”

“You’re hurt,” he breathes. “You— I should have stopped it—”

“Save the moping for later, okay?” She reaches up quickly, presses a kiss against his mouth, and when Adaine pulls her hand back, there’s a smear of her blood against Oisin’s scales. Swallowing down the pain that throbs through her body, Adaine sheathes her sword, eyes narrowing as she surveys the scene. “I’ve got an idea. Do you trust me?”

“Always.”

She grips his arm, fingers curling in. “I need you to make an air ele—”

A resounding boom cuts off her words as, all of a sudden, a frost spell that had been hurtling her way is swiftly parried, countered in a crackling wave of electricity and thunder. Oisin raises his head, a snarl spilling from his lips, and Adaine swiftly puts two and two together, eyes widening as her heart skips a beat — Oisin countered that spell away from her, did it before she even realised it was coming. “Fuck off!” he howls, sounding the angriest Adaine’s ever heard him be — ozone crackles around him, and his very words seem to vibrate through the air.

In the sky, Grix narrows his metallic eyes. “Expulsive vulgarities against an authority figure,” he prattles off, anger underlining his words. “This shall not stand.”

Before Oisin can yell again, can make this any worse, Adaine grabs him, pulling him in. “You need to make me an air elemental,” she says hurriedly, rushing through the words. Her mouth curves into a grin. “That’s your specialty, isn’t it?” Her fingers curl into the muscle of his arm, grasping him close. “Make me proud.”

Like a bolt of lightning flashing through the skies, Oisin moves — pulling back from Adaine, mirroring the grin that stretches across her own face. The tattoos along his arms glow, blue light paling into the hot white of electricity. Whirling whips of wind come together, circling and circling to form the humanoid body of an air elemental, whose gusts of air sweep across Adaine’s face. “Listen to Adaine,” Oisin commands, pointing at her; the elemental turns, its head bobbing in recognition. “Whatever she says, obey it.”

Darting forward, Adaine pecks a quick kiss against Oisin’s cheek, grinning like a madman. “Thank you,” she says sweetly. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

The sound of screaming jerks her out of her reverie. Turning on her heel, Adaine watches as a Wanda Childa-disguised Fig and Gorgug burst into the sky, Fig’s shrill shriek filling the air as she begins to hurtle towards the ground.

With one, sweeping motion of his battle-sheet, Fabian casts Feather Fall, slowing Fig and Gorgug’s descent, and in a matter of seconds, Gorgug smashes his axe into Grix’s body, hitting twice while one of his contraptions attacks. As Gorgug begins to tumble towards the ground, Grix turns his attention towards him, fully preoccupied, beams of lightning striking in Gorgug’s direction.

Now!

Darting forward, Adaine vaults onto the back of the air elemental, ignoring the startled yell from nearby. “Take me to him,” she orders, lowering her voice so as to not grab Grix’s attention, pointing at the robot in the sky. The elemental nods, taking to the air swiftly, and as she clings to its back, she reaches inside her for her magic, channelling all her power into a spell she knows all too well.

Her fist bursts to life, thrumming with such potent arcane energy. Unable to suppress her grin, Adaine bunches her muscles, readying herself as the elemental draws closer and closer with each ticking second, drawing nearer to Grix’s back, the robot completely distracted. And when she’s close enough to see the bolts in his body, the lines that show where all the metal parts come together to form his shape—

Grix’s head swivels around in a 180, but it’s too late.

With a sharp, ear-splitting yell, Adaine leaps off of the air elemental, and slams her fist forward into Grix’s body.

Time seems to slow in that very instant, her fist connecting with golden metal. Power throbs underneath her skin, burned into her knuckles, her fingers, her bones and muscle — every inch of her balled hand. Adrenaline pumps through her veins as she watches nuts and bolts burst loose, Grix’s voice stuttering as his jaw disconnects — and before she knows it, Grix has hurtled off into the sky, flying far and wild, like a ball of gold spinning and spinning somewhere far away.

The satisfaction that floods her veins is all the satisfaction she gets before gravity hits. With a startled shriek, her mind comes back to her, fear quickly overtaking the burst of giddying excitement as she begins to fall. All Adaine can do is watch as she hurtles down, down, down, the ground rising up to meet her, and as she squeezes her eyes shut, all she can hope is please don’t hurt too much, please, please—

She crashes into strong arms, hears a loud groan as gravity yanks both her and her saviour to the ground. Gasping, Adaine sucks in a breath, forcing her breathing back under control as she lies against the ground, tangled up in familiar blue scales, a winding tail.

Wide, amber eyes dart into view as Oisin pushes himself upright. Crouching over Adaine, he trembles slightly, a quiver rippling through his muscles. “Never do that again,” he breathes raspily, claws grasping her all over, as though checking for any injuries despite the dirt that stains Oisin’s own clothes, the patches of bruises along his arms and legs where scales have been torn off. “Holy shit, Adaine, y-you—”

“PERFECT! ORDER!” Grix’s booming voice resounds through the air once more, though more jittery and corrupted than before. Jerking her head back, Adaine stares as a battered looking Grix flies back into view, twitching and jolting uncontrollably every so often, exposed wires peeking out of his chest, sparks flying from his jaw and neck. His eyes circle downwards, meeting Adaine’s own, and Adaine can’t help but flip the bird at him, a wicked sneer splitting her face. “Y-You will— will pay for t-that,” Grix utters, voice jittering, raising a finger to point directly at her.

“Want me to punch you again?” Adaine goads, magic flaring along her fist as she raises her hand threateningly.

Instead of replying, Grix only points his finger at the nearby dryer — and when had that gone down, Adaine wonders? — which jerks back to life. Stumbling to her feet, Adaine presses her back against Oisin’s, eyes scanning around the battered lawn to keep track of the current situation. Her heart sinks at the sight of Fabian, Fig and Gorgug all stunned and down, despite efforts being made by Gorgug’s parents to help them.

“Get ready,” Adaine breathes, reaching for her sword as several gadgets encroach on them, whirring and jittering as they stomp closer. She hears a huff in return, feels the end of Oisin’s tail brush against the back of her legs, as if to say you don’t even need to ask.

It’s all a whirlwind — dodging some attacks, failing to dodge others and taking nasty hits across her arms, her chest. At one point, a cool, velvety twilight sweeps past her, curling around her wounds and stitching together muscle and skin; when Adaine turns her head, she watches Kristen lower her staff, her last spell slot fizzling out. A momentary flash of uncertainty crosses her freckled face before she turns, setting her sights on the vulture, of all things, but Adaine can’t keep her focus on Kristen any longer than that, not when another attack comes flying her way.

As she pulls back, blood dripping down her skin, Adaine can’t help but grin — grin at Oisin, battered and bruised, but still sticking by her side. “Can you believe this is the first time we’ve ever fought together?”

Oisin blinks at her, before understanding flashes through his eyes. He returns the smile. “And you are every bit the incredible wizard I know you to be.”

She wants to laugh freely, to return the affection, to reach up and cup Oisin’s cheeks and kiss him, bloodied and aching, in the thick of battle, sanguine smeared all over the blue scales of his face. The temptation isn’t helped by the fact that doing so would be a massive fuck you to Principal Grix — yelling “Hey asshole! Watch this!” before making out, sloppy style, with her boyfriend, all for the sake of stomping on Grix’s body, killing him in more ways than just physical.

But Adaine does none of those things.

A shiver ripples down her spine, something different tearing through the air, like a disturbance to the fabric of time, to the strings of fate. Intuitively, she reaches out to it, latches on to it, and she sees—

(Riz, golden eyes blown wide as Grix fires a spell at him. His expression goes slack, pupils glossing over, a spell successfully struck. The magic humming through the air is potent, but Adaine recognises it; it is similar to Dominate Person, yet worse in some intuitive way she cannot explain.

Dominate Monster, she realises, watching as Riz is completely stripped of his agency, waiting for a command while a battle rages around him, seemingly endless.)

Her sword clatters to the ground.

Hand flying to her belt, yanking the Spindle of Fate out of its holster, Adaine whirls around — just in time to see Riz cowering against the ground, face stricken by such uncharacteristic fear, as Grix raises his hand. Magic crackles from his fist, from the words breaking forth from his open jaw — a spell Adaine saw hitting her best friend, a spell she saw taking effect.

Not on my watch.

In a blast of magic, of pure clarity and foresight, like a rushing wave of the clearest river water, Adaine fires off a Twist of Fate. The red thread, like a string of fate, unravels from the hilt of the wand as magic blasts off the tip of the spindle, a trail of red whipping in the wind. Riz’s failure to avoid the attack, to avoid the spell, is remade in the blink of an eye; the Dominate Monster bounces off of him, fizzling out before residual magic even hits the ground.

Her legs shake where she stands. Her chest heaves as she chokes down a deep breath, trying to get her racing heart under control. Yellow eyes whip up in her direction; Riz stares at her, shock melting into gratitude, mouth curling to whisper a silent thank you. In a flash, he vanishes, stealthing away on silent steps—

Leaving Grix to turn towards Adaine instead, metallic joints practically popping out of place with fury.

“You.” His voice thunders, crackling through the air, and Adaine winces. “Adaine Abernant. Of a-all the Bad Kids, I e-expected the least tomfoolery from— from y-you.”

“Well you thought wrong!” she yells, throwing her arms wide. “What the fuck did you expect, rocking up here and trying to kill us?”

Grix’s head, limbs, all of him jerks unevenly, twitching and juddering, as though his body were glitching out in real time. “Y-You have trifled with— trifled w-with me for the last time,” he stutters, every word a grating, electrified mess. Adaine narrows her eyes, dropping to the ground to grab her sword, to prepare for whatever comes next. “Dissidents must be p-punished in accordance with the bylaws of the Aguefort Ad— Ad— Adventuring Academy.”

And as Grix utters those final few words—

Multiple things happen at once.

Grix points his twitching finger at her, a beam of bright light coagulating at the tip.

Oisin flings his hand up, claws crackling with a Counterspell, his tail slamming against the ground.

And… feathers.

Adaine blinks.

Feathers?

She twists her head, eyes widening at the sight of feathers flurrying around her, brushing past her at a speed that leaves lashes against her clothes, against the exposed parts of her skin. In barely any time at all, a tornado of black and brown engulfs her, forcing her to stumble backward, boots hitting the mud-stomped ground, until—

Until she’s not standing on anything anymore.

Her legs catch against thin air and she’s tumbling down, down, down, a scream erupting from her lips as she crashes through whirling feathers, ears filled with naught but the endless cries of birds hawking into the air. The last thing she sees as she falls is Oisin’s face, as his head whips around, pure panic splattered across his expression — eyes wide, pupils slitted, mouth agape, terrified in a way she’s never seen before. He reaches for her, claws outstretched—

And then Adaine hits the nest of the Vulture Dimension with a hard crack, collapsing into unconsciousness.

She doesn’t stay down for long.

Adaine gets back up quickly, head swimming as she looks around. The rest of the Bad Kids are here with her, and she hurries to join them as they work together to break Fabian, Fig, and Gorgug out of their stunned states. Just as they come out of it, though, they’re swiftly thrust into solving a riddle by a grotesquely massive nightmare of a vulture, proclaiming itself as the Vulture King.

All of them get time to break free from their stuns, their conditions, to get their bearings, and as they answer the Vulture King’s riddle correctly — Seriously, what kind of a riddle is multiple-choice with only two answers? — they get rewarded. And yet, as the Vulture King says “Time doesn’t pass differently in the Vulture Dimension,” Adaine feels a jolt of dread, something uncomfortable settling into her stomach.

Even as they receive gifts from the Vulture King, forced to watch him get absolutely mutilated by his vulture disciples, Adaine can’t shake off her uncertainty, the roiling discomfort within her. As her friends talk amidst themselves, Adaine bites the inside of her cheek.

She reaches in her mind, grasps the corner of her magic where her visions come from — an endless lake shimmering with infinite possibilities, every reflection off of it showing another path to the future. Adaine sinks into the crystalline abyss, embraces it — and what she sees immediately makes her freeze.

“Guys,” Adaine breathes, breaking from her vision to peer over at all five of them, “we have to go back. Now.”

The thing about them, about her party, about the Bad Kids, is that for however much fun they have, enacting chaos and joking around in the thick of life-threatening danger, they trust each other — wholly, implicitly. When Riz flings out cryptic sounding directions, they follow it. When Fig has a crazy idea, they let her do it. Even Kristen, whatever she does, turns out for the better. They’ve spent two years, and will spend many more, fighting by each others’ sides, and with that comes a level of trust so bone-deep and innate that all of them nod at her, immediately heeding her words.

Whatever magic brought them here takes them back. And as she lands against solid ground, returned to whence she came, Adaine raises her head, surveys the situation—

And her heart leaps into her throat.

Many of the bots are down, and the festival grounds are deserted of people — tents flapping in the wind, picnic mats and chairs abandoned hastily. The members of Ruben’s band are down, slumped all over the battered stage, and Ruben himself seems stuck, frozen in place — pick raised, poised to come down on the strings of his guitar.

And yet, it is not that that steals Adaine’s attention, but rather everything else. Ozone stings her nose as she staggers to her feet, staring in awestruck horror at the throngs of lightning elementals raging around the place. The fair is a disaster — the stage looks destroyed, floorboards broken through, some of the poles slumping and swinging at dangerous angles; the grass under her feet is charred, and as Adaine follows the trails of dimly-glowing lights, she notices the branching Lichtenberg figures across the grass, like cracks spreading out from multiple points of impact.

Despite the Hold Person spell on Ruben, it seems like maintaining concentration on the spell is all Grix can do, taking hit after hit as elementals pile onto his body, utterly ravaging him. Adaine stares, wide-eyed, sucking in a breath through her teeth at the sight of Oisin, his back to her — tail slamming against the ground, spines pricked dangerously, magic whirling off of him in spades. Every bit of his body language screams feral, possessed by an unfathomable rage.

The stage is utterly ravaged. Grix’s body looks two hits away from falling apart. As her eyes flick past Oisin, to Ruben, held in place by magic, his eyes meet hers, a look of sheer desperation in his eyes.

A howl pierces the air, like a crack of lightning, thunder booming in its wake.

“GIVE HER BACK!”

And it is the sound of that voice, so intimately familiar, that finally kicks Adaine into action — stepping forward, trembling fists balled by her side. She opens her mouth, screams at the top of her lungs, her throat burning:

“OISIN!”

Immediately, Oisin snaps around, moving fast, so fast, faster than anything before. His eyes meet hers, and she bites her cheek at the sight of slit-point pupils, completely contracted; at the smoke curling from the corners of his mouth, dissipating into the air. “I’m here,” she calls, as Oisin runs forward, dropping the battle without hesitation, and—

A sudden weight barrels into her. She stumbles backwards, caught by the weight of Oisin’s tackle, the two of them tumbling to the charred ground. “Oisin,” Adaine breathes as arms wrap around her, pulling her tight against a warm chest, claws digging into the back of her jacket. He doesn’t respond, only buries his head in the crook of her neck, wrapping around her tightly, so tightly. A choked noise spills forth, and Adaine’s breath catches in her throat, recognising it as a sob.

Distantly, she can hear the sounds of battle. Oisin’s tattoos still hum with magic, even as he wraps her in his protective hold, completely preoccupied with her and only her. If Adaine strains her ears, she can hear the elementals still crackling, the sound of clanging against metal. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches sight of her friends — of Riz, of Fig, of all of them nearby. Slowly, carefully, she wiggles her hand free the slightest bit, and as she catches Riz’s eyes, Adaine fires off a Message spell. Don’t worry about me. Go kill that motherfucker!

His eyes narrow, that steadfast certainty settling in. Riz gives her a terse nod before he turns back towards the others, yelling at them as they hurry to rejoin the flow of battle.

Leaving Adaine here. With a dragon curled around her, holding her for dear life. She can feel every curve of Oisin’s body from how closely she’s being held — her head against his chest, hearing the thump-thump-thump of his rapid heartbeat. Slowly, Adaine raises her hand, rests it against his arm, slowly stroking along his scales with such tender affection. “I’m here,” she whispers, echoing her words from earlier. “I’m here now.”

She feels Oisin shaking his head, pressed as tightly against the crook of her neck as he is. His voice comes out cracked, shattered, like lightning having struck through something solid, splintering it to pieces. “When you— when you disappeared, I…” A low whine spills forth, along with trails of smoke, wispy strands that brush against her cheeks. “I didn’t— I don’t—”

“Shh.” She reaches up, cupping his cheek, gently pushing him away so she can look at him. She brushes a thumb against the ridges of his face, tenderly stroking his scales; pain pangs in her heart at the sight of glassy eyes, pupils dilated, the tremble of his mouth — distressed and upset, except those words don’t even begin to encapsulate the raw agony in those eyes. Her thumb comes away slightly damp; his cheeks are wet.

“I’m sorry,” Adaine murmurs. “I didn’t know that was going to happen. But I’m here now, Oisin.” She squeezes his arm, reassuring and tight, as she curls her fingers along the dip of his chin with a tender touch. “I’m here.”

“But you were gone.” Oisin’s voice chokes up. “And I— I don’t know. I think everything just… collapsed.”

She smiles at him, despite the sadness tearing at her heart. “Hey. You have to have a bit of faith in me, okay? I’ve fought so much worse before, Oisin.” Her mind flashes — a howling red dragon, a nightmare forest, a screeching creature of endless night. “Some stupid principal and a dumb bird dimension isn’t going to keep me down.”

Adaine sees how Oisin’s forehead furrows at the mention of a dumb bird dimension. She shrugs her shoulders halfheartedly. “It’s a long story.”

At that, a raspy laugh breaks forth — choked and stilted, but undoubtedly a laugh. “It’s different now,” he eventually says. All the adrenaline, the energy, has ebbed away from his voice; now, he just sounds tired. “It’s… because you’re mine now.” He pulls her in, tucks her under his chin — enclosed and protected, wrapped by blue scales and strong arms. “I don’t want to lose you. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

A silence sinks in. Oisin’s words linger in her mind, floating there. Desperation had underlined his every word, had marked his every action, aching and desirous and sad. She thinks, as she leans into his embrace, letting him hold her as close as he needs, of draconic possessiveness — of loving hard, obsessively, possessively, clinging to what’s precious and never letting go. I can handle myself, Adaine wants to say, by means of reassurance — she’s stared down gods and draconic emperors and creatures of apocalyptic night, and lived to tell the tale.

But would that really help? No, Adaine realises, heart twisting. No, it wouldn’t. She thinks back to just before she tumbled into the Vulture Dimension — Grix aiming a powerful spell at her, Oisin preparing to counter it. What had it looked like, as she disappeared? Had it seemed as though the Counterspell failed, vanishing her where she stood?

It’s not just about her now. It’s also about someone else.

So she lets out a soft sigh, leaning back in Oisin’s hold. “Take your time,” Adaine murmurs, as those claws dip into muscle and skin, as Oisin curls around her, unrelenting and scared and desperate, refusing to let go.

Adaine isn’t sure how long it’s been, sitting here curled up against Oisin. She listens distractedly to the sounds of the battle — triumphant yells, loud crashes, the powerful strum of a guitar, accompanied by a wave of magical energy blasting through the air. Oisin shudders at that, claws digging deeper into her skin, and Adaine murmurs to him reassuringly, resting her hands against his scales.

But as the battle ends, Grix’s voice fizzling out with broken, corrupted sounds, footsteps begin to thud against the ground in droves. Raising her head, Adaine gently pushes Oisin’s head away from her neck, watching as a few small crowds begin to flock back in, peering around nervously at the ravaged festival. “C’mon,” she whispers to Oisin. “Let’s go somewhere else. It’s about to get a bit crowded.”

She bites back her protest as he carries her, swats away the jabs and remarks that would have come with such a display of affection. It’s not important right now; all that’s important is that Oisin calms down, drags whatever haywire instincts he has under control. They find a small corner somewhere, where they curl up together under the shade of a tree, and Oisin traces his claws down her arms, tail curling around the two of them. A low rumble builds in his throat, soothing and sweet, and she leans into it, resting a hand against his knee.

She can see her party milling about, small specks in the distance — inspecting the heap of metallic remains that once was Principal Grix, poking their heads around the festival, looking closely at the stage. There’s a minor commotion at one point, and Adaine stifles a smile at the sight of Fig making her departure in her usual dramatic fashion, casting a Minor Illusion to leave just as mysteriously as she came. She watches Fig hurry back, no longer tiny and disguised, watches an aarakocra show up and interact with the rest. After a while, Ruben returns, visibly dejected, lingering at the outskirts of the crowds.

When she sees the others craning their heads, looking around, Adaine wiggles a hand free. “Give me a sec,” she tells Oisin, who only huffs but obliges, allowing Adaine to reach into her pocket and pull out her crystal. She sends off a message to the group chat, tells them roughly where she is, and after a while, she sees them all hurrying over.

Fig is the first to reach them, skidding to a stop as she gets close. She gasps at them, eyes wide, and Adaine bites back a sigh as she pulls out her crystal. “Do not take a picture,” she lectures. When Fig doesn’t listen, only grinning wickedly as she unlocks her screen, Adaine summons a Mage Hand and swat it out of her reach.

“No!” Fig yells, stretching out her hand as her crystal goes off flying. She pouts, turning to glower at Adaine. “How could you?”

“You have enough blackmail material as it is,” retorts Adaine drily. Over her shoulder, she hears Oisin snort.

As Fig strides off to retrieve her crystal, grumbling all the while, Riz darts into view. “Hey,” he greets. Adaine smiles in return, ignoring the way Oisin’s grip curls just a bit tighter. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” Adaine replies. Reaching an arm up, she brushes a hand against Oisin’s arm. “I was just helping Oisin to calm down. Thanks for holding down the battle while I was gone.”

Nearby, Fabian rolls his eyes. “We really could have used you there, y’know? Pretty weird battle to fight without our wizard.”

“Yeah, well…” She shrugs. “Duty calls.” At that, Adaine hears a chuffing laugh.

Riz stares at her for a moment longer, before he pries his gaze away. “In any case,” he begins, “are you good to go? We need to leave soon. Party matters.” The look in his eyes tells Adaine everything — We’ll tell you later, it reads, from the way his gaze keeps darting between her and Oisin, the uncomfortable tension that takes root in his body.

She feels herself relax, giving Riz a smile. “Yeah, I should be good to leave.” Shifting slightly, Adaine begins to make a move as she speaks. “I just—”

She tumbles backwards with a squeak, colliding against a chest as arms tug her back down. A low, thundering growl fills the air, rippling around her. “No,” Oisin utters, his voice throttled with something dangerous.

Adaine stiffens. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re not leaving.” Oisin’s words are firm, impenetrable; there’s no room for argument, anything she can think of dying on her tongue. “You’re staying here. With me.”

She can feel her friends’ eyes piercing her skin, penetrating through blood and bone, looking into her soul. Worst of all are Riz’s — yellow eyes that immediately narrow into dangerous slits, hostility kicking in in a flash. Tail lashing from side to side, he says, “You don’t get to make that decision for her.”

“I’m her boyfriend,” Oisin snaps.

“And we’re her party,” Riz retorts. He takes a step forward, fangs poking out as he utters, “Adaine’s our friend, and we need her to come with us.”

All at once, a loud growling thunders out, clashing against sharp hissing. Adaine flinches, shrinking slightly as Oisin and Riz lock into a battle of wits, instinct seizing them both. Not even Kristen’s attempt to intervene, sticking her staff in as she says, “Woah, wait— let’s just all calm down now,” is successful, because Riz only swats her away. Adaine bites her lip, anxiety thrumming through her, two warring emotions facing off in her own heart — on one hand, she should go with her party, because party matters come first, now and always, and this is no exception, but on the other hand—

He needs you here, something in her whispers, wisps that curl around her soul. He doesn’t want you to go. So don’t go. It’s the simplest logic in the world, and it makes sense to her, and her head aches. “Guys,” she tries, attempting to raise her voice, to break through the fight—

The sharp twang of a guitar washes over her, over all of them, bringing with it a sudden, striking clarity. The growling and hissing suddenly stop, crashing into silence instead.

Adaine blinks, coming back to herself, her warring emotions quelled. And as she cranes her head, surveying the confusion and clarity that have overcome her friends as well, Riz’s eyebrows pressing together in suspicion, a pair of footsteps draw close.

“Are you guys done?”

A flat voice cuts through the air, completely unimpressed. Ruben Hopclap stares at all of them, lidded eyes surveying the scene before finally coming to land on Oisin. His stance is bored, hands resting in his pocket, but his eyes are red-rimmed and puffy.

“Ruben,” Oisin says curtly.

“Let her go,” Ruben says, gesturing at Adaine with his thumb. “We have to leave anyway.”

“What—?”

The flick of a finger, nearly imperceptible. A brief spat of silence sinks in, and, pressed up against Oisin like she is, Adaine can feel the hum of a Message spell vibrate through the air, her instincts finely tuned. Twisting around, she watches as Oisin’s eyes widen. He grits his teeth, jaws clacking, but Ruben holds his own against Oisin’s harsh glare, and eventually, Oisin’s snarl melts into a frustrated hiss.

“Fine,” he mutters. “You win.” All of a sudden, the grip around her loosen, and Adaine startles as arms reach for her, as Fabian helps her to her feet, glaring past her all the while.

Frustration flickers through her. “Guys—”

“Well! We best be going now, don’t you think?” Fabian interjects smoothly, pushing her along, leading her away by the arm. “Clock’s ticking and all that.”

“Party matters come first,” Riz points out, tail lashing one more time as he turns to depart.

“Wait,” Adaine protests, indignation spiking through her as they stumble away together. She averts her gaze away from Gorgug’s stare, from Fig’s furrowed brows and Kristen’s twitching lip. “This isn’t fair, you can’t just—”

“He wasn’t going to let you go.”

At Riz’s words, brusque as they are, Adaine stills. She twists her neck, glancing over her shoulder. Behind them, growing smaller as her party hurries away, Oisin glowers at them — all of them. Something seizes her, an emotion she can’t decipher cracking open in her chest, struck, at once, by the rage in his expression, bordering on animalistic, bestial—

Unhinged.

When they get far away from the Thistlespring Tree, Fabian lets go of her. “Are you okay?” he asks, eyebrows pressing together in concern as Adaine shrugs him off, taking a few short strides forward on her own.

“Am I okay?” she echoes, before choking out a sharp laugh. “I don’t know, Fabian.” And really, she doesn’t; whatever incredulous indignance she held earlier at being carted away like some bloody livestock has ebbed into something else — something alien and strange, too complex to put into words, nestled snugly between the gaps of her ribcage. It slipped in as she caught wind of the fire burning in Oisin’s eyes, at his hands, balled so tightly into fists that red blood trickled through his fingers, dripping to the ground beneath.

She exhales, the fire extinguished in a flash. “I just… wish that didn’t happen.” What, exactly? some part of her asks, voice careful and composed. Adaine shrugs. “Fighting over me like that.”

“I think you guys blew that way out of proportion,” Fig interjects, serious for once. “Like— I don’t know Oisin all that well, but that guy was raging. And not in the barbarian way either. Did you seriously think that was gonna be a good idea?”

“What else were we supposed to do?” Riz argues defensively. “He wouldn’t have let Adaine go.”

Did you want to go with your friends? Or did you want to stay with Oisin? The questions circle her mind, over and over, and— Adaine doesn’t know. She doesn’t know at all, despite the fact that logically, the answer is clear — party matters always come first. That was the foundation their relationship was built on, after all — from the first day they met all the way back in freshman year, to their whirlwind romance now. It lingers with her, that striking realisation: Would I have left, if given the choice?

She thinks, again, of Oisin’s words, a shiver rippling down her spine. You’re not leaving. You’re staying here. With me.

They make their way to their destination in relative silence, the tension thick over them. Kristen and Fig fall back to her side, informing her in hushed tones about what she missed — the strange mess of cable connectors and wires underneath the stage, arranged in a familiar twenty-four-sided star, glowing red. “We’re heading to the Far Haven Woods,” Fig tells her, as Kristen nods. “Just to see what we find.”

Adaine smiles at them, reaching out to squeeze their hands tightly. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

As they make their way to the entrance of the forest, she hears Riz call her name, breaking the hushed quiet that had followed them all the way from Frostyfaire. Throughout the walk, Riz had kept his mouth shut, walking on ahead with Fabian, the two of them clustered together in their own silent world. But now, he calls to her, says, “Adaine—”

“If this is about what happened earlier with Oisin,” Adaine interrupts, coming to a stop, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

A thick pause.

“Please.”

“...Okay,” Riz says, softly, after a moment of silence. The kindness in that one reply sticks with her, a small lump wedging itself in her throat, the urge to apologise — for what, she doesn’t know — swelling within her. “I won’t.”

“Thank you.”

As they make their way through the trees, a low chatter beginning to spread amongst them as the worst of the tension is dispelled, Adaine tilts her head back, eyeing the dying rays of sunlight through the trees. Night is creeping its way across the sky, chasing the sun past the horizon, and the sight of a few stars winking at her leaves her feeling hollow in a way she can’t explain.

“Adaine?”

She startles, coming back to herself. Riz stands a little ways from her, eyes wide, watching her in concern. “Are you coming?” he asks, holding out his hand.

She swallows all her emotions back, all her conflicting thoughts, all the lingering instincts gently pushing her to retrace her steps, find her way back to Oisin and hold him close. “Yeah,” Adaine calls back, hurrying her steps to catch up with the rest of her friends. “Sorry about that.”

She doesn’t know what they’ll find out here. But as Riz reaches out to pat her on the arm, Adaine flashes him a smile in return. She’s at least comforted by the knowledge that, whatever they discover, they’ll face it all together.

They find Lucy Frostblade’s body, buried beneath the toppled trunks of countless trees. Dirt caked under her nails, bugs crawling all over her flesh — the stench of her corpse, dead for months, is overpowering, sickening, repulsive.

“What am I going to say to him?” Adaine whispers, leaning against Fig as they stumble back to Mordred together, Kristen supporting her other side. Her heart hammers in her chest, anxiety thrumming through her veins. Her legs wobble, moving on autopilot the way it has been for the past few hours — since they walked into Far Haven Woods and found Yolanda Badgood’s body, since they dug deeper and found the hidden corpse of Oisin’s friend.

Bile rises in her throat as memories flash through her mind — of their conversation that day. She must have meant a lot to you, Adaine had said. Yeah, Oisin had replied, his voice cracking slightly. She did. To all of us, really.

She was the one who encouraged me to confess to you, you know that?

Curling into herself slightly, Adaine shakes. “What am I going to fucking say to him?”

The image of Lucy’s body is burned into her mind — a mutilated corpse, a strange symbol glowing on her chest, abandoned, forgotten about, killed by multiple means. She chokes down the urge to puke. “Fuck.”

“We’ll figure it out tomorrow, okay?” She clings to Fig’s voice like a lifeline, ignoring the waver in her own words. “Fabian sent in a tip about the body; we’ve got this, okay?”

“C’mon.” Kristen squeezes her hand, reassuring and strong, a guiding force in the dark. In the dim light of the moon, the stars, Adaine can just about make out the reassuring smile on her face.

“Let’s go home.”

She jerks awake in bed, gasping for breath, her heart pounding against her ribcage. Adaine stares at the ceiling, eyes wide, anxiety surging through her veins like liquid fire.

Fuck, she thinks, turning onto her side and curling into herself, squeezing her eyes shut as she forces herself to take deep breaths — inhale, hold, exhale, again and again and again. Her fingers ball into fists, the pain of her nails digging into her palms grounding her as she lays there feebly, wrangling her panic under control.

When she finally feels like a living being again, her breathing slowed, no longer feeling like she’s about to die, Adaine rolls onto her back. She stares at the ceiling, listening to her breathing in the dark, mind racing with a thousand thoughts a minute.

She had been trancing. That, she remembers. She doesn’t dream during her trances, she rarely ever does, but something had happened. Something had torn through her tranquil meditation, sharp claws sinking in and shredding it to pieces. A sense of danger, of doom, of something horrible about to happen — You have to wake up, a familiar voice shouted, piercing through the fog of unconsciousness, setting her nerves alight. You have to wake up!

Pushing herself upright, Adaine drags a hand down her face, mumbling incoherently to herself. Sleep isn’t a necessity, but she still feels exhausted — muscles heavy from battling that day, from hiking through the woods, on top of arcane depletion and— well. Emotional exhaustion. She’s just about to sink back down into bed, pull her blanket over her shoulders and try to trance for another four hours, when all of a sudden—

Something catches her eye.

A light, glowing faintly — sharp tangerine hues, striking and bold. “What the hell?” Adaine whispers, blinking her eyes to try and clear— whatever this is. But blinking furiously doesn’t get rid of it. It only makes her more awake. And with that alertness, that clarity, the fog of an interrupted trance clearing from her mind—

Her eyes widen.

Like being dunked into ice cold water, every sense alert and coming alive, it hits her.

Adaine stares at the glowing glyphs along her walls, painted with such painstaking love by her older sister before she left — glowing bright, brighter than she’s ever seen before, the fierce shade of orange searing bolts of light into her vision.

She stares at Aelwyn’s nemesis ward, triggered in the depths of the night, and her blood runs cold.

Chapter Text

Adaine: i think someone tried to kill me last night

Immediately, her crystal explodes with notifications, an unstoppable tirade of messages crashing in with blip after blip. Somehow, all her friends come online at once — a feat that makes Adaine stare at her crystal in utter disbelief, trembling fingers curling around her crystal case tightly. For however busy they all are, it is her one single message at too early an hour in the morning that wakes them all up, and all she can wonder is, How?

The notifications pop up on her screen at a dizzying rate, variations of messages all yelling at her, asking if she’s okay, if she’s fine, is she in danger now? There’s cursing, swearing, a whole slew of emojis, and Adaine slumps back down in her bed, head pressed against her pillow, cupping her crystal in her hands, mind swimming.

She had spent the rest of her night, since the moment she woke to glowing orange glyphs painting her walls and a permanent dread rooted in her gut, wide awake — lying sprawled out on her bed, heart hammering wildly against her chest, staring up at the ceiling which was cast in gentle shades of orange from the nemesis ward’s light. It had taken her hours to process it, to wrap her head around it, the panic all-consuming, but when the morning rays of the sun finally peeked over the horizon, breaking through the night with sweet shades of tangerine and peach, Adaine had sat upright, raked a hand through her hair, and bit back a haggard sigh.

She hadn’t known exactly what happened. She still doesn’t, if she’s being entirely honest with herself. But after hours dwelling on it, mind racing with infinite possibilities and what-ifs, Adaine has come to a pretty bitter conclusion.

The nemesis ward’s function was to stop anyone from laying their hands on her. Ergo, was it so unlikely to imagine that someone tried to kill her?

A sudden whoosh catches her ear. Startling back to herself, Adaine rolls over, pushing herself up on her elbows as she watches the burning outline of a door form in her room, flames carved in the air itself. There’s a brief flash of another room — a haphazard mess, dark and dim, before Fig throws herself through the portal, crashing into the ground with a loud and painful thud.

Adaine’s breath catches. “Fig?”

“Adaine!” Scrambling to her feet, Fig stares at her, eyes wide. Worry and rage burn in her red pupils, wrestling with each other for dominance, and as she stumbles over to the bed, Adaine moves to sit up, to lean over the bannister of her bunk bed as Fig comes near. “Are you okay?” she pushes out, voice tremulous, yet burning with hellfire underneath — protective and fierce. Her fingers curl over the bed frame tightly, and as Adaine looks at her, she notices how Fig is still dressed in pyjamas — an oversized shirt covering loose shorts. “Who do I need to kill?!”

“Wh— Nobody!”

Fig’s face scrunches in confusion. “But you said—”

Knock, knock, knock.

Adaine falters, distracted. She twists her head, looking for the source of the sound, only for the knocking to repeat again, louder this time. Fig glances around with her, eyes narrowing as she draws her fist close to her, fire bursting alight along her skin, but it isn’t until they hear a muffled yell of “The window!” that they pinpoint where — and what — the knocking is.

Banging on her window, Kristen Applebees hovers outside, freckled skin cast in the dim rays of the rising sun. Much like Fig, she’s also wearing nothing but sweatpants and a ratty old shirt, her hair a tousled mess. She presses her hands and nose against the glass, flashes them an exaggerated look of desperation, mouthing the word Please.

Adaine watches as Fig hurries over, yanking the window open. Kristen tumbles in, colliding against the floor with a loud thump that makes her wince. “You too?” says Adaine.

“And what’s that supposed to mean, huh?” Shoving herself upright, Kristen fixes Adaine with an incredulous stare, disbelief flickering in her eyes. “You said someone tried to kill you—”

“I didn’t expect you guys to burst in here!” Adaine protests — although in hindsight, she realises that maybe she should have expected this, shrinking where she sits as Fig and Kristen shoot her twin looks of disbelief. “A-Anyways,” Adaine continues, biting back her choking anxiety, “why did you come in through the window? How did you come in through the window?”

“Steps of Night,” Kristen declares, dropping her incredulity in favour of a satisfied grin, pride licking her words. She gestures at the window with her thumb, at the weak rays of light shining through. “Still dark enough that I could make it work. God, it feels good to have my spells back, thank you Cassandra!”

“You could have— just come through the house,” Adaine finishes weakly, shoulders slumping as Kristen levels her with a stare.

“And waste precious time?” Rolling her eyes, she leans forward. “Nah. I ain’t gonna do that.”

Right, Adaine thinks, stifling a sigh. And yet, she can’t bring herself to be— mad, or outraged, or anything like that at all. Gratitude unfurls in her like a blooming flower, and as the insanity of watching Fig Dimension Door in and Kristen crash through her window slowly fades away, she leans forward, crossing her arms across the barrier along the side of her bed. “Well, I’m glad you guys came.”

“Obviously we would,” Fig scoffs. Her eyes are trained on her crystal, and as she looks up, she only grins. “And the others are coming too, so…”

Adaine blanches. “They’re what?”

A quick scroll through her messages — and god, are there a lot of them, her heart twisting apologetically at everyone’s frantic yelling in their group chat, all attempts made to reach out to her gone unanswered — reveal that Fabian is headed over to Riz’s place right now with the Hangman, while Gorgug has gone to drag out the Hangvan despite its poor condition. “Oh my god,” Adaine mutters, pressing a hand against her forehead.

Adaine: you guys don’t need to come i swear i’m fine

Gorgug: too late

Riz: Waiting for Fabian right now. We will be there soon.

Gorgug: gonna drive soon so brb

Adaine: i’m not dead! i’m FINE

“You literally said ‘Someone tried to kill me last night’ and sent it to us first thing in the morning,” Kristen points out flatly, sitting cross-legged on Adaine’s desk chair. Fig hums assent, perched on a step leading up to Adaine’s bunk bed. Kristen gestures at her. “Seriously, what were you expecting?”

“I don’t know,” Adaine protests, throwing her hands up in defeat. “I just—” Her head’s a swimming mess, theories running amok, anxiety throbbing through her veins like a second heartbeat. She hadn’t thought too deeply before sending the message, only needing to get it out somewhere so that someone knew. But she had anticipated texting back and forth, not— not this.

Yanking a nearby cushion into her arms, Adaine squeezes tightly, burying her face in the soft fabric as she screams. “If I knew this would’ve happened, I would’ve just. Not sent that.”

“Too late,” Fig crows. A dangerous glint flashes through her eyes. “And when we find the bastard… Well let’s just say the recording studio could use a couple more bodies.”

“Anyways,” Kristen says, fixing her with an inquisitive stare. “What happened, Adaine? I mean, I see a bunch of glowing shit on the wall—”

“Aelwyn’s nemesis ward happened,” Adaine interjects with a shrug. When Fig and Kristen both furrow their brows at her, Adaine leans back, a realisation dawning over her. “Oh. Wait, did I not tell you guys about it?”

Both their voices collide together. “No!”

Wincing, Adaine steals a stare at her crystal — at Riz saying that Fabian just showed up at Strongtower, that they’ll be there soon. “I’ll explain later,” she eventually says, turning back to nod at the two of them. “When the others arrive.”

She fidgets with her hands, skin brushing against the cool silver wrapped around her wrist and ring finger, fiddling with the chain connecting them, and bites down the urge to open her crystal and send one more message — this time, to someone else.

There was a reason why Adaine texted the Bad Kids, despite the incessant urge eating at her to message her boyfriend first.

For a while, they sit around in silence. Eventually, Kristen gets up, wandering around her room, poking her head about Adaine’s shelves. As she watches Kristen’s finger mess with bottles and pouches, pulling out drawers, Adaine wrinkles her brow. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for something,” Kristen answers breezily. Before Adaine can open her mouth to reply, Kristen’s face lights up. “Aha!”

A pinch of talc. A small sprinkling of powdered silver. “See Invisibility?” Adaine asks, the words spilling out as soon as she recognises the components, realising the spell Kristen’s about to cast.

Kristen nods, a smirk flashing across her face. “Yep. Juuust in case.” Wisps of twilight curl around her fingers, spurned from magic and mystery itself, and as the magic veils Kristen’s eyes, her scleras are tinted with a light violet hue.

Her cheeks warm. “You really don’t have to,” Adaine protests, as Kristen begins looking around, scrutinising the room with a concentration that mimics Riz at his most focused. Draping her arms over the side of her bed, Adaine sighs. “Whoever it is that broke in, they’re probably long gone.”

“Unless they left any objects behind,” Kristen counters with smug determination.

Unable to dissuade Kristen from her investigation (and perhaps, deep down, touched by her thoughtfulness), Adaine backs off. She turns her attention to Fig instead, sitting on the stairs of Adaine’s bunk bed. As Adaine clambers over, she notices the way Fig’s head keeps dipping forward, the constant blinking of her eyes. “Did you stay up all night?” Adaine asks, as she swings her leg onto the first step, crouching just behind her friend.

Fig jolts, whirling around where she sits. As soon as her eyes set on Adaine, though, she relaxes visibly. “Uh, maaaybe?” she replies, drawing out the word with just a touch of playfulness. Her lighthearted words are interrupted by a yawn. “Mm. Probably.”

“C’mere, you.” Adaine reaches out with her hand, pulling Fig to her feet and gently nudging her towards the bed. Fig is tired enough that she doesn’t protest; whatever adrenaline that powered her earlier has fizzled out into cindered shards. The bed frame creaks as Adaine pushes Fig down before pulling back, smiling at her from the highest step. “Go nap for a bit. You need it.”

Fig glowers at her from where she lays, head pressed against Adaine’s pillow. “Are you really telling me to sleep after someone nearly killed you?”

“Yes,” Adaine replies, leaving no room for argument in her voice. “Just until the others get here. Or else I’m not going to tell anyone what happened.”

“This is blackmail,” Fig whines with an irritated noise. Still, she doesn’t protest, and Adaine kicks back, taking Fig’s previous place with smug satisfaction as any trace of incredulity disappears off Fig’s face, swiftly melting into the tranquillity of a much-needed nap.

Kristen continues poking around her room while Adaine watches, all while a light snoring rises from Adaine’s bed. She covers her mouth when Kristen gets distracted by Boggy, sitting happily in his terrarium, trying and failing to bite back her smile as the redhead leans over the glass enclosure with grabby hands, whispering “Hey, girlie,” all the while. Boggy seems completely nonplussed, beautiful and perfect frog that he is, and Adaine sneaks a photo on her crystal when Kristen scoops the perfectly round frog out of his leafy little home, swinging him around in her arms.

Eventually, after the sun has risen higher, navy night skies replaced by a gentle cornflower blue pierced with streaks of sunlight, they hear footsteps — two sets, thumping against the steps leading up her tower. The doorknob jostles, twists to the side, and as the door opens inwards, Riz and Fabian crash in — just as tousled and dishevelled as Kristen and Fig, with the only difference being Riz and Fabian’s lack of loungewear.

As soon as Fabian glances over at her, he calls, “Adaine!” Hurrying over, Riz in tow, the two of them hover near her — Riz clambers up the steps, sitting close, while Fabian hangs nearby, reaching out with a hand before hesitating and pulling it back. “Are… are you okay?”

“We came as soon as we could,” Riz adds, slightly breathless.

A warmth crackles to life within her — the gentle, calming heat of a hearth, cosy and snug in a way that makes her heart swell. “I’m fine,” Adaine says. “Physically, I mean,” she adds, when Fabian and Riz level her with twin looks of doubt. She reaches up, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I didn’t get hurt or anything.”

That seems to satisfy them, a little bit. “What happened anyway?” Riz asks, furrowing his brows, tail lashing from side to side.

“I’ll explain when Gorgug’s here.” She really doesn’t want to rehash this story a second time; telling it once is good enough.

“Did you guys, like, break in by the way?” Three heads snap in Kristen’s direction, staring at her as she fixes Riz and Fabian with a look of mild curiosity. “I’m pretty sure the front door’s locked every night.” Placing Boggy on Adaine’s desk, she takes out her crystal, waving it in her hand. “And you didn’t, like, tell us to come down ‘n get you either.”

“I— I mean, what did you expect us to do?” Fabian raises his hands defensively, all while Riz shrugs. “It was faster this way— the Ball, help me—”

“Yeah, I picked the lock,” Riz confirms with zero hesitation. As Fabian sputters and Kristen lets out a laugh, Riz adds, glancing over to meet Adaine’s eyes, “It was faster this way.”

She reads the emotion in his eyes — something fiercely protective, defensive of his friends, that same glint that shines whenever they’re in the thick of battle, or whenever one of them gets royally fucked over. It’s an emotion she’s come to recognise more and more lately, intermingled with the blatant burning flames of hostility whenever Riz sets his eyes upon Adaine with her boyfriend — but here and now, there is little except that loving vigilance, of Riz Gukgak’s care towards his friends.

It’s enough for Adaine to bite back any protest, asking whether it was necessary to spurn this much urgency over her.

A silence falls over them, only broken by Fig’s snoring. “So…” Fabian starts, glancing around, “what now?”

“Now, we wait.” Leaning back, Adaine rests her hands on her knees, feeling the outline of her ring and bracelet through the fabric of her pyjama pants. “Gorgug shouldn’t take too long,” she points out. “I mean, he lives near you guys. He’ll be here in no time.”

Gorgug was not, in fact, here in no time.

Gorgug: hangvan broke down again. Sorry

Gorgug: gimme a bit more

Fabian: Do you need me to like. Send help???

Fabian: A tow truck? A car?

Gorgug: nah i got it

“I guess we’ll just have to wait a bit longer,” Adaine says with a sigh, clicking off her crystal.

It takes the greater part of a half hour before Gorgug arrives, driving the smoking Hangvan down the driveway of Mordred Manor at a snail’s pace. During their wait, Riz begins skulking around, visibly restless, poking his head in every little corner.

“What are you doing?” Adaine asks, scrunching her face as she watches Riz trace a finger across the still-glowing runes painted along Adaine’s wall.

“Investigating,” Riz answers immediately, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world — And it is, Adaine thinks, silently smacking herself. What else could he be doing? “If someone tried to break in and kill you, they must’ve left clues behind.”

“Nothing invisible though,” Kristen adds from where she’s been playing with Boggy, still sitting on Adaine’s desk. There’s a small pile of clothes and accessories at her side, ransacked from Adaine’s wardrobe, and Boggy is wearing one of Adaine’s winter scarves, the long fabric wrapped around him and knotted in the front. “I checked myself,” Kristen says, leaning against the table as she shoots Riz a grin.

Riz furrows his brows. “That’s… good, I hope.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Adaine asks, picking up on his unease — the hesitation as he speaks, his words slow.

Surprisingly enough, it isn’t Riz who answers; Fabian interjects, eyes lighting up. “Oh, I remember this! The Ball told me once.” He leans back, a lick of pride underlining his voice. “Something about how no evidence just makes it harder to figure shit out. Less incriminating stuff, more guesswork and deductions? Which is bad if you’re trying to pin down a mystery.”

“But it could also just mean that I’m wrong.” Riz pauses, a flash of scepticism crossing his eyes. “The difficult part is trying to figure out which it is.”

When Gorgug finally enters the room, the door creaking open one more time, the morning sun has already risen higher into the sky, sharp rays of sunlight disintegrating the remnants of night. “I’m here, sorry,” he says hastily, closing the door behind him; his hoodie is stained with smatterings of oil, and a sheen of sweat covers his exposed skin. Raking a hand through his hair, Gorgug exhales. “Kinda wish I took my parents’ car. I forgot the Hangvan wasn’t repaired yet, but—” Raising his head, he meets Adaine’s eyes. A flicker of relief crosses his gaze. “I was, uh. In a rush.”

“Weren’t we all,” Fabian comments. “Anyways, Gorgug, why didn’t you tell us? I could’ve just— picked you up too. The Ball barely takes up space anyway.”

“It’s fine,” Gorgug dismisses with a shrug. “And also, uh—” Jerking a thumb backwards, he says, “the front door is unlocked? You… you might want to fix that.”

A beat.

Adaine stares at Fabian and Riz, eyes flicking between the two of them. “You guys didn’t lock the door?”

Riz winces. Fabian smiles nervously. “I, uh— we forgot?”

With Gorgug’s arrival, though, they all fly into action. Kristen clambers up the stairs, hurtling past Fabian and Adaine to shake a drowsy Fig awake, all while Gorgug and Riz take their places around the room — Gorgug sitting on the floor, hunched forward slightly, a hand pressed against his cheek; Riz perched on the edge of her desk, legs kicking back and forth with restless energy. By the time Fig is awake, complaining about why nobody woke her, all of them stare at Adaine with expectant eyes, and she knows she finally has to speak.

Her throat dries. She swallows, trying to wet it. “Okay,” Adaine says, after a brief pause. “Here’s what I know.”

She explains everything that happened as she remembers it — the sound of a familiar voice tearing through her dream, jolting her awake from what should have been an uninterrupted trance; the panic that paralysed her body as she laid, limbs sprawled wide, in bed.

She talks about her attempts to calm herself down, taking deep breaths like she learnt, only for all that effort to go to waste as her eyes caught sight of the orange glow permeating her room — Aelwyn’s nemesis ward, triggered. The shades of tangerine blinded her eyes, plunging Adaine into a sleepless night of paralysing fear, of the knowledge that someone tried to do something to her — “And whatever it was,” Adaine says, narrowing her eyes, “it wasn’t good.”

She tells them of what she realised, later on, after hours lying in the dark, memories looping in technicolour clarity — “It was Aelwyn’s voice that I heard. Which… makes sense, since it was her ward.” Leaning back, Adaine rests her hands on her knees, fingers drumming along the bone nervously.

“And that’s about it,” Adaine finishes, a little stiffly. “That’s what happened.”

She bites her lip, weathering the array of stares her friends are giving her — Kristen’s face, painted in visible concern, arms hugging Boggy close to her chest; Fig’s lips, parted in the makings of a snarl; Gorgug’s narrowed eyes, something dark crossing them; Fabian’s scowl, mouth twisted into such blatant distaste, and Riz’s—

Riz only stares at her, face carefully composed.

If Adaine didn’t know any better, she would have mistaken it for a callous calm.

“What does the nemesis ward do?” Riz asks, breaking the tense silence that suspends over them all. “I’ve never heard of that spell before.”

“It’s not a common one,” Adaine answers, eyes flicking to the orange glyphs, still glowing dim. Her brows pinch together. “I think Aelwyn might’ve made it herself? And…” She hesitates, suddenly unsure. “I’m… not actually sure of the specifics, but what I do know is that it’s meant to protect me. It’s kind of like—” She gestures with her hand, trying to string the words together. “You put the ward on your nemesis, in a very ‘Only I can hurt this person’ kind of way.”

“Sorry, hang on,” Gorgug interrupts, shooting her a confused look. “I know you and Aelwyn didn’t get along until recently, but— she was the one who put this on you?”

“Yeah?” Adaine replies, staring at Gorgug. Is there something she’s missing here? “Because she’s Aelwyn.”

“Hey, I can relate,” Kristen adds with a laugh. “There were so many times growing up where I wanted to strangle my brothers. But also, they’re like, my brothers, y’know?” A flash of teeth, a dangerous grin. “I’m not about to let anyone fuck with them. Or…” She pauses, faltering slightly. “Well, I hope nobody does.”

“Huh,” Gorgug utters, leaning back. “Okay.”

“Another question,” Riz says. “What does it protect you from?”

Adaine pauses, racking her brain. “You know,” she eventually says, after a moment of contemplation, “I don’t actually know. I mean, the way Aelwyn spoke about it, it makes sense to me that it mainly protects me from being killed.”

Those last few words spark a sudden rage, red-hot, throbbing through her veins. It’s the reason why she texted the Bad Kids instead of Oisin, the reason why she laid in bed, wide awake, head running with theory after theory until she settled on the only one that made sense, a theory that made her head throb with tension, her skin prickle with anger.

“I think Kipperface did it.” The words come out venomous, dripping with pure hatred; Adaine shuts her eyes, forcing herself to take a deep breath before the flames of her ire can roar even further through her, searing her bones. “Kipperlilly,” she says, after a beat, wrinkling her face as she opens her eyes. “Ugh. She doesn’t like me. She doesn’t like me at all—” Memories flash through her mind; “I see her at lunch, sometimes, when I’m walking past her table,” Adaine says, words filling with a barely-restrained fury, “and she just— god, you guys don’t even know. The way she looks at me, it’s like she’s a step away from killing me at any moment.”

“That makes sense,” Fig agrees, a flash of hatred through her own eyes. Nearby, Kristen’s lips press together into a line.

“But why would she kill you now?”

Riz’s question gives her pause. A sigh spills past her lips. “God, I don’t know,” Adaine admits, reaching up to rub her aching temple.

“It might be because of yesterday,” Kristen points out. “Ruben was at Frostyfaire, remember? And, like—” She wrinkles her lip. “Does anyone remember when they were glaring at each other?”

“They were messaging,” Adaine says, and Kristen nods at her, eyes lighting up.

“Maybe he told Kipperlilly about what went down with you guys,” Kristen continues, getting more into the theory. “Y’know, the way Oisin kinda threw this massive fit and lost his mind?”

“She’s a control freak.” Fig leans in, arms draped over the side of Adaine’s bed. “Maybe she’s pissed off about you guys being together. Maybe she wanted to kill you to get you out of the picture.”

“Which is stupid,” Adaine says, rolling her eyes. “Like, seriously? If I died, he’d probably just get even madder. It’s…” She falters. Averting her gaze, Adaine swallows the lump in her throat, a sudden flush warming her cheeks. “It’s kind of why I didn’t tell Oisin what happened. Um.” She clears her throat, before she shrugs. “Like— part of it was because they’re teammates, but I also… don’t really want him to go kill anyone on my behalf.”

Her voice darkens. “If someone tried to kill me,” Adaine utters, narrowing her eyes, “I want to kill them myself.”

A pause.

“You’re— You know you’re really terrifying when you do that, right?” Fabian eventually says, voice wavering slightly, to which Adaine grins, a snicker sputtering past her lips. Her hand flies up, covering her mouth, but the laugh spills out anyways. Fabian frowns. “Oh, so this is funny to you, huh?”

“Well, maybe you could try being a little less scared of Adaine,” Fig crows, a shit-eating grin spreading across her cheeks.

Fabian splutters. “Wh— I am not scared of Adaine—”

As their conversation devolves into banter, the heavy pressure digging down on all their shoulders lightens, easing up for just a moment. Laughter melds together in the air — Fig goading Fabian on, Kristen making a sly remark about Adaine joining his list of nemeses, Gorgug patting him on the back and telling him good luck. For a moment, Adaine’s thoughts of anger and rage, of the bristling, incredulous fury that a certain blonde halfling might have snuck in and held a knife against her throat, escape the forefront of her mind, retreating into the recesses of her head. There is only teasing, lighthearted ribbing; her heart feels full, cradled by warm hands and a caring touch, until—

“Adaine, do you…” Riz hesitates as Adaine turns her gaze to him, furrowing her brows. “Do you think it could have been anyone else?”

For a moment, she blinks at him. It takes a second, two seconds, for the words to sink in, the implications of that hypothetical. “What do you mean?” Adaine asks, high spirits abandoned in favour of leaning forward, ears pricked, eyes alert.

She sees it — Riz wincing, yellow eyes darting to the side, to Fabian, their eyes meeting. It hits her, then and there, their little interaction deduced; there is only one reason why they keep sharing looks, whispering in hushed tones, sneaking stares at her when they think she isn’t looking.

Impatience flares within her like a geyser, bursting forth from the ground. “Oh, come on,” Adaine complains, face twisting into a scowl. “You’re not seriously thinking that Oisin tried to kill me, are you?”

“Not— killing,” Riz says quickly, wincing as even he recognises the absurdity of trying to imply that someone like Oisin would kill Adaine, the person he loves. “But maybe something else.”

“He’s visited Mordred before,” Adaine counters, voice flat, seeking any avenue to shut this train of discussion down before it continues any further. “He’s visited my room lots. I feel like if he had an intent to kill me, the wards would have gone off sooner.”

“Again, I didn’t say he tried to kill you,” Riz protests, throwing his hands up defensively. “The nemesis ward— it’s meant to protect you, right? But that doesn’t just mean from being killed.”

Her lip curls. “So you’re suddenly an expert on all things abjuration?”

“I never said I was,” Riz says tersely. Behind him, his tail pricks upwards, stiff and alert. “I just—”

“Can you guys stop?”

Another voice cuts through the thick smog of hostility forming between them, the tension engulfing the air. Gorgug fixes them both with a hard look, eyes flitting from Riz to Adaine — and Adaine’s words die on her tongue at that firm stare, leaving no place for any futile counterarguments.

For one brief moment, neither of them speak — none of them at all, really, nobody daring to break the silence. But gradually, Gorgug relaxes, shoulders loosing slightly. “Thank you,” he says, with a nod. He pauses, mildly contemplative, before he adds, “I get your concerns, Riz, but, like… I really don’t think Oisin would hurt Adaine at all.”

“Yeah, I’m in agreement about that,” Kristen adds, levelling Riz with a strange look. “Like— even if we assume that the nemesis ward isn’t just about death, there’s still… some level of harm, right?”

“The guy absolutely ravaged Frostyfaire yesterday because Adaine disappeared,” Fig points out with a flick of her wrist, doubt clouding her words. “Seems pretty— I dunno, stupid? To think that he would have broken in here.”

“Exactly.” Folding her arms across her lap, Adaine forces herself to take a deep breath. She exhales. “I know you’re just looking out for me, Riz,” Adaine says, forcing herself to meet his gaze, keeping her voice carefully neutral, “but this is just…” Her voice wavers. “Too much.”

For a moment, Riz doesn’t speak. All he does is stare at all of them, scrunching his forehead in dissatisfaction with each passing second. Even Fabian gives him a strange look, eyebrow raised, a little uncertain. “Fine,” he eventually sighs, backing off. “I was just thinking. Sorry.”

Adaine ignores the strained edge to Riz’s words, the way he avoids looking at any of them. Instead, all she says is a quiet “Thank you.”

As the room sinks back into silence, Adaine’s hand finds its way over to the chain connecting bracelet and ring. Absentmindedly, she pinches and twists the cold metal between her fingers, mind slipping back into a dull haze, dwelling over Riz’s words.

Incredulity clots within her veins — the absurdity of it all, to assume that Oisin would ever lay a single finger on her! And yet, the longer she dwells on it, the more uncomfortable she feels, something hot flickering to life within her chest — not the fervent heat of affection, but something harsher, angrier.

She doesn’t get it — Riz’s constant animosity, his suspicion, his insistence that there’s something wrong with Oisin. As though Adaine hasn’t known him for years, known him before Riz even knew he existed, their friendship forged on the memory of that day in the library, of learning Sense Emotion and Find Familiar and giggling to each other, chairs pressed closely together. So what if Oisin is territorial? It’s par for the course of being a dragon. And it’s not like her entire life circles around him; the fact that the Bad Kids are here, in her room, is a testament to that fact, that there is more to Adaine Abernant than the relationship she has with her boyfriend.

Her emotions curdle in her stomach like spoiled milk, roiling with discomfort and nausea. Impulsive words dangle on her tongue, threatening to jump ship and say something cold, something that will cut through Riz’s defences, leaving him vulnerable and hurt. But before she can open her mouth, can say something without thinking it through—

The doorknob twists.

“Adaine? I’m coming in.”

Six heads snap in the direction of Adaine’s door as it opens, hinges creaking as it swings inside. Sandra Lynn stands just outside, hand still resting on the doorknob — still dressed in her nightwear, her hair a tousled mess. Her eyes widen, a stunned look on her face. “What are you all doing here?”

“Morning, mom.” Rocking back, Fig flashes a bright grin. “We’re just chilling.”

“Vibing,” Adaine adds.

“Hanging out,” says Fabian with a shrug.

Her eyes flick between all of them. “I can see that,” she finally says, surprised expression quickly traded for something more composed. “I was expecting to find Kristen and Fig here, but… not all of you together.” She peers at the sky outside — at the sun, rising higher with each passing moment — before glancing back to them. “Have you kids gotten anything to eat?”

Adaine stares at Sandra Lynn, before glancing at her friends. All of them exchange looks, coming to the same conclusion: No.

As though she could read their minds, Sandra Lynn sighs. “Well then. Why don’t you guys come down for breakfast?”

Adaine: meet before class?

Anxiety eats at her as she hits send, firing off the message. Quickly shutting off her crystal, Adaine buries her head in her hands, muffling her groan.

She’s really not looking forward to this, at all. Meeting Oisin always leaves her heart aflutter, and today is no exception, but something else is eating at it too — the gaping maws of panic, sharp-toothed and dangerous, threatening to tear her heart to pieces. As she breaks away from her hands, tilting her head to stare up at her ceiling, a memory flashes through her mind, and all Adaine can do is suppress a shudder as the recollection of Lucy Frostblade’s corpse assaults her thoughts.

The discovery of the body made the news yesterday — while the Bad Kids were still over, scraping together whatever breakfast they could find in the kitchen, chatting mildly amongst each other. Fig saw it first, scrolling aimlessly through her social media — a crosspost linking to a local news page: Body of 16-Year Old Girl Found in Far Haven Woods.

“God,” Fabian muttered, face pinched as they all crowded around Fig, peeking at her screen. “They work fast. I sent that in, like— yesterday evening.”

“Well, it is a dead body,” Kristen commented. “They can’t really put that off.”

“Still,” Riz said, narrowing his eyes, “how did the news get to it so fast?”

As her friends speculated, all the dread that Adaine had felt yesterday came rushing back — something ice-cold trickling down her spine, a hole opening up within her soul. That frigid, yawning feeling overrode her lingering fear from the nemesis ward situation, casting aside the few remaining stubborn frustrations she had about Riz’s lack of faith in her.

“Shit,” Adaine muttered, digging her fingers into her aching forehead. Fig and Kristen traded knowing looks, while the rest of the Bad Kids watched her with concern in their eyes.

Now, as she sits in her room, her miniscule breakfast of toast sitting uneasily in her nauseous stomach, all Adaine can do is stare at nothing in particular, heart palpitating wildly as she tries to work through what to say. It’s just like with the call, she reminds herself, sucking in a shaky breath. You can do it, Adaine. You can do this!

And yet, it isn’t the same, is it? The anxiety remains, more powerful than the first time — the first conversation she had concerning Lucy Frostblade. A buzzing sensation overwhelms her senses, fogging her mind, chest wrenching tight. Maybe it’s because the matter of Lucy isn’t the only thing eating at her; there’s one more thing she should probably talk about too. It’s not that she has to tell Oisin what happened the other night, that someone broke into Mordred and tried to kill her, but the prospect of staying mum about it sits uneasily in her stomach until she swears she’s going to puke.

If Oisin went through what she did — got his room broken into, nearly getting killed in his sleep — and didn’t tell Adaine about it… Well, she’d be pissed. Pissed and upset and outraged, indignance flaring within her, because beyond their relationship, the electricity sparking between them, Oisin is her best friend — one of them, one of many, but just as important to Adaine’s heart.

She knows she has to tell him what happened. She just doesn’t know how.

(She thinks, briefly, of Frostyfaire: Charred grass under the soles of her boots, burnt stems etched in striking patterns; crackling elementals raging across the battlefield, armed with a singular aim to kill; a thunderous howl crashing through the air, blue spines pricked dangerously, Oisin’s back to hers as his tail slams against the ground, and lightning magic bursts off his scales in spades.

For however much she hates Kipperlilly, for however much she suspects that prissy little do-gooder of sneaking in and pressing a knife to Adaine’s heart, Adaine doesn’t know if she can stomach the thought of that again — murderous rage, blazing desperation, ozone burning her nostrils as she listens to a screeching plea and realises that all of the carnage is for her and her alone.)

Blip!

Her screen lights up.

Oisin: Always <3

Staring down the notification, glowing words searing shadows into her eyes, Adaine swallows down the lump in her throat. “Alright,” she murmurs to herself, reacting to Oisin’s message, just so he knows she’s seen it.

“Here goes nothing.”

When she arrives at Aguefort later, clambering out of Jawbone’s car while the gentle chatter of the others fill the air, Adaine can already spot Oisin in the distance, a speck of blue against the stone brick walls, leaning against one of the entrance pillars. Just the sight of him is enough to spark multiple warring emotions — the weak, heady warmth of love, brilliant and all-consuming, flooding her chest with dozens of butterflies; the roiling storm of panic throbbing through her veins, heart skipping a beat not out of affection, but an uneasy apprehension. The sight of him is enough to make her falter in her step, coming to a halt.

A ribbit chirps through the air, accompanied by the sensation of something rubbing against her ankle. As she peers down, a smile slips on her face at the sight of Boggy rubbing his round head against her, trying his best to keep her grounded. “What would I do without you, Boggy?” Adaine sighs as she crouches down to scoop the rotund frog up in her arms. He ribbits at her again, and as she tucks him close to her chest, some of that frightening panic fades from her, softening into something less sharp.

A hand claps on her shoulder. “Good luck, girlie,” Kristen says gravely, giving her a firm nod. Still, there’s a glint in her green eyes, one of steadfast faith.

“You sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Fig asks, popping into view on Adaine’s other side. Her eyes gleam. “I could take the hit. Be the one to bring up Lucy’s corpse.”

It’s tempting. She could get both her friends to come with her. But all the same, something in her shrinks away at the prospect of Fig and Kristen walking by her side, interjecting into her conversations with Oisin. She’s seen his visible frustration at any of the Bad Kids’ presences enough times to remember the signs — pupils contracting, tail stiffening before lashing out wildly, a thunderous snarl spilling forth from bared fangs.

It’s troublesome for everyone involved, if Adaine’s being honest. And after their abrupt parting at Frostyfaire — glancing over her shoulder one last time, seized by something indescribable at the primal fury in those amber eyes—

“It’s fine,” Adaine says, shrugging off Kristen and Fig’s hands with what she hopes is a reassuring smile. As her gaze flicks over to Oisin in the distance, she notices him turning his head slightly, though he hasn’t seem to have caught sight of her yet. “It’s probably better if you don’t,” Adaine adds with a wry laugh. “I feel like he’d just get annoyed if you guys were there.”

“You’d really think he’d have gotten used to us by now.” Leaning back against Jawbone’s car, Kristen arches an eyebrow, lackadaisical smile shifting into something different — slightly sombre, despite the upwards curve of her lips. “Like, don’t go comparing me to Riz here with all his conspiracies, but it has been— what, two, three months?”

She bites the inside of her cheek. In spite of Kristen’s words denying any comparison to Riz’s theories, Adaine still feels those green eyes probing her, digging deeper. “It’s— It’s just dragon instincts, that’s all. It’s really not that bad,” she says a little awkwardly, immediately wincing at the sound of her own words. She twists her lips. “Okay, so it’s a bit out of hand, but I’m… working on it.” That is, she thinks drily, if calling him out on it at Frostyfaire can count as ‘working on it.’

For whatever it’s worth, though, Kristen seems placated. “I trust you,” she says, simply, crossing her arms. She grins. “Go get ‘im.”

With both her friends cheering her on — Fig throwing her a bardic, Kristen tossing her a bless — Adaine hurries off, a burst of adrenaline nipping at her heels. She swallows down her anxiety, smacks away all her uncertainties, and with each step she takes, the towering walls of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy looming over her, Oisin comes closer into view.

And as she draws near, as he glances around one more time, those amber eyes latch onto her, pupils dilating into wide circles.

“Adaine!” Oisin lights up as Adaine closes the gap between them, an ebullient happiness coming over him — like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, sudden and bright and basking her skin in warm rays. She smiles as she steps close, instinctively shifting Boggy over in her arm so she can raise her hand to cup his cheek and pull him in for a kiss. Her lips press against his snout, and a hot breath brushes against her face.

The familiar touch of claws make themselves known, curling around her waist snugly. Adaine has gotten used to it, the sensation more intimate than it is foreign after their first few months together — of something sharp digging into the curve of her hip, or pressing along the small of her back, the rounded edges of claws felt through layers of clothing.

“Good morning,” she greets, voice warm with unabashed affection. “How are you feeling?” she asks, pulling her hand away from Oisin’s cheek. “Considering what happened at Frostyfaire, and all.” A memory flashes through her mind, and Adaine winces at the remembrance of the look on Oisin’s face as she was hurried away by her friends, bestial and rageful. She shrinks slightly, mumbling, “Sorry I left so abruptly.”

But rather than the scowl that tarnished his face two days ago, Oisin instead says, warmly, “Hey, that wasn’t your fault.” A hand snakes to her face, claw dipping under her chin to tilt her head upwards, allowing her to meet those familiar amber eyes, crinkling at the corners with a smile. “I know you would have probably stayed if you could. Besides,” Oisin adds, with a lingering sigh, “I had to head out too.”

Adaine thinks, briefly, of Ruben’s hard stare — unflinching and resolute against Oisin’s snarling while the magic of a message spell ping-ponged through the air. “Right,” she says. “Well, in any case, I’m glad you’re better now.”

A rumbling laugh. “Well, I’m feeling much better now that you’re here,” Oisin says, a lilt to his words. Adaine rolls her eyes, but the blush that warms her cheeks betrays her. “In any case,” Oisin adds, pulling back slightly to look at her properly, “did you want to meet for something?”

Am I really that easy to read? She shrugs off the thought. “Yes,” Adaine affirms, “but not here, I think.” She glances around, eyes surveying the expanse of Aguefort’s campus — at the tables piled around the courtyard, the parking lots nearby filled with a loose smattering of cars. The sun is slowly rising in the sky, but classes haven’t started yet, so there aren’t that many people here. All the same, though, the thought of getting caught discussing what she has to say in public, where anyone can see and hear her, sits uncomfortably with Adaine.

“Then let’s go somewhere else.” Oisin’s claws slip away from her hips, leaving her wanting for one brief moment before his hand curls into her own, their fingers slotting together perfectly — like two matching pieces of a puzzle, connecting in a way that just feels right. “Come on,” he beckons, smiling in the way that always tugs at her heart as he pulls her through the entrance of the school.

The hallways are largely vacant, save for the occasional glimpse of a staff or another student here and there. Oisin leads while Adaine follows, sinking into a comfortable silence that wraps around her like the cashmere blanket he gave her, long ago. It’s still in her room, folded up and stuffed in her wardrobe, but the thought of it brings the peculiar urge to drag it out again, to use it as another layer for the slowly-chilling autumn nights.

Finally, he tugs her into an empty classroom — largely unused, as indicated by the lack of personalisation along the walls, and the lack of items being stored at the back of the class. As Oisin shuts the door, making sure to twist the lock, Adaine lets Boggy down on a nearby desk before she leans back against the teacher’s table, fingers curling around the edge of the tabletop. In a way, she’s grown far more comfortable with making out in empty classrooms than she ever thought she’d be, having spent many times kissing the life out of Oisin during their breaks between lessons, after school, or even while heading from one place to the next. In that same way, she’s also grown used to being pressed up against the side of a row of lockers, trapped in place by her boyfriend’s strong arms before he swoops in and kisses her, heated and heavy, so passionately that she frequently forgets, briefly, that anyone walking by can see them.

They’re not here to make out, though — not today. It doesn’t stop Oisin from wrapping his hands around her waist and swinging her onto the table effortlessly, legs dangling over the edge. “You really don’t need to do that,” Adaine says, leaning back, though there’s no annoyance in her words, only a mild curiosity. “I was fine just standing.”

“Mm.” Oisin hums, leaning in to steal another kiss, fingers curling under her chin. When he pulls away, he grins. “Can’t help it.”

“Greedy dragon,” mutters Adaine, rolling her eyes. His laughter sinks through her ears, flooding her veins until it winds around her heart.

“I’ll focus now,” he tells her, as his laughter ebbs into a keen attentiveness. “What’s on your mind, dear?”

She bites back the way her heart swoons at the affectionate moniker. Tilting her head to the side, Adaine parts her lips, before her throat dries. That anxiety, festering and raw, returns to her all at once — what will Oisin say, when Adaine brings up his dead friend, dearly departed, again? Last time, she at least had the benefit of being on call — able to hear Oisin, to speak with her words, but not see his face. How had he reacted then, Adaine wonders? Had he teared up, eyes glassy as emotions choked his words? Had a dull sheen overcome his pupils, numb with the grief?

“Hey.” A warm, rough touch comes to brush against her cheek. She blinks, refocuses; Oisin stares at her, his pupils dilated, round with care and concern and fixed on her so intently. “Will you tell me, Adaine?” he asks, softly. “I know there’s something bothering you, and if there’s anything I can do… won’t you let me help?”

And with those kind words, reaching into her chest to cradle her soul, how can Adaine say no?

“I heard they found Lucy’s body,” she says, breathless.

Oisin’s touch stills, his body going rigid.

She swallows the lump in her throat, kicks away the voice that has begun yelling at her to backtrack, backtrack, look at his face, you know you’ve fucked up! “We… My party was hanging out yesterday, and Fig was on her crystal, and—” She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “Well, we saw the news,” Adaine says with a loose shrug. She averts her gaze, staring down at the wooden tabletop instead.

A silence hangs between them, uncomfortable and tense.

“Sorry,” Adaine says, after the silence has stretched on long enough for a shudder to ripple down her spine. “I didn’t…” She crosses her arms, hugging herself. “I didn’t know how else to tell you,” she admits, after a beat. “Or if you knew. Maybe you did know.” Maybe they had told him, told the Rat Grinders, that their cleric’s body had been found. She swallows uneasily. “She was your teammate.”

“N-No, I didn’t.” Oisin stumbles slightly as he speaks, his tone uneasy. “We— I didn’t know.”

A beat of silence.

“But thank you,” he says, his words grateful in spite of their shaky cadence. “For telling me.”

A nervous laugh bubbles out. “You— You really don’t have to thank me for that, you know?” Raising her head, Adaine meets Oisin’s eyes — blue against amber, something prickling between the two of them. She shrugs, letting her head tilt back. “It feels weird.”

“I don’t think it’s weird.” Oisin pauses, and Adaine notices the soft look that overcomes him — pupils expanding as he stares at her, his smile tender rather than sharp, his tail loosely flicking from side to side. “The fact that you thought of me…” Trailing off, Oisin eventually says, in almost a whisper, “it means a lot.”

Adaine hunches, curls into herself. “Yeah,” she says numbly. “Yeah.”

She doesn’t let slip the truth, the words simmering like poison: I found the body. We found the body. Me, and Kristen and Fig and Riz and Fabian and Gorgug — we found the body. We found Lucy buried under felled trees, her corpse rotten and sullied, forgotten about and abandoned for months. And it looks like multiple people killed her — multiple mutilations, multiple wounds, multiple sources of bodily pain.

Did you know, Oisin? Or did you not know, all along?

Were you forced into this? Did you have to kill your own friend?

Adaine thinks, again, of her theory — that Oisin’s claws were not clean of blood, but that he never truly wanted to lay a finger on his own friend. She thinks, again, of the possibility that a certain halfling — hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, tiny polished leather shoes scuffing along the ground — is the true mastermind behind it all — behind the corpse of their own cleric in the woods, behind the orange, gleaming wards that fired off in Adaine’s room to protect her from harm.

She thinks of it, all of it, and her blood boils.

“Adaine?”

The sound of Oisin’s voice, accompanied by his hand resting on her thigh, snaps her out of her thoughts. She startles back to reality, blinking quickly before her mind catches up with her — that she’s in an unused classroom with her boyfriend, that she’s currently talking about some very touchy subjects with him, that Kipperlilly isn’t here and isn’t a problem right now, and she’s safe.

“Um,” Adaine says, smartly. She ducks her head, tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Sorry. That’s…” She bites her lip. “That’s about it, really. That was all I wanted to talk about.”

“I don’t believe you.”

She jerks her head up at those confident words, about to open her mouth and rebut him, but the sensation of static sparking along her skin steals her focus instead, the casting of such an intimately familiar spell. Her forehead scrunches together; “Did you just use Sense Emotion on me?”

“Most useful spell you ever taught me,” Oisin remarks, stepping back with a satisfied curl to his smile. “But it more or less proves my suspicions right; that’s not the only thing bothering you. You’ve got a lot of anxiety, you know that? And beyond the spell, you’re all… tense.” Hands reach up, curling around her shoulders, and Adaine tenses at the sudden touch, before relaxing and leaning back. As she sits there, feeling Oisin’s claws trace down the curve of her shoulder to the expanse of her arms, her muscles, any incredulity over having been struck with a Sense Emotion, her feelings laid bare, slips away. “Let me help, Adaine,” Oisin tells her, soft and sweet. “Let me listen.”

“Someone tried to kill me two nights ago.”

Like a blade slicing through the air, the sweet atmosphere of loving words and unabashed affection shatters.

Oisin freezes, eyes wide, hands still frozen where they’ve been grasping her wrists. Adaine flinches, jerking back as the sudden realisation of what, exactly, she just said hits her. She breaks away from Oisin’s grip, hands flying up to cover her mouth — but the damage is done, and she can’t take back what she said.

“Wh— What do you mean, someone tried to kill you?!” Oisin’s voice quavers as he speaks, stumbling over his words. His hands fly up, wrapping around her shoulders tightly — He’s trembling, Adaine realises, feeling the way his arms shake. His pupils are wide, so wide, with concern, and his gaze keeps darting everywhere as he looks her all over, as though searching for injuries, scars — any trace at all of harm. “A-Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” Adaine blurts out quickly, the urge to reassure him, to quell his anxieties, his panic, the fear clouding his eyes, swelling within her at once. She reaches up, grabs his wrists with her hands, squeezing as she smiles at him, hoping that it comes off as reassuring. That her own inner turmoil, her own quivering uneasiness, longing to see Oisin placated, doesn’t come through. “I-I’m fine, Oisin,” she says, again, insistent, but he doesn’t let go; his mouth twists, curling with uncertainty, a flash of disbelief crossing his eyes.

I don’t believe you, his body language says — and Adaine knows this, can read it well, has studied all the little signs for the two years they have been friends, the autumn months they have been lovers.

“I’m fine, Oisin,” she repeats again, channelling some force into her words. “I—”

Her eyes widen, and she catches herself, stopping herself before she lets slip the fact that the Bad Kids helped — that they came over after someone broke into her room in the middle of the night with nefarious intent, that they spent the rest of the day with her, providing her with a distraction from the wards glowing along her walls. She bites her lip; There’s no way that will go over well, Adaine thinks, reflecting on what she knows — that Oisin cannot stand her friends, that his draconic tendencies interfere with any of their interactions.

So she reins herself in, blurts something else out instead. “I got it all sorted out,” Adaine finishes weakly, forcing herself to meet Oisin’s eyes instead of looking away. Something inside her shrivels at how distressed he looks, and as he runs his hands all over her, cupping her cheeks and reaching for her hands and curling his claws around her hips, she simply lets him, heart twinging with a longing to alleviate that anxiety, that pain. She musters a smile. “So I’m fine now. I’m sorry if I worried you.”

“If you worried me?” Oisin echoes, disbelief wavering through his voice. He cups her cheeks again, staring right at her eyes; “You could have died, I— what even happened, Adaine?”

She explains it to him then, all of it — the nemesis ward glowing along her walls, the purpose it serves, the fact that her older sister painted the glyphs as a way to protect Adaine even after moving out. She tells him of the night after Frostyfaire, startling awake from her interrupted trance and fighting off a panic attack as she realised the ward had triggered — glowing bright, searing lights into her vision.

“It’s meant to protect me from harm,” Adaine explains, gesturing a little helplessly with her hands as memories of her conversations with her friends sneak back into her mind — of Riz’s yellow eyes resting on her, of his voice proposing an alternative: Not killing, but maybe something else.

She traces circles into the wooden tabletop below her. “I can’t think of why else it would have triggered,” Adaine says, after a slight pause. She tilts her head, gives a halfhearted shrug. “Beyond someone wanting to harm me, I mean.”

Neither of them speak for a while. Oisin stares at her, his pupils slitted, his gaze sharp — stares at her with a strange look, an impenetrable expression that is impossible for Adaine to read. She bites back the urge to squirm under his stare, to let loose more words explaining everything that went down — calling the Bad Kids over, Riz’s ridiculous proposal that Oisin might have set off the wards.

Eventually, Oisin opens his mouth to ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Adaine winces, shoulders raising defensively. “I—” The words catch in her throat as she realises she doesn’t have a good answer to that. She has two reasons, sure, but neither of them are good to hear — the first being Oisin’s affiliation with Kipperlilly, whom Adaine does suspect of trying to kill her; the second being Oisin’s thunderous rampage at Frostyfaire, and Adaine’s reluctance to have him fight her battles for her.

Adaine meant what she said to her friends. If someone did, indeed, try to kill her, she wants to deal with them herself. Even at the cost of her boyfriend’s dissatisfaction, the discomfort squirming under her skin as he levels her with a hard stare.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Adaine eventually says. As Oisin scowls, opening his mouth to spit out a reply, Adaine raises her hand, a silent shut up and let me talk. She takes a deep breath, before she says, “Like— Just think about it from my perspective for a moment, would you? Frostyfaire had just happened a few hours earlier. I had no way of knowing if you… if you were better.”

Very eloquent, some part of her mind snips at her, and Adaine mentally tells it to shut up. “You know what I mean,” she finishes lamely, twisting her wrist to try and flourish her point — referring, of course, to the carnage. The ravaged mess of the Thistlesprings’ lawn, the smoking craters left by strikes of thunder, the extremely destroyed stage. And, of course, whatever was left over of Principal Grix’s body.

Despite shutting up, Oisin still narrows his eyes at her. An annoyed huff slips from his nostrils, accompanied by a curling trail of smoke. “We’re not having the whole ‘You’re not a bother’ argument again, by the way,” Adaine tells him stoically. “I know I’m not. This was— something else.”

She holds her own against his steely gaze as they enter a stare-off, silence surrounding them once more. The tension is palpable, electricity prickling through the air; Adaine curls her lips, narrowing her eyes, refusing to relent in spite of however much she wants to.

There are some battles she still has to win.

Eventually, Oisin pulls away, averting his gaze with a heavy sigh. “I can’t stay mad at you,” he complains.

She grins. “I know.”

He stares at her for all but a second before he moves. A squeak escapes her lips as strong arms wrap around her, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug; Oisin yanks her off the table, swinging her into the air, able to lift her without any trouble. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he tells her, a little breathily. “I really am. I—” A broken laugh. She feels him bury his snout into the crook of her neck. “Just… tell me next time if this happens again? Please?”

Her resolve crumbles.

“I will,” Adaine promises, guilt biting at her — for not telling Oisin, for keeping this from him.

She lets him hold her like this, ignoring the slight ache of her body, held so firmly in Oisin’s tight arms. But time continues to tick past, and she soon grows restless. Adaine gives an experimental little wriggle, kicking her legs slightly, but Oisin is frustratingly strong, and the low whine of displeasure that spills from his mouth stops her immediately. “Can you let me down now?” Adaine asks, eventually, left with no other option. “Please?”

Oisin pulls back, enough that Adaine can see his face again — less distressed than before, a slight smile decorating his snout. There’s a bright glint in his eyes as he hums contemplatively. “Hmm. I don’t know. What do you think, Boggy? Should I let her down?”

Adaine blinks. But sure enough, as she cranes her head to the side, she is greeted with the sight of her round familiar, still sitting on the same desk she dropped him off at, a patient observer to all their antics. He’s staring at them with his ‘I’m not so sure about this’ face, and Adaine scowls. Traitor, she spits at him through their telepathic link, hearing naught but a mental ribbit in return.

She hears Oisin laugh. “Well, our son has spoken—”

“Our son?!”

“I mean, I taught you Find Familiar!” Oisin protests, unable to hide his glee. He swings her around, relishing in Adaine’s yelp. “We’re a couple now,” he reminds her happily. “He’s—” Another throaty laugh that wraps around her, like the haze of an incoming storm. “He’s basically ours, isn’t he?”

“Go cast Find Familiar and give me our second child then,” Adaine barks in return. “Maybe it’ll be a bit less traitorous than this little bastard,” she says, firing off those last few words with a pointed glare at Boggy, who merely blinks his big, round eyes and chirps happily.

But she’s unable to stop herself from grinning, leaning in as Oisin’s rumbling laughter fills the air, fills her ears, reaches down to touch her heart with tender claws. For a moment, she forgets all about the rotting corpses of dead clerics, the glowing lights of nemesis wards. She simply sinks into the sweet haze of laughter and young love with all the enthusiasm of some foolish, lovestruck youth — bares her neck as Oisin presses sweet kisses along the expanse of her flesh, nibbling and nipping as she curls her fingers into his back.

They arrive late to class again, dishevelled and tousled, hands intertwined.

After school, during another long shift at Basrar’s, Adaine gets a text on her crystal. Multiple, actually.

She gets to them several minutes later, stuck in the middle of serving a couple of customers. But once they’ve been satisfied, tipping her a bit of silver for her service, she slides into the booth across from Oisin, flashing him a grin, and checks her messages.

Her eyes widen at the sight of texts from Aelwyn.

Aelwyn: Can’t believe I’m about to say this

Aelwyn: Miss my lil sis

Aelwyn: Everything alright?

Why are you texting me? Adaine asks mentally, thumbs hovering over the screen as she deliberates over her reply. Her inner turmoil must be obvious enough, because before long, she feels Oisin’s eyes on her, hears him ask, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Adaine replies, her gaze briefly flicking upwards to meet his amber eyes. She shrugs. “Just— Aelwyn’s texting me.”

He pauses. “That’s your sister, right?”

“Yep.” Pressing a hand against her cheek, Adaine sighs. “I better reply to her.”

Adaine: yes

Aelwyn comes online almost immediately. Before long, another message comes in.

Aelwyn: Took you long enough

Adaine: sorry i guess for having a life

Aelwyn: You’re forgiven.

Aelwyn: You got time today?

Adaine: kinda?

Aelwyn: Wdym ‘kinda’?

Adaine: i’m working rn

A long, pregnant pause. A dialogue bubble pops up, before it disappears, before it pops up again. And when Aelwyn finally sends her message—

Aelwyn: ............YOU’RE WHAT?

Adaine can’t help the laugh that bursts out, covering her mouth to no avail. Oisin gives her a brief look.

Adaine: why is that so surprising? lmao

Aelwyn: Aren’t you dating a DRAGON?

Adaine: yeah i am

Adaine: you still haven’t told me how you know that btw!!

Aelwyn: Doesn’t matter wtf is that boy doing

Adaine: i wanted to work

Aelwyn: ?

Adaine: i didn’t want to like.

Adaine: rely on him for everything

She watches as Aelwyn begins typing, before she stops. She drums her fingers against the table as she watches that bubble pop up, every second stretching on until it feels like an eternity, like forever.

Aelwyn: You are a colossal idiot sometimes, yknow that?

Adaine: shut up

Aelwyn: Make me

Aelwyn: Where are you working? I’ll come find you

Adaine: aren’t you working right now?

Aelwyn merely reacts to her message with a heart emoji. Adaine sighs.

Adaine: basrar’s

Aelwyn: Be there in a tick

“What was that about?” Oisin asks, after Adaine puts her crystal down on the table with a clatter, before proceeding to bury her head in her hands. His eyes glint with concern, and he holds his pen awkwardly in the air, as though he had forgotten he was holding it to begin with.

“Just—” Adaine drags her hands down her face, biting back a sigh. She reaches to the side for her familiar — the round form of Boggy, sitting next to Oisin’s pile of books with a dopey smile on his face — and pulls him into her arms. “You’ll see,” Adaine mutters.

Oisin furrows his brow. “Well that’s ominous. Not even a hint to help me?”

At that, Adaine barks out a laugh. “Oh believe me, you’ll know it when you see it.”

And true to her words, Oisin does. When the door is pushed open later that day, the bell hanging over it chiming to signal the entrance of yet another guest, Adaine relishes in the sight of Oisin’s eyes widening as Aelwyn Abernant steps in — dangerous and sharp, dressed in a white button-up and trousers, her blonde hair clipped short into a clean pixie cut. He stares as Adaine greets Aelwyn — not with a hug, because they don’t hug, they rarely ever do, but by nodding at her, returning Aelwyn’s wicked smile — and continues to stare in silence as they converse, as Adaine compliments Aelwyn’s hair, as Aelwyn talks about owning ten cats.

But it isn’t until Aelwyn touches upon the idea of getting out of here that Oisin interjects. “Do you have to?” he asks, causing Adaine to turn and glance at him, blinking. There’s a simmering animosity in Oisin’s eyes as he glares at Aelwyn, a flickering fire that lights up out of nowhere — and she is struck, again, by the thought of Frostyfaire, of the rage in his eyes as she was carted away by her friends, something indescribable unlike anything she’s ever seen before.

“I mean—” Adaine hesitates, suddenly unsure. She’d been keen to catch up with Aelwyn when her sister proposed leaving for a bit, but now… she’s not so certain. “I do have a job, Aelwyn,” she says instead, turning back to her sister, only for Aelwyn to lower her eyes, lips pressing together into a tight line.

And then she turns and shouts, in the direction of the counter, “Hey, Basrar! My sister’s taking her lunch break!”

“I don’t have a lunch break!” Adaine protests. “It’s way past lunchtime—”

“Whatever breaks you do have, then,” Aelwyn interrupts, with a sly smile. “Is that alright with you, Basrar?”

“Of course, of course!” Adaine hears him call back, joyous and kind as ever. “Please take your break, Adaine— I can hold down the fort for a bit!”

Crossing her arms with a smug smile, Aelwyn says, “See? All you have to do is ask, Adaine—”

“Fine, I get it!” With an irritated sigh, Adaine falls silent. Her eyes drift away from Aelwyn, expectant and waiting, her sharp gaze piercing holes through Adaine’s soul, towards the other source of palpable tension in the room. Oisin bristles as he stares past Adaine — towards Aelwyn, his pupils narrowed into thin pinpricks, hackles raised. Adaine stiffens at the sound of a low rumbling filling the air, her heart skipping a beat—

But as her gaze darts back to Aelwyn, she watches her sister meet Oisin’s glare head on, and withstand it. She curls her thin lips into a humourless smile, tipping her chin upwards in an act of defiance, an act of pure spite. Sparks light between them, a dangerous hum of electricity; the air thickens around her, warring expectations digging into her skin, past muscle and blood and bone — should she stay, or should she go? Adaine doesn’t know, wants them both at the same time, except she can’t have it.

And yet, after what feels like an eternity, Oisin tears his gaze away. The tension dispels, dropping into tepid annoyance. Aelwyn grins, baring her teeth like a predator gloating over its prey. “Come now, Adaine,” she calls, turning on her heel and making way for the door. “The clock’s ticking.”

As she slips out of the booth seat, Adaine flashes one last look over her shoulder at Oisin, before she flicks a finger in his direction, sends magic spiralling his way. Sorry, she tells him, apologetic and hurried — but it’s worth it for the brief glance she gets from him, edges softening at the corners as he returns her wobbly smile.

“Do you want to go get some sandwiches and go look at our old burnt down house?” Aelwyn asks her as they make their way through the door together, side by side.

Not really, a part of her thinks, still lingering back in Basrar’s. But she says, instead, “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

“Since when do you have a car?” Adaine asks as she gets into the vehicle. It’s a cluttered mess, and she wrinkles her nose while brushing a couple of paper napkins onto the floor as she settles in.

“Since I moved out,” Aelwyn answers with a dismissive shrug.

Adaine stares at her. “How did you afford it? You’re working as a teacher.”

At that, Aelwyn actually laughs. “You think I can afford this on a paltry teaching salary?”

“Obviously not. Which is why I’m asking!”

“All in due time, sister dear,” Aelwyn answers with a smug smirk as the engine rumbles to life.

“Is it drugs? I bet it’s drugs.”

It’s not drugs, as Adaine soon finds out when they stop by a sandwich shop. In fact, it’s worse than drugs. Adaine catches sight of Aelwyn’s lock screen while her sister steps out to buy them their food, having left the device lying on the driver’s seat, and her heart lurches at the sight of an OK symbol with a green checkmark. It takes her a minute to place where she’s seen the background before, to figure out why it’s so familiar, but when she does—

“You’re working for the enemy?” Adaine bursts out as soon as the car door opens, and Aelwyn clambers back inside. She’s bristling with anger, staring at her sister while feeling utterly betrayed.

Aelwyn merely blinks at her, levelling her with a flat look. “What.”

“Your lock screen.” Adaine jerks a finger at the crystal, screen dim from disuse. “I recognise that fucking checkmark. You’re working for Clamhead Cuntface—”

“Can you let me get back into the fucking car before you start flinging slurs at me?” Aelwyn snaps, her voice sharp. Immediately, Adaine’s mouth clams shut. “Thank you,” Aelwyn sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes as she pulls the door shut, dumping the plastic bag of sandwiches between the two of them.

For a moment, neither of them speak. Aelwyn merely taps at her crystal — Probably sending a message to Doggycunt Shitface, Adaine grouches sullenly, hands balling up into white-knuckled fists where they lay in her lap. She can’t get the shock of seeing that lock screen out of her mind — she remembers, faintly, a text conversation from months ago, of her friends catching her up on what she missed while Oisin pulled her away for a bit of private time together: Pictures of food trucks congregating outside Aguefort, the packaging marked with the same symbol that decorates her sister’s crystal screen.

But after Aelwyn pulls out of the parking lot, heading back on the road to Clearbrook, she finally says, “Okay. What the fuck was that about?”

Adaine’s gaze shifts to the side. “Are you working for Kipperlilly?”

“Copperkettle?” Aelwyn shrugs. “Yeah, sure. Like I said, can’t afford a car on a teaching salary. She pays well.” Her eyes flick over to Adaine briefly, brows pressing together. “What’s got you so pissed off about it?”

“She tried to kill me.”

In a sudden, sharp movement, tyres squealing, the car abruptly jerks to the side of the road. Aelwyn whirls around, eyes bulging as she stares down Adaine. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You heard me,” Adaine says, through the chaotic stampede of her heart, beating against her sternum with such a frantic intensity. She tips her chin upwards, meeting her sister’s gaze head on. “She tried to kill me.”

For a moment, Aelwyn doesn’t speak. All she does is stare at Adaine, lips slightly parted. Her eye twitches.

And then she turns around, reaching to jerk the gear stick back into a different slot. She stomps on the pedal of the car, one hand on the wheel as it putters back to life, swerving back onto the road. “You know what?” Aelwyn exclaims, words laced with ire as her eyes snap back to the road. “I’m going to drive us over to our old burnt down house in Clearbrook, and you are going to tell me why you think Kipperlilly tried to kill you.”

Her voice pitches with incredulity. “You don’t believe me?”

“I am not having this conversation while driving this fucking car, Adaine,” Aelwyn snaps, letting go of the gear shift to rake a hand through her hair. “Unless you want me to crash my car, in which I would be more than happy to do so.”

Anger boils within her, but Adaine swallows it back down. She sits in her seat, ignoring the way her stomach growls at the tantalising scent of sandwiches. She recognises one of them, realises that Aelwyn remembered her favourite kind enough to get it for her, and something soft breaks through the haze of annoyance shrouding her.

The drive to Clearbrook doesn’t take long. Before she knows it, Aelwyn has pulled the car over at the side of the road, and they’re both clambering out — Aelwyn with the bag of sandwiches, Adaine with nothing but herself. The twin sounds of the car doors slamming shut clatter through the air, before being replaced with silence. There’s nothing but the distant chirping of birds, the rustling of wind against her ears, and the sight of the burnt-down remnants of the old Abernant mansion, charred to the ground.

Neither of them break the silence, not immediately. But she hears footsteps as Aelwyn rounds the car, coming to stand next to her. She reaches into the plastic bag, pulls out Adaine’s favourite sandwich, and passes it to her wordlessly, which Adaine accepts.

“So,” Aelwyn begins, as Adaine chews through her first bite of sandwich, the taste exploding on her tongue, “why do you think Kipperlilly tried to kill you?”

Adaine’s eyes flick over to her sister, scrutinising. Aelwyn’s tone is mild, carefully controlled. She leans against the side of her car, arms folded; her own sandwich sits in the plastic bag, hanging from her wrist. As their eyes meet, Adaine notices a glint in Aelwyn’s blue eyes, the colour twinning her own, but she can’t place what the emotion is, only that it digs through her skin and reaches deep, like a sharp blade piercing through sinew and cartilage, exposing what lies beneath.

She suppresses a shudder. Tearing her gaze away, Adaine curls both hands around her sandwich, her mood darkening. “Who else would it be? She hates me.”

“Oh, I’ve got no doubt about that,” Aelwyn chimes in, nonchalantly. She reaches into the bag for her own sandwich and takes a big bite, before she continues. “The first thing she asked me when she contacted me about work was whether I was related to you. Bit of a stupid question, isn’t it? How many Abernants are there in Solace, really?”

“If the rest of our family is anything like our dear parents,” Adaine says, after a moment’s thought, “probably just us both.” She snorts. “I bet none of them are brave enough to step foot outside of Fallinel.”

“Quite right about that, sister dear,” Aelwyn says with a smirk, reaching over to ruffle her hair. Adaine pulls a face, ducking away. “But really, though, answer the question,” Aelwyn continues, becoming serious as she pulls back. “Why do you think she tried to kill you?”

“I already told you—”

“Another question then. Why do you think she hates you so much?”

Her lips press thin. “Why wouldn’t she?” Adaine says dourly. She cranes her head back, staring up at the sky — at the sun slowly making its way to the horizon. She takes another bite of her sandwich, chewing and swallowing. “I’m dating one of her party members. She’s probably a goddamn control freak. Do you know the way she looks at me whenever Oisin and I pass her? Her eyes just— bulge out like crazy. I swear her head’s going to explode.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t be wrong about that,” Aelwyn says, with another shrug. “God, the amount of complaining I’ve had to endure about you. Do you know that Kipperlilly had the audacity to tell me to do something about your relationship? Like I have any control over you!”

A sudden realisation hits her, her brain clicking the pieces of the puzzle together. “Wait,” Adaine breathes, staring at Aelwyn. “Did you find out about my relationship from Kipperlilly?”

Aelwyn smirks. “What can I say? She simply wouldn’t shut her mouth about it.”

Reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose, Adaine squeezes her eyes shut. She can feel a headache coming on. “So,” she begins, voice hard. “Tell me then, Aelwyn. Why on earth are you working for her?”

“She pays well.”

“And what does she make you do?”

Aelwyn pauses. “You know, I have some questions for you too, right? Checking in on sister dearest and all?”

“Answer mine first!”

She doesn’t expect Aelwyn to agree. Adaine honestly expected Aelwyn to shut her down, her voice sharp, her words cutting — but that isn’t what happens, not in the slightest. As she jabs her sandwich in Aelwyn’s direction, her voice coming out hot and tremulous, Aelwyn actually pauses. Something comes over her eyes, softening those sharp corners, whatever tension quivering under her skin loosing from her shoulders. “Fine,” Aelwyn eventually says, though the cutting edge of her voice is blunted, mellowed just the slightest bit. “What do you want to know?”

She gleans information from Aelwyn, more than she ever expected to know — about Kipperlilly’s wealth, disconnected from her ordinary, mundane parents; about her job, sourcing various material components at the rogue’s behest. Adaine wrinkles her brow at all the details she learns — about Cloud Rider engines and arcano-tech electrical gear, about ambrosia and devil’s nectar. She files all the information away as she talks, falling back into an easy banter with Aelwyn, jabbing back and forth, and getting Aelwyn to promise to let Adaine scry on her the next time she meets with her homicidal benefactor.

Adaine almost forgets about her side of the deal.

Almost.

“That’s enough of that,” Aelwyn eventually says, thoroughly depleted of any answers left to give. Their sandwiches are long-finished, resting in digested chunks in their stomachs, and the sun has begun to dip its heels behind the horizon, casting warm streaks of light across a slow-darkening sky. Aelwyn’s keen eyes turn to rest on her, and Adaine suppresses the shudder that threatens to slink down her spine. “My turn to interrogate.”

Before Aelwyn can get a word in edgewise, however, there’s the sound of a familiar blip. Adaine feels her cheeks warm as she pulls out her crystal, peeking at the screen — another text from Oisin, not the first one all this while. She hasn’t been able to reply at all, too caught up in her conversation with Aelwyn, and not wanting to give her sister the chance to spy on Adaine’s conversations with her boyfriend. “God,” she sighs, pocketing her crystal, heart twisting uneasily at the message unanswered. “Sorry.”

“Does he do that a lot?”

Adaine blinks. “Do what?”

“Spam you incessantly,” Aelwyn clarifies, giving her a strange look. “Actually, scratch that. I have a much better question.” Her eyes narrow. “Do you know what you’re getting into with dating a dragon?”

“I do, actually,” Adaine snips back in return, causing Aelwyn’s eyebrows to shoot up in surprise. And it’s true — Adaine had spent several hours tucked away between the towering bookshelves of Aguefort’s library in the days after she and Oisin became official, grazing her fingers along the book spines shelved in countless rows. She spent a day where she wasn’t scheduled to work tucked away between the stacks, perusing the library’s catalogue of books concerning dragons and dragonborns. She had even pulled up her own rusty command of the language, having learnt it years ago before coming to Aguefort, in hopes of finding more authentic sources to peruse.

That was where Oisin found her after returning from a meeting concerning party matters — seated in a small alcove, the rays of a sunset streaking through arched windows, a small pile of books by her side. As soon as he caught sight of the topmost book, its leather cover illustrated with a beautiful painting of a dragon, a low rumbling had begun to fill the air, catching Adaine’s ear and piquing her interest.

“Are you… purring?” she had asked, glancing up from her book as Oisin leaned over her, a dopey smile on his face. She shuffled over, allowing him to squeeze in next to her, leaning into his touch as he draped an arm around her.

“Maybe,” Oisin rumbled in return, pulling her in closer.

“Oh, good. You’re not completely hopeless then.” Aelwyn’s voice pulls Adaine out of her memories, returning her to the conversation at hand. Aelwyn leans against the car, raising an eyebrow. “I take it you understand why your little boyfriend keeps texting you incessantly?”

“Yeah. He’s possessive— but that’s normal,” Adaine adds quickly.

Aelwyn’s lips curve into a wry smile. “I’m surprised, you know.”

“...What do you mean?”

“You hate being shackled down.” Aelwyn points a finger at her, presses a manicured nail into the sleeve covering Adaine’s arm, digging into the fabric. “Stuck at the whims of some other person’s fancy. And yet, here you are,” Aelwyn sweeps on, her eyes flashing. “Calling possessiveness normal.”

Adaine grits her teeth. “Well, what else do you want me to say? He’s a dragon. He can’t help it.”

Aelwyn pauses, staring at her. Eventually, she says, voice flat, “If you say so.”

A beat of silence, one that presses down against Adaine’s shoulders, grates on her nerves.

“Look—” She eventually bursts out, raising her hands defensively. “Just—” A sigh spills out, shoulders slumping against the weight of invisible expectations, blue eyes piercing her soul. Twisting her lip, Adaine raises her head, meeting her sister’s gaze. “What are you getting at, Aelwyn?”

“Do you really want to know? Seems like you might not like the answer you hear.”

She stops. Forces herself to suck in a breath. “You know what?” Adaine utters. “Just tell me.”

An exhale spills through the air.

“I don’t think Kipperlilly tried to kill you.”

Silence.

Adaine stares, eyes wide — stares at her sister, at the way Aelwyn holds her gaze, eyes narrowed, as though goading Adaine to try and counter her claim. She stares as the words sink in, before they finally hit her, and a fire burns through her soul, roaring to life, blazing with indignance and annoyance and incredulity. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she curses, nails digging crescent-moons into the skin of her palm as her hands ball into tightly-knuckled fists. “This again? Oisin didn’t do it—”

Aelwyn’s lips curl into a smile.

“I never said anything about your boyfriend, sister dear.”

Adaine’s mouth snaps shut. She stands, stricken in place, stunned at having barrelled headfirst into what was so obviously a trap. Idiot, she thinks, lambasting herself — why else would Aelwyn have brought up Oisin before, if not for this? Panic seizes her, harsh and cold; that yawning abyss returns, impossible to describe, an emotion she feels more than she comprehends.

“Anyways,” Aelwyn continues, ignorant — or perhaps simply ignoring — to Adaine’s trembling panic, “that aside…”

Her voice grows cold.

“Why didn’t you tell me that the nemesis ward triggered?”

Shit.

“That’s— I—” She’s stuttering, tripping over all her words, ensnared in Aelwyn’s trap like an absolute fool. Exposed for all her vulnerabilities, before being pounced on for all the things she hadn’t wanted to say. Adaine squirms in place, wringing her hands together before finally bursting out, “Who the fuck told you?”

“Not important,” Aelwyn dismisses, swatting aside that defensive outburst with a flick of her wrist. Leaning against her car, she levels Adaine with a steely stare. “What matters is that someone set off the ward, and you didn’t tell me.”

“I…” She trails off, ducking her head to avoid Aelwyn’s gaze. It’s embarrassing. The truth is embarrassing. The truth is stupid, because the truth is that Adaine forgot, and even if she did remember, she wouldn’t have told anyone outside of her friends, because the thought of Jawbone, Aelwyn, of everyone else rushing to her aid sits uneasily in her stomach, making her nauseous like she’d just drunken spoilt milk. “I forgot,” Adaine eventually says, biting out the bitter truth, as much as her cheeks burn to admit it.

“You forgot,” Aelwyn echoes.

A brief pause. Adaine nods.

“I’ll forgive you, just this once,” Aelwyn finally says, letting out a sigh as she rests a hand on her hip. “But I will have to pop by Mordred soon. Interrupt the friendly little sitcom dynamic you’ve all got going on there. I have to ensure those wards are still in working order.”

“Nevermind that,” Adaine dismisses, turning her attention elsewhere as she musters up a glare. “Why do you think Kipperlilly didn’t do it?”

“Because she couldn’t have,” Aelwyn simply says, with an air of absolute finality. “I was meeting her that night.”

Adaine stiffens.

“That— What?”

“You heard me.” Aelwyn smiles. “Besides, I have some other suspicions. Some better fitting ones—”

Adaine jerks her hand up, a silent gesture to shut up. “Don’t,” she utters, warningly.

But Aelwyn pushes on anyway, disregardful of the way Adaine’s voice wavers, oblivious to the emotions roiling about her chest, poking and protruding, the sensation beyond description. “I’ll be blunt, Adaine,” Aelwyn says, smiling all the while. “I don’t like your boyfriend.”

Her eye twitches. “You barely even know him,” Adaine exclaims, glowering.

Aelwyn hmm’s. “I know enough,” she says, cryptic as ever, before she exhales deeply. “Tell me, Adaine. Do you like your job?”

Why are you asking me this? She wants to scream, her head a swimming mess. It feels like Aelwyn took her by the hand, pulled her away from a place of sanctuary, where Adaine had been at ease with herself, her emotions, engulfed by the tender tranquillity of affection, knowing her worth and where she belonged. It feels like Aelwyn grabbed her, pulling her into a dance Adaine doesn’t know the steps to, spinning her around until her head is a giddy mess and bile licks at the back of her throat; she’s dizzy, unsure, uncomfortable, and she doesn’t know what her sister wants her to say.

“Why?” Adaine eventually forces out. “This—” She throws her hands up uselessly. “Why are you changing the subject?”

“Not changing it,” Aelwyn clarifies, rolling her eyes. “This is relevant.”

How?

But Aelwyn can’t hear her thoughts — or at least, Adaine hopes she can’t, that her sister isn’t using Detect Thoughts right now. She takes a deep breath, steadying herself, trying to cobble together some semblance of a proper mental ward so her stupid, pesky sister can stay out.

Aelwyn gestures at her, expectant and waiting. “Well?”

“It’s…” She shuffles her feet. “It’s not as bad as my previous job—”

Aelwyn arches an eyebrow. “Your previous job?” Her voice drips with disbelief.

“Not important right now,” Adaine says, insistently. “In any case, it’s not as bad as my old job, and Basrar’s a nice boss and all, but…” She pauses, wrinkling her lip, and the truth comes spilling out. “I can’t say I really like it.”

“So why do you keep working then?”

Raking a hand through her hair, Adaine leans back, letting loose a haggard sigh. “Didn’t I already tell you? I don’t want to rely on Oisin for everything—”

“And yet,” Aelwyn interjects, her hard voice penetrating through Adaine’s weak defences, “you already are.”

Silence.

Adaine stares at Aelwyn, mouth agape, utterly speechless. “I—” Her voice snags in her throat, and she tears her gaze away, heart palpitating wildly under Aelwyn’s cutting glance. “I was just— trying to set some boundaries with him,” she finishes, weakly.

And Aelwyn laughs — a sharp cackle that bursts through the air. “Well, you’re doing a pretty horrible job at it if that’s your goal.”

Sucking in a breath through her teeth, Adaine presses a hand against her forehead, fingers rubbing into her throbbing temple. “Just— what?” She throws her other hand up helplessly, her expression twisted into a crude hybrid of desperation and confusion, all mixed in with a scowl. “What are you trying to say, Aelwyn?”

“Use your brain, Adaine,” her sister snips. “God!” She tilts her head back, rolling her eyes, and Adaine feels her blood curdle, running cold in a way it hasn’t since she got back from spring break, since she and Aelwyn repaired their relationship, foregoing sharp blades for blunted butter knives. She feels small, inadequate; the sensation sticks with her as Aelwyn continues her rant. “You keep talking about setting boundaries by working, and yet you’re letting him walk all over you.”

“He is not!”

Blue eyes turn to her in a flash. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how much he keeps tipping you.”

Adaine gawks. “Were you spying on me?”

“Irrelevant,” Aelwyn dismisses, flicking her wrist. “In any case, you working is just a convoluted arrangement for him to keep sponsoring you. His tips are bigger than your salary.” Adaine narrows her eyes, glares with all her might even as something inside her twists uncomfortably — like turning over a body to expose its rotting core. “Also,” Aelwyn adds, “you nearly didn’t come with me just now, all because he whined a little bit.”

Adaine’s eye twitches. She bites the inside of her cheek. “That’s— Aelwyn, I have a job—”

“And as we’ve already established, it’s barely a job because Hakinvar’s happily writing your paycheck for you,” Aelwyn retorts, firing back with a snap of her fingers. Adaine flinches. “Besides, you have breaks. Except he didn’t want to let you take it to come hang with me, so what exactly is the problem here, Adaine? Shouldn’t he let you rest a bit? Given he’s, you know—” Her voice hardens, solid as steel. “Your boyfriend?”

She grits her teeth. “Oh, come on—”

“Don’t give me that.” Aelwyn glares at her, but something in her eyes softens, almost imperceptibly; anyone else wouldn’t have noticed a change, but Adaine does, because she’s spent over a decade of her life recognising the cold, callous apathy in Aelwyn’s eyes, and she can recognise the flicker of something else that crosses through it — warmer, kinder, rooted in concern. “I’m your sister, Adaine,” Aelwyn says, voice harsh, words soft. “If anyone has the right to drag you away and steal your time, it’s me.”

And just like that, any lingering resentment, anger, frustration towards Aelwyn ebbs away. Because Adaine can recognise the way Aelwyn’s eye twitches, the way her body trembles, the blatant care in her words despite how acerbic her cadence may be. Because she stares at Aelwyn, her older sister, and recognises the worry rooted in her cutting words, in her blatant distrust towards someone she barely understands.

It is that understanding that allows Adaine to take a deep breath, to let go of the urge to fire back with some biting words of her own.

“...He’s just— a bit possessive, that’s all” Adaine finally says, averting her gaze. She stares at the ground instead, the pavement below, the grass poking through the cracks in the concrete. “But that’s normal,” she says, insistent, conviction brimming in her words — because for all she understands Aelwyn, Adaine still needs to defend herself, defend her boyfriend, defend this— this misunderstanding of what everything is. “That’s normal for dragons,” she insists, again, hardening her voice this time.

Her head hurts.

“C-Can we just— drop it?” Adaine exhales, shaking her head. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Please.”

For a moment, there is only silence. She feels Aelwyn’s eyes resting on her, and when Adaine dares to raise her head, to sneak a peek at her sister’s face, she catches a glimpse of cold contemplation resting in those eyes — scrutinising, probing, thoughtful.

That indescribable ache returns, stealing her breath as it tears itself open in her chest — throbbing and raw and impossible to ever define. It rears its ugly head, cryptic as it is, and gnaws at her from the inside-out, sharp fangs sinking through heart and soul.

Her head still hurts.

“...If you say so,” Aelwyn finally says. Her voice is carefully controlled.

Adaine’s body practically sags as she exhales, letting loose a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. Thank you, she thinks, rather than says; the words are too hard to utter out loud, but gratitude blooms in her heart, gentle and warm.

Time ticks by. Neither of them speak. But the silence isn’t uncomfortable, isn’t wracked by a thick, tangible tension, bitter and distressing. It’s quite the opposite — she no longer feels Aelwyn’s piercing gaze boring holes into her soul; no longer feels rooted in place, like prey shackled under the hard stare of a predator, forced to stand her ground as her body grapples with emotions, thoughts, everything she can’t put into comprehensible words.

A gentle breeze brushes past, cool against her cheeks. It brushes a few autumn leaves along, skittering across the ground towards the burnt wreck of the former Abernant manor. As she tilts her head back, Adaine drinks in the sight of the slow-setting sun, relishes in the streaks of gold, orange, and peach that stain the skies. The streetlights have flicked on, lined up by the sides of the road like toy soldiers, casting shadows across the burnt-down mansion, making it appear worse than it already is.

“...Hey.” Adaine turns her head at the sound of Aelwyn’s low voice, devoid of anything calculating or cunning. Aelwyn tilts her head at her. “Do you want to do something for Moonar Yulenear?”

Adaine blinks. “Why? Where’s this coming from?”

Aelwyn shrugs. “I don’t know. I was just looking at our lovely former home, thinking about our lovely parents, and— well.” She flashes a smile. “Do you remember how father and mother dearest would give us coal?”

A shudder ripples through her. “Ugh. Yeah.” She gags a little thinking about it, swallowing down the bile that swells in her throat. Their parents, pieces of shit that they were, would give both of them coal if they misbehaved too much throughout the year — which typically turned out to be every year in Adaine’s case, forced to watch Aelwyn unwrap a gift or two in seething envy.

She folds her arms. “You escaped the worst of the coalpocalypse.”

Aelwyn cackles, throwing her head back. “Coalpocalypse! Oh, that’s genius.” She reaches up, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Our dear father would probably be rolling in his grave, seeing us bond like this.”

“More reason to spite him, huh?” Adaine muses, feeling a flicker of magic throb through her knuckles — the spell she’d used to kill her father once, and would happily use to slaughter him again.

“Well, it seems about as good a time as any,” Aelwyn remarks with a smile. “We never got to celebrate it together.”

Those words, simple as they are, stick with her. Because what Aelwyn says is true — they’ve never been able to spend Moonar Yulenear together, reunited and bonded as sisters. They’ve had less than a year to reconcile, only reuniting several months ago in spring — and the thought of spending time under a tree, trading gifts, gives Adaine pause. It’s tranquil, the exact kind of domesticity Aelwyn moved out to avoid, and Adaine points out as much. “Will you be able to handle it? ‘Cause it would probably be at Mordred. And— you know how Jawbone is.”

A hand ruffles her hair, and Adaine squeaks. “I’ll tolerate the sappy little domestic scene just this once if it means I get to spend a day with my little sister,” Aelwyn says, grinning all the while. There’s no hidden daggers in her smile, no barbs underlying her words; there is only a longing desire, simple and sweet, and Adaine feels it too.

She nods, smiling back. “Okay. Yeah.”

“Moonar Yulenear together?”

“Moonar Yulenear together.”

By the time Aelwyn pulls up outside Basrar’s, the sun has fully set, a few stray stars struggling to shine in the light-polluted skies. Adaine winces as she gets out, slamming the door shut behind her. “Some break that was, huh?”

“Oh, I’m sure Basrar will understand,” Aelwyn comments, distractedly checking over her nails as she gets out of the driver’s seat. “I’ll have a word with him otherwise.”

“No, it’s good.” Adaine shakes her head. “I can handle it.”

“Right.” Folding her arms, Aelwyn gives Adaine a look, raising an eyebrow. “And you’re sure you don’t need me to drop you off at Mordred?”

“I’m sure,” Adaine says, dipping her head.

They’d argued about it a little on the way over — it had started with Aelwyn asking her if she wanted to drop by her apartment for a bit, only for Adaine to hesitate as yet another text notification came in. “I should probably get back to work,” she had said, much to Aelwyn’s dissatisfaction. “I ended up taking… a really long break.”

“Right,” Aelwyn had said, scrutinising her closely. “Work.”

Adaine sighed. “Okay, fine. Also to meet Oisin—”

“Knew it.”

“But in my defence—” She pulled out her crystal, wincing at all her unread messages, guilt eating her up from the inside. “In my defence,” Adaine repeated, strengthening her conviction, “we spent a really long time gone.”

“You don’t owe him anything, you know that?”

“Maybe not,” Adaine said, concurring after a brief thought, “but we are dating. Communication is important. I owe him that much.”

Aelwyn groaned, leaning back, against the headrest of her seat. “You are starting to sound like Jawbone, you know that? Completely insufferable.”

“Well, I’m sorry that I’m not into toxic one night stands.”

“Maybe not,” Aelwyn muttered, eyes flicking back to the road, “but you sure as hell are into something toxic, alright.”

Now, as she makes her way back to Basrar’s, Adaine’s heart flutters slightly at the familiar sight of Oisin through the wide-paned windows — a hand pressed against his cheek, distractedly staring down at his crystal. Boggy is still there, sitting next to him; Adaine had left her familiar there in her rush heading off with Aelwyn. But before she can make those last few steps to the front door, close the gap and push it open, she feels slender fingers curl around her wrist.

Adaine pauses, glancing over her shoulder.

“Hey,” Aelwyn says, after a slight pause. She stares at Adaine before letting go, wrinkling her nose at her hand before dropping it to her side. “Just… don’t let Hakinvar trample all over your boundaries, okay? You deserve better than that.”

It’s perhaps the kindest thing Aelwyn has ever said to her, raw and unfiltered, unhidden by toxic barbs and poisonous jabs. Adaine smiles at her sister, a warmth settling into her soul. “I won’t,” she promises.

Aelwyn exhales, shoulders slumping. “Good. You shouldn’t.”

And yet, as Adaine bids her a good night, turns back to step into Basrar’s and reunite with Oisin, Aelwyn doesn’t leave — not immediately. Adaine doesn’t look back, doesn’t bother glancing over her shoulder as Oisin notices the bell signifying an entrance, getting up to run over to her as soon as she steps in before embracing her close, lifting her up as he always does.

She doesn’t notice Aelwyn’s expression drop, lips curling with raw hatred, something dangerous burning in the depths of those icy blue eyes.

“Do you guys wanna go to Fallinel?” Fig asks them the next day, pulling her crystal away from her ear. They’re loitering together outside the auditorium, having just left yet another impromptu school assembly, this time concerning the destruction of Principal Grix, and the unfortunate repercussions of Yolanda Badgood’s death.

Immediately, Adaine grimaces. “Oh, god.”

“For the Moonar—” Fig’s clarifications are cut off as the rest of their group begin barraging her with questions — Fabian checking his crystal to see eighteen missed calls while the rest of them start slinging questions through the receiver with the help of Fig.

Her crystal goes off with a notification. Adaine checks it, sees a message from Oisin asking where she is. “Aelwyn and I were going to do something together,” she says, as she taps out a reply — outside the auditorium, simple and succinct. Pocketing her crystal, Adaine shrugs. “And— it’s Fallinel. I don’t know about you guys, but they, like— kidnapped me?”

“Only one part of them,” Fabian points out, as Adaine levels him with a hard stare. He raises his hands defensively. “I’m just saying! Besides, my grandpapa will make sure everything is taken care of.”

“Yeah, Hallariel said as much,” Fig agrees. She pauses, scrunching her face in thought before it lights up. “Hey, why not invite Aelwyn?”

Adaine blinks. “Can she come?”

Fig repeats the message back to Hallariel. “She says that Aelwyn’s probably wanted in Fallinel, but— eh.” Fig shrugs. “We’ll just keep it ‘hush hush.’ Hallariel’s words, not mine.”

“Huh,” Adaine utters, raising a hand to her chin in thought. She holds no love for Fallinel after what they did to her, but as she listens to her friend prattle off about this and that, asking whether they could bring their parents, friends, everyone, the thought of travelling there for Moonar Yulenear begins to feel less appalling, and more appealing. “I’ll talk to her about it,” Adaine eventually says, a small smile growing on her face.

“Talk to who about what?”

Jerking violently, Adaine whirls around at the sudden sound of a voice next to her ear, just about startled out of her skin. “Oisin,” she breathes, catching sight of blue scales, amber eyes that widen with surprise. Exhaling, Adaine twists her lip. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“I was barely sneaking,” he corrects. Adaine snorts. “But really though,” he continues, voice mild as he studies the scene with scrutinising eyes, “what’s all this about?”

Before anyone can speak — before Fig can open her mouth to explain it, or Adaine herself — another voice cuts in. “None of your business,” Riz says tersely, narrowing his eyes at Oisin. “This doesn’t concern you.”

In an instant, tension thickens the air. Adaine bites back a groan, shooting a harsh glare in Riz’s direction — stubborn, petulant, picking a fight with her boyfriend whenever he shows up.

But Oisin only returns the glance with mild disinterest. Folding his arms, all he says is, “Well, it concerns Adaine.”

“You guys aren’t glued at the hip,” Fabian interjects with a scowl. Adaine buries her head in her hands.

“Maybe not,” Oisin concurs. “But we are together. I reserve the right to know what’s going on in her life—”

“Okay!” Adaine bursts out, snatching everyone’s attention away from this growing spat — and it’s embarrassing how much attention this is getting; there’s dozens of curious eyes from nearby students staring at them, attracted to a budding conflict like moths to a flame — and onto her. “We’re done here.” Her voice is forceful, leaving no room for argument.

Riz wrinkles his brow, tail lashing from side to side. Fabian opens his mouth, only to be tugged back by Gorgug, who shakes his head silently. Adaine exhales through her nose, weary eyes flicking between her friends. “Thank you,” she says stiffly, before she turns on her heel. “C’mon, Oisin. Let’s go.”

The crowd that was beginning to form disperses, students parting like the sea to let the two of them through. “I really wish they would stop doing that,” Adaine complains. Oisin reaches out his hand for her, and she takes it, instinctively entwining their fingers together, the silver of her bracelet brushing against scale and rough skin.

“I wasn’t even trying to pick a fight that time,” Oisin points out, which— he isn’t wrong, Adaine realises. All Oisin had done was come on over, ask a little about her, only to get smacked with immediate hostility.

Her shoulders slump. “Sorry.”

“As far as I’m concerned,” Oisin says, glancing over at her with a smile, “you’ve got nothing to apologise for. Your friends, on the other hand…”

A wry laugh sputters forth. “Yeah, good luck trying to get Riz and Fabian to apologise,” Adaine comments with a grin, mentally picturing it in her head — Fabian skewering Oisin, before Riz shoots him through the shoulder. She heaves a sigh. “Honestly, at this point? Probably best to avoid them. Nothing I say seems to work, and I really don’t want you guys to fight, so…”

A hum. “If that’s what you want.”

Still, as they sink into a comfortable silence on their way to class, weaving through crowds of students with their hands intertwined, Adaine’s thoughts drift back to the thought of travelling to Fallinel — not just with her friends, but also her family, her father, her sister.

Bad memories be damned, she can probably make some good ones now.

The rest of the semester slips by at a steady pace, like sand falling through the narrow gap of an hourglass. Adaine busies herself with a simple routine — attending school, studying with her boyfriend, and working the shifts of a job she’s realising she doesn’t really care for.

The time she spends with her friends decreases, but that’s not really her fault, is it? They’re all busy, all of them, the others moreso than Adaine after her issue of ten barrels of diamonds got resolved, and she began earning tips large enough to feed a family of four for a solid month. Kristen tackles her presidential campaign with vehemence, unrelenting in her quest to kick Skipperpissy Pottyspettle to the curb and win the role of student president of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy, and Riz and Fig are busy trying to help her. Gorgug is still grappling with four years’ worth of academics while Fabian continues his popularity quest.

So she spends more time with Oisin. Because they’re busy, and because he’s not — not as much as they are, available at times that work for Adaine, constantly reaching for her with an outstretched hand.

It doesn’t mean she doesn’t try to contribute, though. There’s a weekend where Oisin’s busy, too busy to either visit her at Mordred or for her to go over to his place, and Adaine tries to make up for lost time. The rest of the Bad Kids have been picking at what looks like yet another unfurling mystery, trying to piece together all the strings between dead gods and murdered clerics and whatever the hell Kipperlilly is trying to do. They’ve sent their updates to their group chat, kept in a separate thread maintained properly by Riz, and Adaine hasn’t done enough to help them.

So she stops by the library, tries to find as many books as she can on giants and giantkin and the history of their lives in the Mountains of Chaos. Adaine drags all the books home, coughs at the dust it kicks up while memories of those horrid dust mites briefly flash through her mind. She keeps a cautious distance away as she flips through the pages, Boggy sitting happily by her side as she works her magic, and what she finds is utterly fascinating — a treasure trove of lore surrounding Ruvina and her godly siblings; Ruvina gifting a bridal gift at Cassandra’s wedding, and the significance of that in giant culture.

The more she digs, the more things begin to come together. By the time Adaine turns in for the night, she has finished writing up an extremely long document about her findings, detailing the possibility that perhaps Ruvina’s sibling is the dead god they’ve been looking into — that maybe their domain changed over time, warped from the gentle heat of summer into something else. She drafts up a message, sends it with a link attached to the group chat, before she turns off her crystal and sinks into the gentle unconsciousness of a trance.

When Adaine wakes up the next day, however, one message stands out in her usual sea of notifications, in the thick of the texts she typically receives from Oisin.

A single reply to her message, the research she dug up.

Riz: This is really, really good, Adaine. Holy shit.

That’s the message that sticks with her most that morning, the one that slips a soft smile onto her face.

As the month shifts from November to December, the chill of autumn deepens into the frigidity of winter. With temperatures dropping, thicker clothes are broken out of storage to stay snug and warm — and for Adaine, that means bearing witness to her boyfriend bundling up under layers of clothes again.

“I’m cold-blooded,” Oisin had told her long ago, back during winter of freshman year. He had shown up with so many layers — a knitted scarf wrapped around his neck, a hat that his horns protruded weirdly under, woollen gloves, a thick coat, and, much to Adaine’s delight—

“Is that a tail warmer?” she gasped, kneeling down to take a closer look.

Immediately, Oisin’s tail wrapped around him, curling around his legs in what Adaine had begun to recognise as defensiveness — feeling nervous, ashamed, a little hostile. “I get cold, okay?” he said hotly, voice trembling slightly. “I-I’m cold-blooded, I can’t regulate heat, I—”

Adaine hummed, before she said, “I think it’s cute.”

A high-pitched noise filled the air, causing her to tilt her head upwards. Adaine bit back a laugh at the sight of Oisin hurriedly looking away, unable to hide the stark purple blooming across his scaled cheeks. “It’s cute,” she repeated again, teasingly, getting up to smile at him giddily. “What, you don’t like me calling you cute?”

“It’s not cute,” Oisin muttered, averting his gaze as he unwound the scarf hanging around his neck, stashing it in his locker. The purple spreading down his neck betrayed him otherwise.

But over time, she’s come to expect this from him — bundling up, wearing double the layers that Adaine does. Every winter, as Solace freezes over, Oisin bundles up to the best of his ability, miserable whenever he’s stuck outdoors for far too long in spite of his best attempts to fend off the cold.

So when the bell above the door to Basrar’s chimes on Saturday morning, and Adaine turns from the counter to see Oisin stepping inside, she immediately hurries over to him. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” she comments as her hands reach up, immediately helping to unwind the scarf around his neck.

“Why wouldn’t I be here?” Oisin asks, baring his neck to allow her more to work with. As she unfurls the scarf, looping it around her arm, he pulls off his hat, then his coat, slowly starting to shed layers like an animal sheds its skin.

Adaine gestures at the window — at the overcast skies outside, at the withered leaves still desperately clinging on to empty branches. “Because it’s cold out? And you hate the cold.”

“But,” Oisin counters, flashing a dopey grin as he leans forward, leaning into her, “my girlfriend is warm.” Strong arms curl around her, and as he rests his head against her shoulders, he lets out a rumbling sigh. “I like this. Can we just stay like this?”

She rolls her eyes, but her chest melts with warmth. “At least get into a booth,” Adaine complains, beginning to drag him over to his usual table. There aren’t many patrons in Basrar’s at this time, with even fewer than usual given the weather, so the two of them only attract some humoured stares from a few regulars. Basrar simply nods at them with his usual smile; ever since Oisin began stationing a bunch of earth elementals outside to get rid of the unruly elven customers, Adaine has been more or less permitted to spend time with Oisin whenever the shop isn’t swarmed with customers.

As she shoves him into his usual booth, Adaine has all but a second to step back in satisfaction before arms reach out, claws flashing. She lets out an undignified yelp as Oisin grabs her by the waist, pulling her against his lap before draping himself all over her — arms curled around her shoulders, chin resting against the top of her head. A purr rumbles from his throat as she struggles helplessly before giving up and letting out a heavy sigh. “Oisin, I have to work.”

“It’s not crowded yet,” he points out, chuffing happily.

“It’s embarrassing.”

“So?” She feels her face flush as a hot breath ghosts her neck. Oisin’s arms curl tighter around her, pulling her against his chest. “You’re warm,” he says, echoing his earlier sentiment. “And I’m cold, so let me have this for a bit, Adaine.”

She relents. “Fine,” Adaine mutters, even as her heart flutters. She averts her gaze, avoids looking at the rest of the parlour — at the curious eyes that must be peering her way.

Oisin does release her later when a few more customers come in, though, albeit with quite a lot of reluctance. When he loosens his grip, Adaine sidles out of his lap, crawling out of the booth before straightening out her rumpled clothes. “You’re like a kid, you know that?” she sighs, catching sight of the pout on his face. Her hands spark with magic, and in a flash of light, Boggy poofs into existence, sitting happily in front of Oisin. “Go play with Boggy for a bit.”

She bites back a smile at the way Oisin actually lights up at that, just as enraptured by her familiar as she is. “With pleasure,” he replies, grinning as he pets the frog and gets a ribbit in return.

Business is slow that day, and Adaine weaves back and forth between Oisin’s table and the rest of the shop, serving the scattered trail of customers that come in and out. By the time the clock ticks to noon, the sky has brightened to a light shade of white-grey, although no sunlight has managed to pierce the thick swath of clouds. When Adaine slides back into the seat opposite Oisin for the umpteenth time, the first thing she hears is, “I’d like to spend Moonar Yulenear with you.”

She blinks, stilling where she sits. “I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.” Oisin smiles at her, one hand pressed against his snout, the other hugging Boggy to his chest. His eyes gleam with mirth. “We haven’t spent it together yet, and— well.” Ducking his head, a light violet flush overcomes his cheeks. “It would be nice,” Oisin says, a little abashedly. “You know, because we’re— well, dating and all. You could come over to my place.”

The first thought that bursts to mind is a loud, resounding yes. Nevermind the fact that she hadn’t thought of it before; now that Oisin has raised the subject, Adaine finds herself longing for it. Her imagination runs wild, conjuring make-believe memories of curling by a fireplace together while specks of snow drift to the ground outside, satisfied and warm and happy.

The second thought that bursts to mind is, I can’t.

Because she already made a promise — a promise to Aelwyn, set in stone by echoing words. Their plans have already been locked in — they’re going to travel to Fallinel together, not just the two of them, but alongside everyone else: Adaine’s friends and their families, a massive crowd of people all going together. Her conviction shrivels in an instant, like a log thrown into a crackling hearth, smouldering and turning to charred ashes as fire consumes it whole; it’s not that she doesn’t want to spend time with Oisin, it’s just that she can’t.

Oisin stares at her with wide eyes, still smiling, waiting expectantly. Adaine bites back a shudder, guilt biting at her at the thought of letting him down. “I want to,” she begins, hesitantly, her words slow. Immediately, she sees the effects of her words — Oisin’s brow slowly pressing downwards, the smile fading from his face at the sound of her uncertain, uneasy tone. Adaine averts her gaze, letting loose a sigh. “But I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Why not?”

The disappointment in his voice sits uneasily in her stomach, like something rotten. She sucks in a breath through her teeth. “I already have plans,” Adaine says, her every word an apology. “Aelwyn— she asked me if we could do Moonar Yulenear together a while back. Because we never got to celebrate it properly since… you know.” She doesn’t have to spell it out for Oisin; as Adaine dares to sneak a glance at her boyfriend, she sees his eyes narrow, the way they always do whenever she touches upon the subject of her parents.

“In any case,” Adaine continues, absentmindedly tapping a finger against her cheek, “we’re heading to Fallinel for the holiday.”

A beat of silence.

Oisin stares at her in pure bewilderment. “You’re heading to Fallinel?”

“Yeah.” Adaine shifts uneasily under his gaze. “It wasn’t my idea, really—”

“I hope not, given they kidnapped you—”

“That’s what I said!” A small laugh slips out before it fades away. Adaine shrugs. “But well, Fabian’s mom offered to fly us all down there for the holidays — my party and I, and also our families.” She takes a deep breath. “So Aelwyn and I are going to Fallinel,” Adaine finishes, weakly. “For Moonar Yulenear.”

Oisin stares at her, mouth slightly parted before it snaps shut. The scales along his forehead bunch up slightly as he wrinkles his face at her, the corners of his mouth pulled downwards into a frown. Pity and guilt meld together, chomping at her psyche with each ticking second until she crumbles. “I’m sorry,” Adaine says, turning her gaze away so she doesn’t have to look at the visible displeasure on Oisin’s face. “If I had known earlier, I would have said yes, but—” Another halfhearted shrug. “Tickets are all booked, and Aelwyn’s really looking forward to it, and—”

“I get it.” The sound of Oisin’s voice shuts her up, jaw clicking shut. And yet, his voice is clipped, terse; it only makes her feel worse. Still, as Adaine raises her head, she watches his irritation melt into something weaker, lightly disgruntled rather than actively infuriated. “It’s not your fault,” Oisin sighs, even as a trail of smoke curls from the edges of his jaw. “I should have asked earlier.” But his voice is tense, like a string pulled taut, and although she knows his annoyance isn’t directed at her, it doesn’t sit any easier with her.

She shifts uncomfortably. “Maybe we could—”

But before she can finish her sentence, suggest an alternative, the bell above the entrance to Basrar’s chimes, ringing through the shop. Adaine jerks up in an instant, whirling around in her seat to crane her head towards the door. Whatever prepared greeting she has on her tongue dies as soon as she sees five familiar faces crowding through the doorway, heads turning around as though looking for something.

Immediately, the words tumble free. “What are you guys doing here?”

Nine eyes snap towards her in an instant. “Looking for you,” Riz says, reaching up to adjust his glasses, yellow eyes blinking in her direction. He makes a beeline for her immediately, the rest of the Bad Kids following behind. His eyes wrinkle at the corner with concern. “You weren’t answering your crystal.”

Her eyes widen.

“Shit,” Adaine curses, reaching for her pocket, only to find it empty. “Hold on—”

Darting out of the booth, she hurries past her friends, past the counter of Basrar’s towards the back room, pushing open the door. Digging through her bag, her hand closes around the familiar case of her crystal. Pulling it out and flicking it on, Adaine winces, shoulders bunching up at the sight of dozens— no, hundreds of message notifications, not just in the Bad Kids’ group chat, but also privately. To top it all off, there’s about a dozen missed calls — mainly from Riz, along with at least one from all the others.

She skims through the messages quickly, eyes darting left and right as she takes in what they’ve all been saying. Adaine smacks her palm against her forehead as it suddenly hits her — Riz and Fig had headed out to Loam Farm last night, driven there by Riz’s mom, and Adaine had woken up to a brief message about how they would probably have to meet later that day to discuss their findings. She had reacted to the message with a thumbs up, but somehow, it had completely slipped her mind. “Stupid,” she hisses under her breath, a hot shame soaking her skin.

She doesn’t have the time to linger in her guilt, however. Her ears prick up at the faint sound of familiar voices floating through the open doorway, and Adaine spends all but a second standing there, her mind buzzing with thoughts, before it hits her.

Arguing. Voices being raised. Growling and snarling.

Oh, crap.

Bursting out from the back room, hurrying past the counter, Adaine stops in her tracks, rooted in the middle of Basrar’s at the absolute chaos unfolding before her.

She clutches her crystal close to her chest, struck speechless at the sight of Oisin and Riz, standing across from each other, practically head to head with how close they are. A horrible cacophony of feral growling has filled the air, piercing her ears and making them ache. Both of their pupils have contracted, reduced to nothing but thin slivers of black, and their tails are raised high, stiff and alert.

Seized by a horrible sense of dread, Adaine’s eyes dart back and forth — Oisin’s spines and fins flare out dangerously, while Riz’s ears flatten against his head. Both of them have their teeth bared, sharp fangs glinting in the cold lighting of the parlour. From what Adaine can see, the only things stopping the two from breaking into a full-blown brawl are Fig, her arms wrapped around Riz, trying and failing to drag him back, and Kristen, trying to wedge her staff between the two of them bravely. Her heart catches in the throat as she takes in even more of the scene — Boggy with his ‘not sure about this’ face, standing at the side of the table that’s closer to Oisin; Fabian, dragged off to a corner by Gorgug, his sword in hand; dozens of eyes pointed in their direction, belonging to the scattered few customers frequenting the shop today.

She feels a cold pair of eyes rest on the back of her neck. Twisting her head to the side, Adaine meets Basrar’s gaze. There’s no true anger there, only pity — and somehow, that emotion is worse.

Her skin is flaming with mortification. She wants to throw her magic down and plane shift straight into the Nine Hells because burning to death in lava is preferable over this entire mess. Anger boils through her, quick and sudden, like a bolt of lightning; This just keeps happening.

She steps forward, voice ice-cold.

“What the fuck is going on?”

The growling stops. Two heads turn to her at once — one a dragon, the other a goblin. Adaine crosses her arms, brows dipping dangerously low as rage burns within her. “Explain,” she orders, her word sharp as an icicle.

“He wouldn’t leave.” Riz gestures at Oisin as he speaks. There’s an undertone of frustration in his voice despite the way he tries to mask it, failing to cover up all his irritation despite his best efforts.

Oisin snorts, a huff of smoke puffing out of his nostrils. “Because you can’t make me,” he utters, matter-of-factly. “This is a public place. I have every right to be here.”

Adaine sees the way the corner of Riz’s mouth twitches, hears the snarl beginning to form in his throat. Raising a hand, she presses her thumb against her temple, massaging it as her head begins to throb. “Okay,” she says, voice flat. “Why, exactly, are you kicking out my boyfriend?”

“Party matters,” Fig interjects. She pulls Riz back, wraps her arms around him, much to his annoyance. “Not agreeing with what Riz’s doing here—”

“Hey!”

A hand clamps over Riz’s mouth.

“—but we really, uh—” Fig hesitates, red eyes darting towards Oisin. “No disrespect intended against you and all, ‘cause I know you’re dating Adaine, and not everyone’s as stubbornly against it as this guy is—”

Somehow, Oisin’s shoulders loosen, the anger in his eyes traded for what Adaine thinks is bewildered gratitude.

“—but we do need to steal Adaine for a bit. Talk about…” Fig twists her lip. “Party stuff,” she eventually says, with a shrug. “Y’know how it is.”

For a moment, none of them speak. All Adaine does is glance between all of them — Fig, her hand clamped over Riz’s mouth, mouthing a silent sorry at her when Adaine meets her eyes; Riz, who gives up on struggling, accepting his fate as Fig silences him; Kristen, who lowers her staff, sensing that the tension has ebbed; and Oisin, whose tail lowers to the ground, spined ridges along his back flattening as he seems to relax.

And then a voice cuts through the air.

“Oh, for god’s sake— can he leave already?”

And just like that, all the tension returns — smouldering and thick, swathing the air in the blink of an eye. Fig whirls around, anger ablaze in her red eyes as her voice pitches. “FABIAN! I had it all sorted— why did you ruin it?”

An exasperated noise slips from Fabian’s mouth before he throws his hands up, visibly irritated. “Because I want him to leave!”

“Well he’s not going to now, so great fucking job there!”

“Oh, for the love of—” Cutting himself off, Fabian gestures at Fig instead, at the goblin writhing in her arms. “Can you let go of the Ball already?”

“He’s just gonna start hissing again, and we’ll be back at fucking square one— except I guess we’re already here!”

As their raising voices collide in the air, swept off into a spat of their own, a thunderous growling fills the room. Oisin’s mouth contorts back into a snarl, fangs bared; his tail lashes angrily from side to side, spines and fins pricked once more, the rumbling noise emitting from his throat like the roar of an incoming thunderstorm. Discomfort ripples down Adaine’s neck, causing her to shudder violently; she has to quell this before it gets any worse, any more out of hand.

Adaine takes a step towards him, stretching out a hand to rest against his arm. “Oisin—”

Inexplicably, the growling stops.

Oisin’s expression clears, the burgeoning thunderstorm on his face dissipating in the blink of an eye. His gaze flicks over at her as she curls her fingers around his arm, digging slightly into the firm curve of his muscles, clothed under a thick sweater. There’s a careful composure to his expression that Adaine can’t read, can’t figure out what he’s really thinking, and she jolts at his next words as he raises his head, eyes surveying the rest of her friends. “Fine,” Oisin says. “I’ll leave.”

While Fig stares, her grip around Riz goes slack, and the goblin wrests himself free. “Oh thank god,” Riz mutters.

“But,” Oisin adds, a sly smirk creeping onto his face. A strong, rough grip latches onto her hand, intertwining tightly together. “I’m taking Adaine with me.”

She blinks, staring at Oisin with wide eyes, mind processing his words. “Wait—”

“Not like she wants to talk to you guys anyway,” Oisin continues, eyes flashing as his smile curves dangerously. It is only then that Adaine notices it — the familiar static prickling along her skin, tingling and sharp. “She’s pretty annoyed right now.”

“Did you just Sense Emotion me?!”

Oisin pauses before glancing back at her with a smug smile. “I don’t know. Did I?”

“Wait, wait, wait. Hold on.” Breaking off from Gorgug, Fabian stalks forward, the corner of his mouth twitching as he glares at Oisin. “You can’t just take Adaine away like that—”

“What was that?” Batting his eyes with feigned innocence, Oisin swiftly brushes past Fabian, pulling Adaine along with him. She stumbles, catches herself as she hurries along, following his movement. “Sorry,” Oisin says, glancing back over his shoulder as his tail flicks to the side, “you guys wanted me to go, so—” A shrug of his shoulders. “Guess I’m going!”

A litany of voices erupt forth from behind them as Oisin pulls the door open, the sound of the bell chiming through the air. Adaine barely has the chance to gasp, to catch her breath and process what the fuck just happened, before she’s swiftly pulled along — around the corners of the building until they’ve reached the back of Basrar’s, an empty expanse of white-painted walls devoid of any lurkers today.

As Oisin comes to a halt, pushing Adaine up against the wall, Adaine glares at him. “What was that— mmhrf!”

All of a sudden, her lips are captured in a kiss, wiping all traces of her lingering frustration and anger from her mind. As Oisin pushes her up against the wall, claws digging into the curve of her hips until it begins to hurt, Adaine feels her body begin to flush with heat, heart jittering as it skips a thousand miles a minute. Instinctively, she reaches out with her arms, curling her hands around the back of his neck and pulling him down — down, further down, all so she can deepen the kiss. Smoke curls around them, and she can feel Oisin purring where her hands press against his throat, and the only reason why she stops is because her head begins to spin and her lungs begin to ache, and she swears she’s only two steps away from passing out.

They break apart into silence, staring at each other with wide eyes. For a moment, neither of them speak.

“...That was a dick move,” Adaine eventually says, after sucking in a long drag of oxygen.

“Guilty as charged,” Oisin replies. His hands are still on her hips, and the pressure of his claws around the curve of her waist feels like second nature at this point, from how often he does it. Oisin snorts, a puff of warm air curling from his nostrils. “Not my fault your friends seem hellbent on treating me like a monster.”

Something inside her withers at those words, guilt sneaking in to nibble at her soul. “Sorry,” Adaine murmurs, reaching up to press another kiss against his snout.

Oisin huffs a laugh. “Not your fault, love. Not your fault at all.”

He leans in again, kisses her deep. Liquid heat pools deep in her stomach as his rumbling purr surrounds her, sweeping her up in it like the thick of a storm. Gooseflesh prickles along her skin as a clawed hand dips against the small of her back, and when something curls around her ankle, Adaine knows, without needing to look, that it’s Oisin’s tail. They stay like this for a while — for how long, specifically, Adaine doesn’t know. All she knows is that this feels good, the flames of love burning in her soul; that this feels right, feels like where she belongs.

When they break away, they stare at each other, warm breaths fogging the air. Silence sinks in for a moment, and as Adaine presses her back against the wall behind her, trying to regain her bearings, she startles at the sound of Oisin’s voice. “Sorry?”

“Oh, uh— I said, what were you going to ask me earlier?” She blinks at him, and Oisin clarifies, adding, “Before your party arrived.”

“Oh. Right.”

Taking a deep breath, Adaine draws the words to mind — the ones she had wanted to say earlier, only to be unceremoniously interrupted by the rest of the Bad Kids. “I… feel bad that we can’t spend Moonar Yulenear together, but— well.”

She pauses, a sudden shyness overtaking her — and for what? She’s been dating Oisin for a few months now. They’ve known each other for two years, two and a half. And yet, she finds herself avoiding his gaze as she speaks, her voice coming out a little faster. “It’s not the same, but I can… maybe come over before I leave for Fallinel.” A pause. She wrings her fingers together. “If you’d like that.”

A sudden trilling sound startles her out of her embarrassed stupor. “Yes!” Oisin bursts out, and as Adaine raises her head to look at him, she’s struck by just how happy he looks — an excited grin on his face, pupils dilated, tail wagging from side to side. He reaches out, grabs her hands, squeezing them tight. “I’d love that, Adaine! I really would, I—” Breaking off, Oisin mumbles to himself, “Oh, I have to get things ready. We don’t have a tree yet—”

“You don’t need to get one.”

A laugh. “Of course I do! It’s not the same without one.” He dips back in, nuzzles against the crook of her neck, and this close to him, Adaine can hear his purring, a rhythmic buzz that quells her aching heart. “It’s a shame you won’t be able to meet my parents though.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “Oh, are they coming back for Moonar Yulenear?” It isn’t as though Adaine hasn’t met Oisin’s parents before; for however infrequently they come home, she’s been friends with him long enough to encounter them, even if very rarely. But they’ve been away more lately, and she hasn’t met them at all since she and Oisin started dating.

“Yeah, they managed to get time off work,” he says, pulling back with a shrug. “It’s a pity, but I’ll take what I can get. And if that’s a night with you before you have to leave for Fallinel…” He grins at her, eyes flashing with desire. “Well, I’ll take it.”

She grabs the collar of his sweater, pulling him down to kiss him again… except this time, she feels a harsh shudder ripple across Oisin’s body. Pulling back, Adaine scrunches her face at him. “What—?”

“Oh, I-I’m an idiot.” She realises, hearing those words, the stutter caused by chattering teeth, what exactly is happening. Jerking back, Adaine stares at her boyfriend once more — properly this time, eyes roaming all over him, noticing his lack of— well, everything. His coat, scarf, hat, gloves — all of them have been left behind in Basrar’s. As Oisin begins to shrink into himself, he admits, with chattering teeth, “I-I forgot my coat.”

“You forgot a lot more than that,” Adaine retorts, immediately reaching into her jacket pocket. Her hand closes around a scarf and she yanks it out, beckoning for Oisin to lean down slightly so she can wrap the snug fabric around his neck. It doesn’t help as much as she wants it too, because she can still see Oisin shivering as more cold seeps in, but the lovestruck smile he gives her sets her heart aflutter. “We’re going back in,” Adaine decides, grabbing his hand and biting back a knee-jerk reaction at how cold his touch is. How haven’t I noticed? “I am not letting my boyfriend freeze to death out here.”

She feels a heavy weight come to drape over her — a chest pressing against her back, arms crossing her shoulders, a chin resting over her head. Adaine only sighs. “Come on, let’s go,” she says, ushering Oisin along; their pace is that of a snail’s, mainly due to Oisin’s insistence on clinging to her for warmth. Not that Adaine has the heart in her to tell him no.

“What would you do without me?” she asks, instead, as she tugs Oisin along, the two of them rounding the corner of Basrar’s shop.

Oisin hmm’s. “Die, probably.”

She winces. “Okay, let’s get you back inside! Don’t want any of that to happen.” She pauses as the door comes into view, the tall windows showing the inside of the ice cream parlour. “If my friends are there,” Adaine says, after a moment of thought, “don’t let them get under your skin, okay?”

Oisin only hums, and doesn’t reply.

The rest of the Bad Kids are gone when they return, as if they hadn’t been there to begin with. For once, Adaine is glad for that as she drops Oisin off in his booth. It’s not like they’ll keep her out of the loop. She finds a message on her crystal from Gorgug saying as much, promising to fill her in on what she misses, along with a tepid apology for what happened earlier.

Somehow, Adaine doesn’t mind the thought of missing their party matters too much. All she does is turn off her crystal as she lets Oisin drape all over her, hugging her close for warmth, tucked away in their own little world with nothing but each other and her frog chirping nearby.

On the eve before her departure for Fallinel, Adaine clambers out of the back seat of Jawbone’s car, slinging her bag across her shoulder while carrying Boggy in her arms. She shifts her familiar over, reaching out to shut the door with a thud; the sting of the winter’s chill bites at her skin, the sun scarcely visible as night begins to set in.

The window at the driver’s seat pulls down to reveal Jawbone, one hand resting on the wheel. “I’ll come pick you up tomorrow morning, okay?” he reminds her, a glint in his eyes. “Normally I’d be happy to let you hang out for as long as you want — young love, and all that — but we really gotta get to the airport early.”

“I understand,” Adaine tells him, wrapping both arms around Boggy and squeezing firmly. She gives him a soft smile. “Thanks, Jawbone.”

“Anytime, kiddo.” He flashes her a grin. “Have fun with your boyfriend!”

She rolls her eyes as he heads off, but the smile remains on her face. As the car peels away, growing smaller as it drives down the road, Adaine turns around, staring down the familiar front of Oisin’s manor home — just as impressive as she remembers it, with far too many rooms for the family that lives in it.

Swallowing down the anxiety that lumps in her throat, Adaine takes a deep breath. It’s just Moonar Yulenear, she reminds herself as she walks towards the front door, boots thumping against the path. You’re going to go in and have a good time, and— this isn’t even the first time you’re visiting him, so why are you so nervous? But Adaine knows why she’s nervous, why the anxiety keeps nibbling at her chest — her gift for Oisin sits in her bag, and she can practically imagine it jostling around whenever she moves, its presence heavy and distracting.

She’s not much of a gifter. She grappled with finding Fabian a gift for the Bad Kids’ Secret Sylvan gift exchange, and it was only due to the monetary limit of two gold they imparted that Adaine was able to decide on something. With Oisin, she had nothing except her mind to use, and her gut to trust, and—

She stares down the front door, having arrived at it somewhere in the midst of her thinking. Exhaling heavily, Adaine reaches for the doorbell. Here goes nothing.

Except as soon as she presses the button, hears the muffled chime ringing out through the door, there’s a click, and the front door swings open. Oisin stands in the doorway, the warm light from the hallway pooling around him, casting his blue scales in a golden glow. For a moment, they stare at each other — Adaine with her hand still awkwardly resting on the doorbell; Oisin with his hand on the doorknob of the door — before Adaine pulls her hand back, dropping it to her side.

“Hey, Oisin,” she says, a soft smile coming over her lips. “Merry early Moonar Yulenear to you.”

And just like that, any lingering anxiety is dissipated, any awkward silence broken. “Merry early Moonar Yulenear to you too,” Oisin says, beaming brightly as he returns the smile. Reaching out, he leans in to press a kiss against her lips, before grabbing her hand, their fingers intertwining. The scales and skin of his hand are warm, a stark contrast against Adaine’s cold fingers.

When they finally break away, breaths fogging in-between them, Oisin tilts his head towards the open door. “Come on, let’s go in.” He smiles again, so sweetly it takes her breath away, the way he looks at her with such unrestrained affection in those amber eyes. He gives her hand a tight squeeze. “I want to make the most of our time together.”

“Greedy dragon,” Adaine teases as she lets him pull her inside, past the doorway and into the warmth of his house. His rumbling laughter wraps around her as he shuts the door, and as Adaine sets Boggy down so she can unbutton her coat, she stills as a shadow falls over her, as claws reach out to begin unwinding her scarf. “You really… don’t need to do that,” she says, a little weakly.

“But I want to,” Oisin replies, purring. Adaine suppresses a shiver as his claws brush against the bare skin of her neck while he carefully undoes her scarf. He pauses as he pulls the last of the scarf off her shoulder, staring at her with such a stark intensity in his eyes. “I really am happy that you’re here,” he murmurs, reaching up to brush a thumb against her cheek.

She shudders at the tender touch, blood rising to her cheeks, circulating through her veins to leave her warm and flustered. “I’m glad to be here too,” she tells him sincerely, biting back the urge to tease him further, something gentle taking hold of her in this soft, suspended moment. Reaching up to curl her hands around the back of his head, Adaine pulls Oisin down into a kiss — long and hard and flaming with passion. His claws find their way down to her hips, her back is pushed up abruptly against a wall; those fangs are dipping down the side of her neck, and she moans.

They don’t leave the hallway for a while.

An embarrassingly long while.

By the time they stumble out together, Adaine’s skin is burning all over, and her fingers keep tugging at the collar of her sweater, trying to pull it up. “You really didn’t have to go this hard.”

“You didn’t stop me,” Oisin retorts, not sounding sorry in the slightest.

Her fingers creep up the side of her neck. Adaine winces as she brushes along the bite mark there — still sore and aching. When she pulls her hand away, her skin is flecked with blood. “You could have at least bitten lower,” she complains, narrowing her eyes at Oisin when he only chuffs, smug and satisfied.

“Why would I do that?”

“So nobody can see? So I can hide it better?” Rolling her eyes, Adaine mutters, “Kristen’s going to have a fucking aneurysm when she sees this.”

“But that’s the point,” Oisin complains lightly, curling his arms around her and pulling her in for another hug. “I want them to see this.”

She feels the corners of her lips twitch, her resolve struggling. “You— God, you possessive bastard—” Something warm and wet slicks down the side of her neck, against her bite mark, and she shrieks. “Did you just lick me?”

Oisin’s voice is smug. “And if I did?”

With a swirl of magic, Adaine Misty Steps out of Oisin’s hold, standing just a little ways from him. She crosses her arms, relishes in the way Oisin blinks in bewilderment before his head shoots up, fixing her with a pleading look. “You know,” she comments, “for someone who didn’t want to go any further, you sure keep trying to rile me up.” She had tried to earlier, caught up in the heat of the moment, only for Oisin to stiffen as she tried to dip her hands underneath his shirt, to run her fingers across his bare chest. The way his body had immediately tensed had snapped her out of her reverie, realising, awkwardly, how uncomfortable it was being pressed up against a wall in the entrance hallway of Oisin’s home.

Oisin’s shoulder slouch. “I wasn’t trying to rile you up,” he says with a pout, as Adaine closes the distance between them. “Just… there was a bit of blood left on the wound—”

“And your first thought was to lick it?!”

Biting incident aside, the rest of the evening goes lovely. Oisin finds a first-aid kit for her, sitting Adaine down on the closed lid of the toilet as he tends to the bite mark. There’s a strange tranquillity to it — holding herself still as her boyfriend dabs some disinfectant against the wound, biting her cheek against the stinging that pricks her nerves. It’s the thoughtfulness, more than anything else, the tender care that gets her; her heart skips a beat as Oisin pulls back, smiling at her so kindly, his tail drifting from side to side as he tells her he’s done.

“Thank you,” she tells him, pecking a kiss against his cheek, and relishing in the way his face purples slightly.

There’s plenty to do that night, even in a house as expansive as this one with nobody but the two of them for company. There’s a veritable spread of delicacies set out on the dining table, and Oisin laughs at Adaine’s reaction, rooted in place as she tries to figure out how they’re going to finish all that together. “It’s fine,” he tells her, when she asks as much. His eyes glint as he rests his hand on her shoulders, patting reassuringly. “I mean, anything else will just be leftovers.”

“Oh, right,” Adaine says, voice going flat. “I forgot about your awful eating habits.” The Hakinvars do have a chef, but Oisin is god awful at remembering to use them, so all he ends up eating, most of the time, is leftovers. It reminds Adaine a little of Fabian, in a way, and she wrinkles her nose, wondering if horrid eating habits is par for the course of being rich with an empty house.

They pile their plates with food before they head for the massive living room, Boggy following behind. As she enters, Adaine stops in place, craning her head back to gaze at the Moonar Yulenear tree set up inside it. It’s a towering thing, more than double her height, stupidly massive and strung up with gilded decorations and lights that wink against her eyes, numerous presents nestled underneath. It’s nothing like the messy tree she, Jawbone, Tracker, and Kristen set up last winter, back before they all moved into Mordred Manor — Jawbone had dragged some sad pine tree into their living room, and they had all decorated it with bits and bobs, its branches sagging from all the varying decorations. Adaine still remembers creeping out into the living room in the early hours of the morning after waking from her trance, curling up on the couch and basking in the warm lights of the tree as she waited for the rest of the apartment to stir — comfortable and cosy, safe at last.

“Woah,” she breathes, as Oisin steps to her side.

He smiles, pleased. “It’s nothing special—”

“Do not tell me that this is nothing special, or I’ll slit your throat.”

A laugh. “It really isn’t! If I had more time, then maybe…” He trails off, looking thoughtful, before shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. Do you like it?”

“It’s very pretty.” And it is. She can’t stop looking at it.

“I’m glad,” Oisin says. He reaches for Adaine, tugs her over to the couch. Boggy chirps at her as Oisin sits her down. “Come on. What do you want to watch?”

She doesn’t have any media preferences, can’t really think of anything right now, so Oisin puts on some movie Adaine hasn’t heard of before joining her on the couch. It’s nice, all of it — her body pressed against Oisin’s, a warm blanket covering their laps as they help themselves to the rich food, delectable enough that it practically melts against her tongue. She finds herself commenting on all the fallacies of the movie while Oisin tries to defend them; every time Adaine thinks she’s about to win, a smug grin resting on her lips, Oisin swoops in to kiss her in order to shut her up, laughter filling the air as her face sets on fire.

It’s sweet, being like this, nestled close to Oisin as his arm wraps around her back. There’s a domesticity to it that Adaine hasn’t realised she’d longed for. It’s just—

Good.

They lie together on the couch for a while, cuddled together even after their plates have been cleared, and the movie’s credits are rolling. Some part of Adaine loves this, happy to snuggle against Oisin’s side, relishing in being held close against his body, safe and sound in his arm. Another part of her, though, longs to wiggle free — not because she hates this, because she doesn’t at all, but rather because of something else. There’s a weight still sitting in her bag, a wrapped box filled with her gifts for him.

“Hey,” Adaine says. Oisin glances over at her. “Do you mind letting me get up?”

A groan. “Don’t wanna.”

She rolls her eyes. “Just let me go, you.”

She pushes against his arm to no avail, Oisin staying stubbornly strong, and with no other avenue to pursue, Adaine resorts to casting another Misty Step. She bites back a snicker at the whine that spills from Oisin’s throat as she gets to her feet. “Why did you do that?” Oisin grumbles as she steps back over, curling her arms over the back cushion of the couch.

All she does is wink. “You’ll see.”

She left her bag in the entrance hallway, so she hurries back there, opening it and digging inside. She chokes down any swelling anxiety as she pulls out her gift — neatly wrapped, a ribbon tied around it, a box filled with what she got for him. It’s terrifying, panic nipping at her as she thumbs her finger over the wrapping paper, but Adaine forces herself to take a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

You’ve gifted him things before, she reminds herself, slowly walking back to the living room. This is no different. Except it is, because it’s Moonar Yulenear, and Oisin has gifted her so many things throughout the year so far, piling heaps of hoarded diamonds and gold on her with absolutely no qualms at all. And— yeah, she knows there’s no strings attached, has ingrained that knowledge well by this point, but—

“Is that for me?”

She snaps out of her thoughts.

Oisin stares at her, arms curled around the backrest of the couch, peering at her from behind round spectacles. Adaine blinks at him, before glancing down at herself, realising that, at some point, she must have simply… stopped. Gotten too distracted, caught up in her own mind to move forward and close the distance between them.

It’s now or never. Mustering up all her courage, she marches forward, and shoves the gift into Oisin’s hands. “It’s for you,” Adaine confirms, giving him a jerky nod.

Her heart beats wildly against her chest as she steps back, her nerves alight with fire. “I hope you like it,” Adaine adds, a little hastily.

Oisin’s gaze flicks towards her, away from where he’s been looking over the wrapped gift. He smiles. “I know I will. Because it’s from you.”

She burns. “You can’t just… say that…” Adaine whispers, ducking her head. She can hear her heartbeat stomping in her ears, chaotic and overpowering. Bending down over the couch, Adaine scoops up the rotund form of Boggy, taking him in her arms. She squeezes him close, hears him ribbit comfortingly and give her a dopey smile as she sucks in a deep breath, trying to feel a little less like a supernova about to explode, and a little more like a living being.

Claws unknot the ribbon with a surprising amount of thought. They pick at the wrapping paper carefully. “You can just— tear it, you know?” Adaine says, her voice a little high.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to,” Oisin says easily, stealing a glance at her. “It’s from you.”

“It’s just wrapping paper…”

She watches with bated breath as those claws unravel ribbons and cut through tape, unfurling the wrapping paper with a tender touch. Adaine already knows what’s inside the box — two things, the first being a leather pouch, the second hidden in a small velvet bag. As much as her anxiety slowly eats her up inside, she can’t tear her eyes away from Oisin; she watches as he opens the box, watches his eyes widen, pupils contracting, at what’s inside.

He reaches in, pulling out the first gift. As Oisin turns it over in his hand, tracing the leatherwork with a single-minded intensity, Adaine hears a soft gasp. “This is—”

“It’s, um— It’s a Bag of Holding.” The words tumble out, the urge to explain seizing her before she can stop herself. “Well, it has the properties of one,” Adaine clarifies, cheeks warming slightly as Oisin’s eyes flick to her, so intimately focused.

She shifts slightly. “It’s meant for your materials. For your spells. Because I know you use a lot of things, since you’re a conjurer and all, and—” She gestures at the bag with one hand, the other still hugging Boggy. “If you stick your hand in there and envision what you want, it’ll show up. Like my jacket, except you still have to put the materials in that bag yourself.”

She had originally wanted to find him something with a similar property to her jacket — the ability to pull out anything within a certain range, making things much more convenient in his day-to-day life. The thought of matching with him in that regard was, in a way, kind of endearing. But unfortunately, Adaine had come up empty-handed in her search, and had settled for a Bag of Holding instead.

At the very least, she had been able to funnel a good amount of the money Oisin kept tipping her back into him, pouring it into his gift. The leatherwork is exemplary, the surface carved with decals of a storm, and she made sure it was big enough for him to comfortably shove her hand in, remembering Oisin’s frequent complaints about dragonborn sizings.

“A-Anyway,” Adaine says, eyes flitting to the side, staring at the other end of the couch instead, “I… hope you like it. It has a hook, so you can put it next to your tome, and—”

Purring ripples through the air. “It’s perfect,” Oisin says, causing her to flush hard. “My old pouch was starting to wear out anyway.”

Relief floods her like liquid sunshine, soaking through her veins. “I’m glad,” Adaine says with a small smile, daring to look back over at Oisin, who cradles her gift like it’s the most precious treasure in the world. She steps closer to him, reaching out to trace the soft leather with her finger. “I tried to get it to match your holster. I’m sorry if it’s not the same.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He reaches up to pull her down, pressing a kiss against her lips, whispering a soft thank you as they break apart.

“That’s not all of it, though,” Adaine points out, directing Oisin’s attention towards the small velvet bag, a drawstring pouch. She smiles, excitement ripening within her. “Go on,” Adaine coaxes, “open it.”

And Oisin does — sliding a claw into the middle of the pouch before pulling, opening it up and reaching inside. Adaine knows when he’s found it, based on the way he pauses for one brief moment, and sure enough, he pulls her second gift out — a ring.

It’s not a fancy ring. Far from it, actually. Carved from wood, fur-lined on the inside where the wooden band meets skin, it is the farthest thing from elegant and beautiful that a ring can be, shockingly barren in comparison to the ring adorning Adaine’s own finger. And yet, when Oisin lifts it up, his eyes are blown wide as he inspects it from every angle.

“It’s a Ring of Warmth.” She watches those pupils flick towards her, Oisin’s attention trained on her closely. “You’re cold-blooded,” Adaine says with a teasing smile, echoing Oisin’s words from long ago. “Winter’s your least favourite season because of that. But that ring can keep you warm. Even when the temperature’s in the negatives, apparently.” She pauses, suddenly growing shy. “I saw it when I was out looking for gifts, and I know how cold you get, and it just—”

She squeaks as strong arms wrap around her, cutting her off mid-tangent. Leaning across the back of the couch, Oisin pulls her in for an embrace, hugging her tight. “Thank you,” he breathes, before kissing her, over and over — on her lips, across her cheeks, brushing down the skin of her neck.

“Don’t bite,” Adaine rasps as she feels teeth nip against her skin. “God— don’t bite—”

A throaty laugh ripples through the air as Oisin pulls back, hands still wrapped around her back. He’s smiling, smiling so hard it makes Adaine’s chest ache with longing, soul bursting with warmth.

She opens her mouth, asks, “You like it?”

“I love it.” And Adaine believes him, because there’s a purr underlining Oisin’s words, and he keeps fiddling with the ring, eyes darting to it like a child who can’t stop getting distracted by their favourite toy.

“I’m glad,” Adaine confesses, soaking in her relief once more. She lets Boggy down before reaching out. “Here, give me that.” As Oisin relinquishes the ring easily, though not without confusion, Adaine grabs his right hand. In one smooth movement, she slides the ring onto his ring finger, silently thanking the fact that it fits perfectly.

Grabbing his hand, she intertwines their fingers together — twin rings of silver and wood pressed against each other. “See?” Adaine says, with a grin. “We match now.”

“Yeah,” Oisin breathes, pupils wide as he stares at their joined hands — at the jewellery they gifted to each other decorating both their fingers. “Yeah, we do.” Adaine sees the lump in his throat bob as he swallows. He turns his intense gaze to her, alight with desire and passion, a hungry spark within them. “I love you,” Oisin blurts out, the words tumbling forth. “You know that, right?”

“Of course I do.” She leans in, presses a kiss against his forehead, against rough scale and ridges. Pulling back, Adaine smiles — sincere and serene. “I love you too.”

For a while, they remain like that — Adaine standing behind the couch, Oisin kneeling on it, hands interlocked as Adaine kisses him gently, seizing her turn to have her way with her dragonborn boyfriend. She trails kisses along his face, uses her other hand to trace the curves and ridges and the outline of his scales. She’s always thought he was pretty, even before the summer he hit dragonborn puberty, and rocketed up in a growth spurt. As far back as freshman year, Adaine can recall pressing her hand against her cheek as she and Oisin studied in the library, her eyes trailing the patterns of the scales along his skin, curling around his body in twisting lines of blue.

In hindsight, thinking back, her emotions feel so obvious, plastered on her face, her skin, for the whole world to see. Adaine Abernant loves Oisin Hakinvar — that is a fact, more than anything else, and her heart only swells with such exuberant warmth to know the same is true in reverse.

It is actually Oisin who pulls away first for once, withdrawing far enough that Adaine blinks at him, mildly confused. “We can’t stay like this all night,” he says, causing Adaine to snort.

“Says who?”

Oisin laughs. “Guilty as charged. But I do have gifts for you, too. So maybe we can continue the kissing later?”

The way his voice pitches at the end, as he presses the question, doesn’t slip her notice. “You’re so needy, you know that?” Adaine sighs, reaching out to brush a thumb against his cheek. Nearby, Boggy ribbits, and Adaine sputters out a laugh. “Even Boggy agrees, see?”

“Traitor,” Oisin grumbles, shooting a lighthearted glare in the frog’s direction.

She watches as Oisin slides off the couch, making his way over to the tree. He turns around, beckoning for her to join him. “Come on,” he calls to her, and Adaine does, smiling as she takes those steps needed to join her boyfriend by his stupidly tall, exorbitantly decorated Moonar Yulenear tree.

As she kneels beside him, knees pressed against the fluffy rug below, Adaine watches as Oisin sticks his hands through the boughs, pine needles scattering everywhere in pinpricks of dark green as he pulls out one gift, and then another. There are a good many gifts — about a dozen, if Adaine has counted correctly, though she’s a little unsure if there’s any more still in hiding.

“Which of these are mine?” she asks curiously, leaning down and resting her hands against her thighs.

Oisin doesn’t look back, grabbing another wrapped gift. “All of them.”

Her mind grinds to a screeching halt.

“What?”

He glances over his shoulder, blinking at her innocuously like he hadn’t just admitted that everything under the tree — every wrapped present, the dozen or so of them, all of various shapes and sizes — is going to her. Her throat dries, a sudden panic jerking to life within her chest; the age-old question returns, after months laid dormant: How is she worthy of this much?

She had expected a gift— no, not a gift. She had expected multiple, because she knows Oisin, knows how much he adores spoiling her and providing for her, and he wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to lavish her with what he feels like she rightly deserves. But as Adaine stares, rooted in place, at the small pile of gifts beginning to form before her eyes, all while Oisin is still reaching for more, that old insecurity creeps back in, whispering slyly into her ear. You don’t deserve this.

“Wait,” Adaine says, slightly breathless. Oisin’s fins prick, the ones along his head, taking the space where ears would usually go. She’s known him for long enough to recognise this gesture, that him flicking his fins is a sign of him paying attention, the same way she pricks her own ears whenever she catches wind of something in the air. She exhales shakily, hands balling into fists, her leggings bunching up in her hold. “Surely not all of this is mine, is it? I mean, what about your parents?”

“I didn’t bring their gifts down,” Oisin explains easily, eyes flicking back to stare at her with renewed attention. His tail shifts slightly, moves to flick against her knees before resting there. “There wasn’t any point to doing that. They’re not here tonight.”

She swallows the lump in her throat. “That… makes sense,” Adaine says slowly, mind reeling, a small war waged between two sides — one side telling her that this is too much, on top of everything else Oisin has ever done for her; the other whispering that it’s fine, that she should just accept this the way she accepted everything else, because he’s choosing to do this, and that counts for something.

For a while, there’s no sound save for that of the gifts being piled up, one by one. Adaine can only bite the inside of her cheek, trying to work out the turmoil wrecking havoc inside her head and heart. Eventually, she feels a warm hand cover her own, drawing her back to reality.

Oisin glances at her, face drawn close to hers. His forehead is lined with worry, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with concern. “Are you okay?” he asks, gentle, kind. Of course he would notice her sudden silence, the mood of the room shifting from the joyous ebullience of Adaine gifting Oisin to whatever it is now. Tense and silent, probably. “What’s on your mind?”

The question, asked so simply and in so much earnest, causes her to admit the truth. “It’s just— a lot,” Adaine finishes weakly, forcing out the words stuck in her throat. Communication is important, isn’t it? It’s why she spilled her guts out the night of the party, revealing her insecurities and gripes — not just about the fear of being a burden, but also the struggle of being worth something, of love given value. She gestures at the gifts a little lamely. “The gifts, I mean. It’s a lot.”

The flicker of confusion in Oisin’s eyes clears up, understanding settling in its place. “Ah,” he says, eyes shifting briefly to the pile of gifts, before going back to Adaine. His hand on hers tightens. “Yeah, I…” Scratching the back of his neck, Oisin laughs nervously. “Maybe I got carried away.”

“Maybe is an understatement,” Adaine quips, though her words don’t quite have the same bite, a waver weighing them down.

Oisin hums. “But it’s all for you, though. I know it’s a lot, but it’s all for you.” He lifts her hand, presses a kiss against her ring; fire blooms in her chest, passion set alight. Dilated pupils flick up towards her, and a smile curls at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll repeat it as many times as I must. You’re worth it to me — all of this, and everything else.” His other hand comes up to cup her cheek; she finds herself leaning into the touch, lashes fluttering slightly as a claw traces gently against her skin. “If I’m being entirely honest,” Oisin begins, suddenly slightly abashed, “I… did try to restrain myself a bit. Knowing how you feel about gifts, and all.”

Her gaze flicks back to the pile. “So this is you being restrained?” Adaine asks drily. She’s counted at least fifteen, maybe sixteen gifts in there. Maybe there’s more hidden below, smaller things that she can’t see.

Oisin shrugs. “I’d have happily given you half my hoard—”

“You will do no such thing.”

“And I won’t!” A laugh. “But really, Adaine,” Oisin says, his voice softening, the raspy cadence of it wrapping around her, snug and warm and oh so comforting. “Won’t you accept this from me?”

And there’s something about the way he asks it, so gentle and eager, waiting with bated breath for her reply as he touches her with such sweet reverence, that collapses her defences. The war in her mind ends, her insecurities overpowered; all of those doubts melt away.

She relents. “Fine,” Adaine says, pulling back from Oisin’s touch. She leans back, watching as Oisin beams at her, before pushing the pile of gifts towards her.

Even with her agreement, Adaine can’t help but swallow nervously at the sight of all the gifts before her. Well, she thinks to herself, taking a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

Oisin gives her… a lot of things. Which is to be expected, given he said everything was for her, and she counted about a dozen and a half gifts. But there’s more buried inside the pile — tiny boxes and pouches hidden by the larger gifts. A good chunk of it is just jewellery from his hoard — there’s another bracelet for her right hand, amidst other things, not quite as elegant as the first but still matching in design, and there’s earrings, pendants, more bracelets and rings, a veritable treasure trove that causes her breath to catch in her throat.

“I’m grateful for Moonar Yulenear,” Oisin murmurs, as Adaine is tilting her head forward, letting him wrap a necklace around her neck. It’s a snug thing, tight against her throat; she’s seen Fig wear these types of necklaces before, a choker style. His body rumbles with his purring, as his claws work to fasten the clasp, happily draping her in the jewellery she receives. “It gives me an excuse to give you all of this.”

She rolls her eyes, though there’s a smile on her face. Her earlobes hang heavy with a pair of dangling earrings, and her right wrist is encircled by silver. There’s a growing pile of jewellery off to the side — rings and anklets and many more necklaces, things she tried on once before taking off.

Adaine shifts her focus back to Oisin. “You were planning for this, weren’t you?”

He pulls his hands away from the back of her neck, and she feels the choker necklace rest snugly against her throat. It’s deceptively simple, made of a soft leather, and Adaine raises a hand to brush against the dangling jewel, a lovely blue diamond. “Maybe,” he answers. She doesn’t need to turn around to know there’s a smug smile on his face.

But beyond the ornamental, Oisin gives her jewellery that she recognises, magic artefacts she learnt about in her classes. There are the rings — one of Feather Falling, one of Protection, one of Regeneration, and so many more. She grabs a pillow with her mage hand when she recognises the Ring of Shooting Stars, flings it at Oisin as her heart bursts against her chest with adrenaline, yelling, “You just had this in your hoard?!”

The ring that gives her the most pause, however, is when he slides a simple band onto her finger, adorned with a perfectly-cut citrine. As she studies it, the gem reflecting the bright lights decorating the tree, it clicks. “A Ring of Resistance,” Adaine says, brushing her thumb over the jewel. “And a citrine is…” Her eyes widen. “Wait—”

“Resistance to lightning, I know,” Oisin purrs, chipping in before Adaine can voice that exact thought. “I thought it appropriate given, well…”

“So you don’t accidentally kill me with a stray bolt of lightning?” Adaine teases, cupping Oisin’s cheek to lean in for a kiss. Her heart flutters. “How very romantic.”

The gifts don’t stop there. And really, it’s everything else that makes Adaine realise how closely Oisin’s been paying attention to her these past few months, setting her eyes upon everything he gives her and recognising it all. There’s a couple of books, all of which she recognises, books she’s definitely mentioned wanting to read whenever she has time. There’s a new winter coat, because her old one was a hand-me-down from Tracker during Adaine’s first winter spent with Jawbone, and sure, it’s warm, but it’s also falling apart, a little bit, and it doesn’t exactly fit her personal tastes. There’s another denim jacket, and Oisin explains, “It doesn’t have the properties of your usual one, but I figured maybe you could wear it when you need to wash the other one,” as Adaine studies it closely, the denim luxury, the stitching immaculate.

There’s a hat that covers her ears. There’s a lot of socks, patterned and silly. “Why did you get me so many socks?” Adaine asks lightly, as she looks closely at a pair, studying the frogs decorating it all over.

“They’re practical,” Oisin says with a shrug, midway through trying to wrap a ribbon around Boggy’s head. “And you should stay warm.”

Adaine looks at him, before her gaze flicks to his lower half — his digitigrade limbs, clawed feet exposed and bare. She feels a smirk come on. “Are you trying to live through me? Giving me all the socks you can’t wear?”

The purple flush that overcomes Oisin’s face is enough to make her laugh.

He gives her potions — healing potions, half a dozen of them, all resting in a large drawstring sack. “You keep getting into battles,” he complains, narrowing his eyes as his tail lashes to the side. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“It’s inevitable, unfortunately,” Adaine points out as she tightens the string, pulling the mouth of the sack shut. “Thus is the life of being an adventurer, I suppose. But thank you,” she adds with a smile, pecking a kiss against Oisin’s snout, watching his annoyance melt into sweet tenderness.

But it is Oisin’s last gift to her that gives rise to that same, biting insecurity from earlier. He withholds it for last, a box-shaped gift kept aside as Adaine unwraps each and every one of his other gifts to her. And when she finally opens it, having exhausted the original pile, Adaine understands why.

There’s a tome inside the box. A magical tome, humming and thrumming with arcane energy. Her eyes trace the carvings etched into the leather cover, her breath running shallow as déjà vu scratches at her incessantly, the lingering feeling that she knows what this is, has seen it before, infesting her mind. She pulls it out, struck speechless as she turns it over in her hands, inspecting it closely — the gold and jewels gilded into the cover, the thick parchment pages recording countless spells, the familiar letters in a foreign language etched into the leather. A language she’s seen before. A language she understands.

And then it hits her.

Her head snaps up.

“You did not just give me your fucking spellbook,” Adaine breathes, eyes blown wide as she locks eyes with Oisin. A tremble ripples through her uncontrollably as that insecurity, the struggle of being showered with presents, with affluence and wealth, returns with a vengeance.

Oisin smiles. “I did not, actually,” he says, voice calm. As Adaine furrows her brows, letting out a confused noise, Oisin rises to his feet. “Wait here,” he says, before he hurries off — and Adaine does, sitting cross-legged in utter bewilderment, the spellbook resting in her shaking hands. It feels like an eternity before Oisin returns, an eternity spent breathing shallowly, her own mind yelling at her about just how valuable this is. It’s Oisin’s spellbook. A wizard’s spellbook is the most precious thing to them, the very object that allows them to track their spells, to prepare what they need, to cast their magic.

And yet, here she is, holding her boyfriend’s spellbook in her hold. As a Moonar Yulenear gift.

Except Oisin returns with the same tome grasped in his hands, smiling brightly as he plops down before her, taking his previous position. “I have it right here,” he says, with a twinkle in his eyes, lifting it up for her to see. “See?”

True to his word, it’s Oisin’s spellbook, a perfect replica of the one in her hands. She stares at it, before her gaze snaps back down to the book in her hands. “Then— what—”

“It’s a replica.” The answer feels obvious, so obvious that as soon as her confusion fades away, Adaine is immediately flooded with sheepishness for not putting it together sooner. Oisin leans forward, tapping a claw against the cover. “It matches mine,” he explains, “and it doesn’t run out of pages.”

That’s nice, Adaine thinks distantly, her thoughts vague and foggy, clouded by shock. Something else trips from her tongue instead. “But… why? I don’t—” She gestures at the book. “I don’t need this, I already have my own arcane focus, a-and my own spells, and—”

“Think of it as a backup,” Oisin tells her patiently. “Just in case you’re caught in a bad situation, and you’re running out of spells. Or if you need something you haven’t learnt. Or just… anything, really.”

He sounds so nonchalant about it. He sounds so nonchalant, but Adaine is reeling, her mind still stuck on everything — not just how much it must have cost, though she’s sure it must have been a fortune, but also how significant this is. That Oisin would give her a replica of his own tome, mimicking it page for page, word for word. That he would hand over a copy of his arcane focus, a wizard’s greatest treasure, and tell her to use it as a backup, a way to keep her safe.

“This is too much.” The words slip out, and yet she doesn’t take them back. Raising her head, Adaine locks her gaze with Oisin’s. “This is way too much,” she repeats, stressing it further.

Oisin arches a brow. “On the contrary, Adaine,” he says, leaning in, “for you, this isn’t enough.” He presses their lips together, kisses her for one short moment before pulling back. His breath is hot against her face. “Words can’t capture how much you mean to me,” he whispers. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. So… please accept this gift. Keep yourself safe.”

Her resolve withers. The protesting in her head grows quiet.

How can she object to a reason like that?

“...Fine,” Adaine relents, reaching out to trace a finger across his cheek. “I will.”

“Good,” Oisin says, smiling bright before leaning back in and capturing her lips in another long kiss. There they sit, under the light of the Yulenear tree — kissing passionately, hands brushing each other’s cheeks, lips battling against each other for dominance. Her heart melts, her soul seized by a tidal wave of pure, passionate desire, crashing over her and dragging her under.

I love you, Oisin breathes against her lips, over and over, as that kiss devolves into something headier, her head spinning with dizziness, her blood alight with fire. Claws trail down her neck, down her arm, as that mouth follows, nipping and biting across the expanse of skin, teeth scraping against the pulse points of her neck, causing her to shudder.

She throws her newfound tome at Oisin later when she finds another bite adorning her neck, threatening to flay his skin and use it as a coat.

“Holy shit,” Fig breathes, red eyes wide as Adaine hurriedly gets into the car, slamming the door shut behind her as Boggy hops into her lap. The sky outside is still dark, the morning sun not yet arisen, and she’s squished between Fig and the window, the entire car crowded with nearly everyone from Mordred Manor.

She feels her skin flush as eyes rest on her — Fig and Kristen staring intently, along with a familiar pair of blue eyes from the back of the car. Cursing whatever god put her in this situation, Adaine drags a hand down her face. “Can you guys stop staring? Please?”

“Good morning to you too, sister dearest.” Leaning forward, Aelwyn drapes her arms across the back of Adaine’s seat. She arches an eyebrow. “It seems you were quite busy last night. I’m surprised you managed to leave at all.”

She wants to melt into her seat, become nothing more than a soggy puddle of— of whatever. Shrinking away from Aelwyn, Adaine grits her teeth. “I promised you we’d spend Moonar Yulenear together, didn’t I? I’m not going back on that, mind you.”

That, at least, seems to satisfy her, causing Aelwyn to lean back with a smug smile, leaving Adaine to sigh and dwell on how she got here.

Adaine had gotten distracted. That was all there was to it, really; she and Oisin spent all night cuddling together, making out, watching another stupid, silly movie, this time in Oisin’s room. She decided to trance when he dozed off, except she’d miscalculated horribly, waking up to a slew of notifications firing off on her crystal from everyone she knew, freaking out as she rushed to pack everything she had.

She had been so distracted, so focused on hurrying out and getting to the car, that she had forgotten to wind her scarf around her neck to hide the two very telltale bite marks Oisin had left. Now, sitting in the middle seat, catching sight of Fig’s incessant grinning out of the corner of her eye, Adaine glowers, pulling her scarf from her bag and wrapping it around her neck. “Not a word,” she hisses, jabbing a finger at Fig.

Her eyes spark. “Only if you tell me everything.”

“Are you blackmailing me right now?”

“Maybe.” Fig grins, sly and smug. She leans in, tracing a finger across Adaine’s coat. “Don’t think I didn’t notice all this either,” she adds, raising an eyebrow. “New coat, lots of jewellery… seems like a lot happened, huh?”

“You guys definitely fucked,” Kristen interjects, poking her head into view to flash Adaine a thumbs up and a grin.

Adaine’s eye twitches. “We didn’t fuck!”

The car ride to the airport is hell. All Adaine can do is reluctantly spill the beans to Fig and Kristen, firing off multiple Message spells to them individually because she does not want to talk about everything she did to Oisin in the hearing range of— literally everyone at Mordred Manor. And Aelwyn. The only people who aren’t travelling with them are Ragh and Lydia, taking their own car. Adaine’s mildly grateful for that, if only because her heart is palpitating at her current situation, and more people would just make it worse.

“Do you want me to heal them?” Kristen asks as they enter Bastion City. She leans across Fig, one hand outstretched, sparking with twilight magic. “It won’t take much. They’re just bites.” She flashes Adaine a grin. “You don’t wanna know how much I did this with Tracker.”

She should say yes. It’s the easier option. She gets the bites on her neck healed, gone without a trace, like they never existed in the first place. Nobody will keep staring at her. The boys and their families won’t have to know — and Adaine grimaces slightly at the thought of Riz and Fabian seeing the bite marks, already getting a headache at their possible reactions.

And yet… she kind of doesn’t want to. For all she scolded Oisin about biting her where others could see, there’s a part of her that likes it. She probably shouldn’t; it’s possessive, claiming, and that’s precisely what she should dislike: the prospect of being owned, like she doesn’t belong to herself.

But it’s different with Oisin. It always is.

“I’ll be fine, thanks,” Adaine eventually says, with a small smile. Fig arches an eyebrow at that, while Kristen flashes her a knowing smile. All Adaine does is wrap her scarf around her neck tighter, hoping that nobody questions why she’s keeping it on.

She still attracts some dirty stares from Riz and Fabian. It’s to be expected, even if it makes her vaguely annoyed. She’s wearing some of the jewellery Oisin gifted her — dangling earrings, matching bracelets, the choker necklace hidden underneath layers of wrapped scarf. It doesn’t matter, she reminds herself, forcing a smile onto her face as she, Fig, and Kristen reunite with the Bad Boys, their group made whole before they take a teleportation pad to Fallinel. Just ignore them. Focus on the holiday. You’re going to have a good time.

Except a good time is the furthest thing any of them get.

It starts out nice, Adaine will give it that. They arrive in Fallinel, getting all settled in. They take a visit to the Wolfsong camp, and Adaine is grateful for the hat Oisin gave her, the new coat, even the socks, all of it keeping her snug and warm as they trudge through the snow, chattering to each other. They meet Tracker again. They share their Secret Sylvan gifts, and Adaine squirms as she shoves an earworm into her ear, and smiles as she gives Fabian a pair of pipes.

It’s a lovely time, all of them hanging together, and she watches Aelwyn ease into the festivities too, having some fun wandering about the Wolfsong camp, tormenting everyone who crosses her path.

Until it isn’t.

Until Riz discovers an ancient, divine wedding contract etched into stone, half the names buried under soil and snow. Until Adaine kneels by it, her mind locked into discovery mode, eager curiosity and the incessant urge to learn driving her to translate these ancient Sylvan runes, deciphering them with ease. Until she utters the name of a forgotten, dead goddess out loud, her fingers tracing the etchings in stone, her lips and tongue working to utter three syllables aloud.

“Ankarna,” Adaine utters, her eyes blown wide, an echo accompanying her words. The wind picks up, whips around her; the runes of the standing stones glow red, red, red, and chaos erupts.

Multiple divine interventions collide at once. Fig nearly dies, a moonbeam trying to rip the armour of her mysterious curse off of her until Adaine fires off a Counterspell, heart racing, lungs heaving in her aching chest as her magic collides with that of the gods and fends them off. They tumble into Riz’s briefcase, screaming as they fall, and Adaine is far too panicked, mind racing a million miles a minute, to remember the Ring of Feather Falling jingling around in her bag, only remembering it after they crash into a fucked up, corrupted Mordred Manor, when it’s far too late to be of use.

It’s chaos. It’s chaos, and it’s terrifying, and Fabian nearly stabs her to death with his sword, grinning at her, head cracking in ways it shouldn’t, and Adaine herself blacks out, comes back injured and confused, head throbbing with memories missing. She fires spells, does her best to navigate this place; they gather the talismans of Fig’s curse, and Adaine breaks it with her magic, gathers up the sticky energy that feels horrible and wrong — infernal and ancient, writhing and screeching under her command. She recognises the curse as tied to the Armour of Pride, and as they hurtle through subspace together, they all decide to detour to the Bottomless Pit.

She casts Plane Shift, slices a door open with the glowing blade of her sword—

And now they’re here. In the Bottomless Pit, in hell, where the sweltering heat forces Adaine to strip off her hat, her coat, her scarf, unwinding the long piece of fabric as she tries not to sweat to death. She doesn’t notice the way Fabian’s eyes bulge as they land on her neck, nor does she notice the way Riz stiffens; she is far too concerned with the way her body feels like it’s about to melt, mind racing with a thousand thoughts about Fig’s curse and what it all means, her sword thrumming with a sticky, infernal magic stolen from a curse unfairly inflicted.

What Adaine expects, least of all, in the midst of complete insanity, is to be heckled by Bill Seacaster’s boat. By Kalvaxus.

“Hey! Abernant!” She hears a voice call her name, and she furrows her brows as she tries to place who it is and where it’s from. She and the others have just returned from the Hall of Sin with a bit more information under their belts, and the shout had cut in as they were all discussing how to get back to Fallinel.

Adaine swiftly realises who it is that called out to her when Fig slams the edge of her bass over the side of the ship, piercing scale and hide with a harsh thwack. “Don’t talk to her, you creep!”

“Gah!” With a pained howl, Kalvaxus snarls, “For the last time, I have no interest in any of you! You’re all just a bunch of spoiled teenagers—”

“Then what’s with the sudden interest in Adaine, huh?” Fig interrupts, yanking her bass out of Kalvaxus’ hide. Blood spurts from the wound, dripping over crimson scales.

“Oh, for the love of— I am getting to that! If you would just let me SPEAK—”

“What do you want?” Adaine asks flatly, leaning over the side of the ship and craning her head, trying to catch sight of Kalvaxus’ snout.

There’s a pause, before Kalvaxus huffs. “You’ve got the stench of another dragon’s hoard about you.”

She blinks. “That’s it?” Adaine says, slightly miffed.

“What do you mean, that’s it?” Kalvaxus sounds incredulous. “There’s barely any dragons in Elmville, last I remember, and mind you, I’ve been trapped there for a really long time.”

She pauses, contemplating the dragon’s words. “Fair enough,” Adaine concedes, with a light shrug. “It’s probably because of my boyfriend’s gifts.” Her heart flutters as she says those words, one hand reaching up to trace the jewellery dangling from her ears, wrapped snugly around her neck.

If anything, Kalvaxus only seems more confused. “Boyfriend? What— who are you even dating?”

“Why do you care?” Gorgug asks, joining Fig in leaning over and smacking his axe against the side of the ship. Bill Seacaster doesn’t seem to care as Kalvaxus lets out yet another howl — and yet, Adaine knows that Gorgug didn’t put any real effort into the hit; his axe is capable of far deeper injuries than the one he just inflicted.

“Will you stop hitting me?!” With an irritable growl, Kalvaxus grows silent, before he huffs, “Again, there’s barely any dragons in Elmville.” Voice dripping with bitter sarcasm, he utters, “Excuse this dragon if he wants to know who, exactly, one of you blasted teenagers know.”

She glances over at her friends, meeting their eyes. Fig shrugs at her, a silent It’s your decision. “Oisin Hakinvar,” Adaine finally says, turning her focus back to Kalvaxus.

“Hakinvar?” The dragon’s voice is thoughtful. “Mm… The name is familiar to me.” His words take on a wistful note as he reminisces. “I believe I may have known one of his ancestors.”

Now that surprises her. “Really?” Adaine exclaims, blinking. Her brows press together. “He never told me.”

“Would it have even come up naturally, though?” Kristen points out, walking over to join them, her staff in hand. She gesticulates, saying, “Like, what’s he gonna say to you? ‘Hey, girlfriend, just letting you know that my granny fucked Kalvaxus—’”

“We did NOT!” Kalvaxus howls, outraged. The ship jerks slightly to one side, and there’s whooping and yelling from the nearby pirates. “She was a very nice woman, if not perhaps a little scary… but regardless! Our affairs were not sexual!”

“But this feels weird, doesn’t it?” Adaine startles as a green blur pops into view, as Riz shows up next to her, seemingly out of nowhere, Fabian following behind. His forehead is scrunched up, tail flicking as he says, “I mean, Oisin knows we killed Kalvaxus, right?”

“Excuse me?” Kalvaxus hisses, fury underlining his words. “I am not dead—”

BANG!

A howling shriek pierces the air as Kalvaxus screams in agony.

“He does know, doesn’t he?” Riz asks, raising his head to meet Adaine’s eyes. His arquebus is smoking from the tip, and there’s yet another new wound in the side of the ship, blood leaking from the hole in Kalvaxus’ skin.

Adaine holds his gaze for one brief moment before pulling away, turning to stare at the hellscape stretching out before her instead — a sprawling sky of fiery red, the air echoing with the shrieks of the damned, the searing heat scorching against her skin. “Yeah he does,” she finally says. “Obviously.” She still remembers her embarrassment at suddenly talking about killing a dragon in front of a dragon, seated across from Oisin in Basrar’s. “But he doesn’t seem to know Kalvaxus,” Adaine adds, digging through her memories. “I mean, just because one of his ancestors knew him doesn’t mean there’s any…” She twists her lips. “Weirdness.”

She knows, from Riz’s intense gaze, from Fabian furrowing his brow as he glances at Kalvaxus’ head, used as the mast of the ship, that they’re digging for something. Another reason to suspect Oisin, maybe. It’s obvious, it’s so obvious, and it’s pissing her off. But she swallows down her brief flare of defensive rage, chokes her cruel words back. “Are we done here?”

“Oh, do you wanna go back already?” Kristen asks, jumping in. The head of her staff is already beginning to swirl with purple magic, a cool, velveteen twilight. Her eyes glinting, she grins. “Then let’s go!”

Against the sudden chorus of protests, of half of them realising that they haven’t tied up their last few loose ends, Kristen’s magic carries them all away, Plane Shifting them out of hell, out of the Bottomless Pit and back to Fallinel — to reunions with their families and friends, to knowledge concerning the corrupted goddess they’ve been seeking, to safety and sanctuary and refuge after such a long, terrible night.

Her anger slips from her mind, in the thick of everything else. And so does the strange conversation as a whole, just one more thing for her to forget about.

“Hey.”

Resting her hand on Aelwyn’s shoulder, Adaine watches her sister turn her head, arching an eyebrow at her. “What do you want?”

“I keep thinking about what you said.” Adaine pauses, swallowing the lump in her throat, feeling Aelwyn wait expectantly. “About my job,” Adaine adds, by way of explanation. “You know. The fact that I’m working a job I don’t really care for. Minimum wage.”

“Yeah?” Turning around properly, Aelwyn rests a hand on her hip, lips curving with a slight smirk. “Where are you heading with this, hm?”

Ugh. Adaine grimaces, biting back the urge to snip at her sister. She’s too tired for it. “Want to come help me convince the Court of Stars to pay me for being the oracle?” she asks, diving straight to the point.

There is a pause, before Aelwyn says, “You… want me to come?”

Adaine stares. “Well, yeah,” she says, after a beat. “Why wouldn’t I?”

For a moment, neither of them speak.

“...I’ll get a disguise,” Aelwyn says, breaking the silence to turn away, magic beginning to crackle in her hands. Her eyes glint, sharp and alert, and a cunning smile spreads across her face. “I believe I’m still wanted here, if that fact happened to slip your mind.”

Her trip to the Court of Stars goes… better than anticipated. Adaine still glowers as her eyes roam over everything — the architecture, the elven elders, the dancers swirling about with lithe-footed moves, long sheets flowing around them in a way that makes her think of Fabian — but she stands her ground, tries to reason with them as well as she can.

It’s difficult, frustratingly so, especially given how utterly archaic the blasted Court of Stars is, but when Adaine begins to bristle with far too much frustration, mind flashing with the memory of her kidnapping just months prior, of Aelwyn’s torture, she senses her sister stepping forward, appearance cloaked in a disguise, trying to reason with smooth words in Adaine’s place.

“And who might you be?” one of the elven elders asks at one point, words directed right at Aelwyn.

“Oh, that’s Roma Childa,” Naradriel introduces, pulling up the fake name Aelwyn had come up with, a mockery of Fig’s infamous disguise. “She’s…” Pausing, Nara scratches her chin, confusion overcoming her dopey expression. “Why are you here, again?”

Adaine says the first thing that comes to mind. “She’s my lawyer.”

“Then I suppose she shall have no issue dealing with a council of seven elven lawyers?” At that, both sisters freeze. Aelwyn shoots her a side glare, one that Adaine easily recognises as What the fuck, Adaine? “You have engaged in this foreign law business, attempting to negotiate a contract for your labour,” the elf continues. “As such, we will require contact with your attorney.”

“I’m actually retired from practising,” Aelwyn fibs. It’s a horrible lie, but the elves scarcely bat an eye at it, inept as they are. “Is there perhaps another avenue my… client could seek instead?”

Magic hums through the air. “If you wish,” an elf says, after a moment of silence, “you may engage in a competitive dance with one of the immortal elven dancers outside.”

Adaine twists around, glancing over her shoulder. She can just about see their limbs popping in and out of view through the doorway, the flowing ripple of their sheets. She thinks, again, of Fabian — and that’s when it clicks.

Turning back to the Court of Stars, Adaine asks, “May I nominate a champion?”

And that’s how she finds herself typing a text on her crystal to Fabian as the three of them leave the Court of Stars, trudging back through the snowy fields of Fallinel to return to Kei Lumennura.

Adaine: you wanna get into a dance competition? like a step it up 2 the streets type situation?

It takes a while for Fabian to respond. For a moment, Adaine wonders if he switched his crystal back to do not disturb, only to startle as a message comes in.

Fabian: Step up 2 the streets? I mean sure

Fabian: What’s this abt though?

Adaine: went to negotiate w the court of stars. i should get paid for being the oracle.

Adaine: they were like. we can send you a team of seven lawyers OR you could do a dance competition with one of the dancers outside

Fabian: Ohh

Adaine: yeah except i don’t dance so i was like, can i nominate a champion? and they let me

Adaine: so i kinda need you to be my champion for this fabian

Adaine: it’s for my livelihood

Fabian: Yes

Fabian: Absoluitely

She smiles.

Adaine: thank you. really

Fabian: I mean, hey. Bad kids forever, right?

Adaine: yeah! and i’ll have way more time. i feel bad that i haven’t been able to help much with you guys

There’s a long moment where she watches Fabian start and stop typing, that text bubble popping up and disappearing routinely. It takes long enough that, after a while, she feels a shadow lean over her, hears Aelwyn’s voice. “So. Why the sudden change in heart?”

Adaine blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Quitting your job, and all.” As Adaine keeps her crystal, stuffing it into the pocket of the new coat Oisin got her, she sees Aelwyn shrug. “Like, I’m proud of you and all for quitting a job that’s really not worth your time. But…” She smiles, cutting and sharp. “I don’t know, Adaine. Seems like there’s something more to this, is there?”

She sulks, shoulders slumping as Aelwyn reads her like an open book. “Yeah,” Adaine says with a sigh, stuffing her hands into her pockets. The worst part about her conversation with Aelwyn, the one they had about a month ago, speaking tersely while admiring the burnt down remains of their previous home, was realising that Aelwyn was right. Her words still haunt Adaine’s head, a scathing observation of the truth — In any case, you working is just a convoluted arrangement for him to keep sponsoring you. His tips are bigger than your salary.

“I could earn more as the Elven Oracle,” Adaine merely says, briefly meeting Aelwyn’s glance. “It’s not like Fallinel is hurting for money.”

“Extorting them for all they’re worth,” Aelwyn says with a satisfied smile, dipping her head in approval. “I’m glad you’ve come to your senses, sister dear.” The sound of boots crunching against snow fills the air before Aelwyn adds, “And I assume, of course, that Fabian will be your champion?”

“Who else would it be?” Adaine says, a smile slipping on her lips. “I’ve seen what he can do. I know he can win this for me.”

“I don’t disagree with that,” Aelwyn says with a nonchalant shrug. In the distance, Nara turns around, flashing them a quizzical look at how far they’ve lagged behind, slowing down due to their own conversation. “But in any case,” Aelwyn continues, blatantly ignoring the elven princess in favour of fixing Adaine with a look that makes her breathing hitch — eyes crinkling slightly as she smiles, her expression softening with care — “I’m merely glad that you’re finally taking steps towards taking care of yourself.”

Just don’t let Hakinvar trample all over your boundaries, okay? Aelwyn’s voice fills her head, an echo of her prior words. You deserve better than that.

The jewellery draped across her skin, dangling from her ears, suddenly feels heavier, weighed down by something Adaine cannot comprehend.

“You’re getting soft,” she says with a sigh, although she can’t beat away the smile that crosses her face. Striding ahead, Adaine hums in contemplation, tapping a finger against her chin. “I wonder what everyone else would think, if I told them what you said?”

The tender look vanishes from Aelwyn’s face immediately, her lips contorting into a dangerous scowl. “Don’t you dare.”

Flashing a peace sign, Adaine Misty Steps away, stumbling into a sprint as soon as her feet thump against an untrodden layer of snow, several feet away from not just a seething, sprinting Aelwyn, but from a confused Naradriel as well.

“Shit,” she says, smile twitching at the sight of Aelwyn barreling straight for her, hands crackling with magic. Her legs ache as she breaks into a run, lungs straining as she sucks in gasps of cool oxygen through her mouth — but she’s laughing, her heart singing with light, her soul cloaked in the warmth of affection.

It’s not the passionate, burning flame of what she feels with Oisin, fingers and claws tangled together as they bite and kiss, but rather, the gentle warmth of a firelit hearth, a soft blanket wrapped around her by someone else — someone who cares, no matter how much she hates to show it, no matter how much she threatens to kill Adaine for letting slip her soft side.

Sometime after the winter break, after Adaine returns back home, reuniting happily with Oisin as she slips back into her usual normalcy, Adaine gets a text from Fabian right before her divination class begins.

She had been texting Oisin before the class started, his absence made known by the empty chair next to her. Divination classes are one of the few lessons they don’t share, much like Adaine doesn’t attend his conjuration classes — at the end of the day, for as many shared classes as they take, they are both, ultimately, wizards of differing specialties; what Adaine gleans in the art of divination will be as useful to Oisin as his conjuration antics are to her.

She’s just finished firing off a message to Oisin when another one comes in, a pop-up notification covering the top of her screen. It’s from Fabian.

Fabian: Elves are here

Fabian: For the dance-off

Her heart stutters, skipping a beat.

Lifting her head, Adaine bites back a curse at the sight of Tiberia Runestaff walking through the door, about to begin the lesson. As her teacher busies herself with setting down her belongings, ensuring that everything is in order, Adaine’s thumbs fly over the screen of her crystal, rapidly slamming out a reply as quickly as she can.

Adaine: wait seriously??

Fabian: Yeah

Fabian: Terpischores talking to them rn

Adaine: shit. how many?

Fabian: Only one dancer but theyve got a couple of others

Fabian: From the court of stars

Her head flicks up. Tiberia is still unpacking.

Adaine: i’ll be right there

Her chair scrapes noisily against the ground as she shoves it backwards, rising to her feet. As she rounds her desk, crystal in hand, making a beeline for the door, a sharp ahem cuts through the air. “And just what do you think you’re doing, Ms. Abernant?” Tiberia asks, narrowing her cold eyes.

Adaine suppresses the urge to shudder, shoves back down the sudden compulsion to grovel and apologise. “I have to leave for a while,” she says, trying to keep her voice collected. Her crystal goes off with a blip. She isn’t sure who it belongs to. Is it Fabian, firing back another message? Or is it Oisin, keeping up their earlier conversation? She ignores it for now in favour of dipping her head at her teacher, a subtle act of deference. “Apologies, but may I go?”

Tiberia’s eyes narrow more, if that’s even possible. “What is so important that it must cut into lesson time, Ms. Abernant?”

Adaine shifts, eyes flicking to the board — to the words scrawled together at one side, a list of predictions jotted down over the first half of the school year. The words at the top catch her eyes: Fabian Aramais Seacaster is the future of dance.

“Well,” she says, turning her attention back to the stern facade of her teacher, “this actually concerns one of my predictions from last year.”

The mood in the room changes instantly. One moment, the air is nothing but bitterly algid, Adaine standing under the piercing gaze of her teacher while the rest of her classmates shoot her strange glances; the next, it’s practically electric. Tiberia’s eyes widen before her expression relaxes, a curious glint igniting in her eyes. The chatter of the other students picks up around her, like a buzzing in the air.

“Well, why didn’t you lead off with that, hm?” Crossing her arms, Tiberia steals a glance at the board. “Tell us then. Which one is it?”

“The topmost one,” Adaine answers, rocking back on her heels. “It’s a long story,” she says, wincing as her eyes snag on the clock hanging on the wall, the second hand continuing to tick its way around, unable to be stopped. “But what you need to know is that he’s about to compete against an elven dancer from Fallinel, right now.”

The buzzing picks up, breaking into excited chattering. Despite her urgency, Adaine can’t help the smile that slips onto her face; if there’s anything that gets the divination wizards going, those in the same school as she is, it’s— well, divination. Predictions of the future, glimpses of the past, knowledge of the present — all of it. There’s always an excited chatter whenever one of her statements make it on the board, and for good reason; as much as Adaine regards her title of Elven Oracle with no small amount of distaste, the ability to peer into the future, to see it clearly for what it is, is admired greatly by her peers.

Relief floods her as Tiberia regards her with a look of intrigue, followed by a nod. “Very well then,” she relents. “You may leave to witness your prediction come true. You, and anyone else that wishes to come with you,” she adds, eyes flicking to the rest of the class, practically buzzing in their seats. A small smile curves on her lips. “It’s quite rare to bear witness to one of these incidents, is it not?”

And that’s how Adaine finds herself surrounded by her classmates, a group of clamouring divination wizards, as they pile into Terpischore’s class just in time to witness the start of the dance-off. She flashes a grin and a thumbs up at Fabian as his eye catches hers — He’s nervous, Adaine realises, from the slight waver of his lips, and the restless energy thrumming through him.

She flicks her finger at him, the jewellery along her wrist clinking as she fires off a simple Message spell, an echo of the words Fabian loves to tell each and every one of them: Spring break, I believe in you.

And Fabian delivers. He delivers beyond Adaine’s wildest imagination, because she knew he would win, knew he was the future of dance, but it’s one thing to know, with such steadfast confidence, that Fabian would succeed, and it’s another thing to watch it happen. He’s a dizzying blur of motion, lithe limbs moving so quickly, so swiftly, that if Adaine blinks for even a second, she’ll miss a movement that gets the crowd gasping, a movement that stuns and impresses all at once.

His battlesheet whips around with him, his actions powerful and striking; his dance is nothing like the placid serenity of his opponent, whose dance was beautiful but boring, above all else. No, Fabian dances like he fights, a grand spectacle of movement that strikes adrenaline and anticipation into the hearts of everyone watching. Adaine can feel her blood humming, her head dizzy as her eyes follow her friend across the glossy wooden floors of the dance studio. She doesn’t need to look into the future, to tap into her magic, to know the outcome to this dance-off; there is only one conclusion, and it’s with Fabian absolutely curb-stomping the Court of Stars’ dancer.

When Fabian finishes, striking one last final pose, the room erupts. Dozens of voices mash together as the gathered students — the dancers of Fabian’s class, the diviners of hers — all explode into a tirade of clapping and cheering, going absolutely buckwild, their shouts bouncing off the mirrored walls of the dance classroom. Adaine is right with them, her own voice melding with the chaotic frenzy — punching her fists in the air as she screams Fabian’s name, her heart soaring with pride, her head giddy with jubilation. She watches, her cheeks aching from her grinning, as the representative for the Court of Stars steps forward, announces Fabian’s win officially before saying, “This dance-off constitutes a binding contract in which, from this moment henceforth, shall the Elven Oracle of Fallinel be a paid position.”

Pushing her way past a few students, Adaine stumbles in front of the representative, holding her hand up to catch his attention. “I would also like to say, here and now,” she says, catching her breath as countless eyes land on her, breaths bated as they wait for her to speak, “that Fabian will remain my champion for any future dance offs.” She flashes a smile at him, biting back a snicker at the bewilderment in his eye, the way it softens as she continues to speak. “And he also gets a paid stipend.”

Not that Fabian needs one. Adaine’s just happy to rob the Court of Stars of every bit of gold she can get.

With the contract officiated, the dance-off concluded, Fabian has but a second to collect himself before Adaine leaps at him, wrapping her arms around him in such giddy joy. “You did it!” she gasps, unable to stop the laughter that spills out. “You— fucking crushed that dancer for all they were worth!”

At that, Fabian laughs, throwing his head back in that same giddy happiness. “So I did good?” he asks, teasingly, already knowing the answer.

“You were insane.” Pulling back, Adaine grips his arms, smiling up at him. “I couldn’t have asked for a better champion,” she says, soft and sincere.

It’s the last thing Adaine gets to say to him before Fabian gets mobbed by the rest of his classmates, stepping back just in time to avoid getting trampled by a group of ecstatic bards. As Adaine leaves, forced to return back to class with the rest of the divination students, who are chattering amidst themselves excitedly about what they’ve witnessed, the last she sees of Fabian is him getting tossed into the air by a bunch of cheering bards, someone screeching “MAXIMUM LEGEND!” at the top of their lungs.

“Might I assume that the prediction came true?” Tiberia Runestaff asks amusedly as they herd back into her classroom, a tangled group of breathless teenagers with too much adrenaline running through their veins.

As she watches one of her classmates grab a piece of chalk to mark off the prediction on the board, Adaine only smiles.

By the time she emerges from class, though, with the lesson concluded, word of Fabian’s triumph has already made its way around the school. As she hurries through the hallway, heading to her next class — Common language classes, mandatory for all to study — Adaine’s ears prick, catching snatches of people’s voices as they gossip back and forth.

Did you hear what Seacaster did? He’s so cool, isn’t he?

I heard he’s the Oracle’s champion.

They’re calling him the Oracle of Dance!

He absolutely obliterated that elf! Danced circles around them!

He’s maximum fucking legend, baby!

It’s not just him they’re talking about either. All throughout her walk, Adaine keeps getting stopped by random people, recognised as the Elven Oracle. People she doesn’t know keep putting their hands up for high-fives, for fist bumps. She gets slapped on the back, cheered on as well, complimented for what she did. By the time she reaches the classroom, she’s slightly late, and she sputters out an apology as she rushes for her desk, sliding into her usual seat next to Oisin.

She can feel his eyes piercing her skin, and when she looks over at him, there’s a strange look shadowing his face. His pupils are contracted, his jaw set firm, and as she reaches out to rest her hand on his arm, there’s a tension in his muscles.

“Sorry,” she whispers to him, as their teacher drones on with the lesson. Adaine flashes what she hopes is a reassuring smile. “I got a bit sidetracked on the way here. I’ll tell you at lunch?”

Oisin’s forehead creases slightly, but some of the tension looses from his shoulders. “Yeah,” he whispers back, reaching out to curl his hand with hers, squeezing tight.

Except lunch goes no better, because the cafeteria is a screaming mess of students. Adaine notices a crowd around the Bad Kids’ usual table as she enters, throngs of students all clustered together to high five Fabian, to compliment him, to cheer him on. Maximum legend, the Ora-cool of Dance; she sees the way he keeps grinning uncontrollably, riding an irresistible high of popularity.

And as Adaine and Oisin weave their way across the room, people notice her. They notice her, and lunch becomes an interrupted affair as people keep making their way over to their table at the corner of the room. Adaine has been the oracle for two years, and it’s not exactly something she keeps secret, but somehow, the reality of what she is hasn’t sunk in for most people until now. She gets swarmed with compliments, some sincere, some smarmy; gets asked by countless faces she doesn’t recognise if she can tell their futures too.

Either the people approaching her are incredibly stupid and oblivious, or insanely reckless, because Adaine can practically feel the tension engulfing the air, pressing down against her skin. She slips her hand into Oisin’s, seated next to her, and squeezes tightly; memories of the earth elementals stationed at Basrar’s, the ones that throw prophecy-seeking elves into the sky, come to mind.

“Sorry,” she says politely with a stiff smile, over and over, to everyone who dares breach the subject of visions with her, “but I’m not doing that right now.” A myriad of excuses tumble from her tongue, free and easy — she can’t conjure visions on command (a blatant lie, but the one she uses most), she’s currently busy (not incorrect; her plate of lunch is practically untouched), she can only perform visions for elves (another flagrant lie, given how she was calling herself everyone’s oracle for the past two years). She tries to use the excuse that she has to be paid for her work, because it’s effectively true as of a few hours ago, but the number of students eager to whip out some cash is far too many for her to handle.

Things get so overwhelming that she and Oisin have to ditch lunch midway through, hijacking an empty classroom so Adaine can actually eat something, and Oisin can calm down. “God,” Adaine sighs, leaning her head back as she slumps in a chair. Oisin paces around, restlessly, and Adaine conjures Boggy, throws him at Oisin like a ball. “I’m sorry about all that. I didn’t expect things to get that chaotic.”

Oisin catches Boggy, holds him close. The frog ribbits happily. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes as he collects himself. “I heard the rumours going around,” he starts. There’s a waver in his voice. “That… Seacaster is your champion.”

Possessive dragon, Adaine thinks with a slight wince, midway through shovelling another spoonful of Aguefort’s mystery gruel into her mouth. It tastes like mush. Of course he’s going to focus on that first.

She takes another bite before she says, “It’s about that thing I told you about. Remember when I was in Fallinel? And I went to the Court of Stars and asked them to start paying me for being their goddamn oracle.” She told him just enough the first chance they got to call, after the chaos of Riz’s briefcase and the Bottomless Pit, of Bakur and Lydia Barkrock. Not that she told him about any of that, omitting those details before he took off for Fallinel out of a frantic worry.

“I remember.” Oisin stares at Boggy in his arms, before he walks over to Adaine. He pulls up the nearest chair, sitting next to her with her frog in his lap. “You just… didn’t tell me that it’d be Seacaster helping you.”

“Yeah,” Adaine says, averting her gaze. That— that had been deliberate on her part. She wanted to tell Oisin everything, of course, wanted to spill it all to him, but the tension between him and Fabian was like walking through an active minefield, not knowing when someone would stumble into a hidden bomb and blow up. Adaine hadn’t wanted to sour the mood, to argue with Oisin about it. She had enough trouble talking him down from just hiring a bunch of lawyers and taking the easier route out.

The silence that stretches between them feels unbearable. It gets harder and harder for her to choke down her food, her throat constricted by her own nagging guilt. Guilt over not being upfront about this, for keeping the exacts of the truth from him.

Finally, Adaine sighs. Reaching out for Oisin, she rests her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry,” she says, softly, as he turns his head around, blinking his amber eyes at her. “I should have told you about it, I just—” She hesitates, before she shrugs. “I know you don’t like Fabian, but I needed his help.”

“You didn’t— need his help,” Oisin argues, shifting Boggy in his arms. “Wasn’t there a lawyer option? I could have hired someone to help.”

“I knew you’d say that,” says Adaine, letting out a sigh. She stirs her food with her spoon absentmindedly, before she says, in a low voice, “But I can’t keep… relying on you for that.”

Oisin sours. “This again?”

“I know, I know,” Adaine interjects before he can continue. She already knows what he’s going to say; they’ve had this song and dance many times before. “We’re dating,” Adaine says, gesturing between the two of them with her spoon. “I can depend on you, et cetera, et cetera. I know the drill. But it’s just—”

She stops, takes a deep breath before pressing on. “I’ve gotten better at it, Oisin,” Adaine says. “At… accepting things. Knowing my value. I mean…” She snorts. “Moonar Yulenear was a thing. I still don’t know how I let you get away with giving me all of that.”

“Because you love me,” Oisin says, a teasing lilt to his voice. Some of the tension has ebbed from his shoulders, and her heart lightens at the lighter tone of his words.

“Yeah, I do,” Adaine states, matter-of-factly. “That's why I let you give me those diamonds in the first place.” She pauses, biting her lip. “But…” Hesitating, Adaine asks, “does it really matter so much? I mean, the dance-off is done. Fabian did what he had to, and now I’m getting paid just for existing.” She lays her spoon down on her tray, leaning over to rest her head against Oisin’s arm with a sigh. “We can spend more time together now that I don’t have to work anymore.”

“I… guess so.” His voice wavers with uncertainty. His grip around Boggy is firm. Exhaling heavily, Oisin tries to smile at her. But Adaine can read him like a book, can recognise the quiver at the edge of his smile no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

Oisin’s tension remains throughout the day, in spite of their lunchtime conversation and Adaine’s attempts to quell his anxieties. It only gets worse, in fact, as they hurry through the hallways and sit in their classes together; there seems to be a constant deluge of gossip whirling through the air, people whispering about the oracle’s champion over and over. Adaine’s hand seems to rest permanently on Oisin’s arm, squeezing to ground him as he gets all unfocused and stiff, and Boggy sits on his desk, happy to be by his side for the rest of the day.

By the time the final bell lets out, Adaine is ready to be free — to escape from Aguefort into some peace and quiet, to spend some time with Oisin until he finally calms down. As soon as they can, they make a break for it, dodging around crowds of students as they beeline straight for their lockers, gathering their things before heading right for the front doors.

Bursting outside, Adaine shivers at the biting chill of the cold winter air as it nips at the skin on her face. Turning her head to the side, she watches as Oisin seems to finally calm. His tail, stiff and alert throughout the day, spines pricked at the ready, finally lowers against the ground, and as his shoulders slump, Adaine can hear him take a deep breath, watching the puff of fog that drifts from his nostrils as he exhales.

“I hated that,” Oisin mutters, kicking the ground halfheartedly.

Adaine stifles a laugh. “I know,” she says instead, “but look on the bright side. I’m free now.” Reaching for him, she takes his hand — his right one, no longer cloaked by a fingerless glove, and when she entwines their fingers together, she can feel the wooden surface of the Ring of Warmth brush against her silver one. Oisin has stopped bundling up as much ever since she got back from Fallinel, and although Adaine mourned the departure of the tail warmer, the larger part of her preens happily knowing that her gift is serving him well.

As they make their way from Aguefort together, hand in hand, Adaine asks, “What do you want to do now? Because I don’t know about you, but I really don’t want to stay here any longer than I have to.” She suppresses a shudder, recalling the horrors of lunch. “I don’t know if anyone else is going to try and beg me for more visions, and I don’t want to find out.”

“I’ll kill them if they do,” Oisin says simply, with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Please don’t.”

“Maybe an elemental then? Like the ones outside Basrar’s?”

“I don’t know if I really want one of those following me around all day…” Adaine admits, while Oisin laughs.

“Fair enough.” He pauses, swinging their interlocked hands slightly, before he says, “Let’s go over to my place.”

“Sounds good to me. Just—” Adaine breaks off, glancing over at Basrar’s nearby. “Can we stop by Basrar’s first? I need to turn in my resignation.”

The worst part about quitting her job is needing to tell Basrar about it. Still, Adaine perseveres, and comes away from it with a free Fudgie, a gift that makes her mouth water as she thanks Basrar profusely before taking her leave. She leaves the shop with a box in one hand, the whale-shaped ice cream cake resting inside, and Oisin’s hand in the other, and as she returns to the winter chill outside, she hears—

“Adaine!”

Head snapping up, Adaine watches as a figure charges right towards her, coming into view. She has all but a second before Fig barrels into her, sweeping her up into a bone-crushing hug. “You did it!” she cheers, ecstatic and happy, and as she swings Adaine around giddily — and Adaine briefly wonders how the fuck Fig can do this; she’s so much tinier than her! — her hand slips away from Oisin, yanked out of his hold.

She relaxes, a smile crossing her face. “I did it!” she echoes, light and happy as Fig lets her down. “Though really, it was all Fabian. I really couldn’t have done it without him.”

“Well yeah, obviously,” Fig agrees. Behind her, Adaine can see the other Bad Kids coming over, and before long, they’re all gathered before her, various stages of happy. “I mean, he fucking crushed them, but—”

“Congrats on besting the Court of Stars,” Kristen interrupts, leaning on her staff as she grins. Gorgug flashes her a thumbs up.

Her cheeks warm. “Thanks,” Adaine breathes. She catches Fabian’s eye and smiles at him, watching as he winks.

Fig’s gasp cuts through the air. “Is that a Fudgie?”

“Wh— hey!” Raising the box above her head, Adaine scowls at her as Fig begins clamouring for it, trying to snatch it out of her hand. “Get your own!”

Rocking back on her heels, Fig crosses her arms, pouting. “Boo,” she jeers. “You’re so mean.”

“This was a gift for me— and anyways,” Adaine adds hastily, “you keep eating all the Fudgies whenever I bring one home from work!”

As she summons her Mage Hand to hold the box out of reach, Adaine turns her focus to everyone else, letting Fig suffer in her stubbornness. “So what brings you all here?”

“Looking for you. What else?” Riz shrugs.

“We were thinking about doing something in celebration,” Kristen adds. “Maybe go back to Mordred, or something. Or Seacaster Manor. Honestly, we haven’t really decided.”

“We texted you about it,” Gorgug interjects. He furrows his brows. “You didn’t reply, though.”

Adaine blinks. “Wait, shit—” Fumbling for her coat pocket, she pulls out her crystal. As she unlocks it, scrolling through all the messages in the Bad Kids’ group chat, sure enough, there had been a discussion an hour or two ago about celebrating Fabian and Adaine’s victory by hanging out together. The skin along her cheeks and neck flush with an embarrassed heat; when was the last time she checked her crystal? She can’t remember. Today has been a dizzying blur, from the moment Fabian texted her right as her divination class was starting, all the way to now. A blur of heightened emotions, good and bad; of cheering on one of her best friends as he kicked elven ass, and of calming her boyfriend down as he struggled with his draconic desires.

Lowering her crystal, Adaine shakes her head. “I didn’t see this,” she says sheepishly, scrunching her shoulders. “Sorry.”

“Hey, it happens.” Gorgug’s voice is warm. “I mean, you guys remember how I was basically, uh… unresponsive? Before Porter signed my MCAT?”

Adaine does remember. It had been nigh impossible to get ahold of Gorgug back then, though they still tried. “That’s not really the same thing, though,” she says with a sigh. “I just… I don’t know. I didn’t hear anything, I guess.”

“It’s fine.” Fabian shakes his hand, as though dismissing her words. He’s grinning, his one eye alight with merriment. “We’re still going to go celebrate, though, yeah?”

At that, Adaine hesitates, her eyes darting off to the side. Towards Oisin, who’s been standing in silence since her friends arrived — observing them, watching closely, but not uttering a single word.

Unfortunately for her, her silence says it all to her more-than-perceptive friends.

Fabian breaks the silence first. There’s a waver to his words. “You can’t make it?”

“If I had just seen those messages earlier…” Adaine trails off, swallowing down the rest of her words. No, there’s no point dwelling on her mistakes, lamenting the fact that if she had just paid closer attention, she wouldn’t be facing everyone’s disappointment right now. “Sorry,” she says, glancing up with a weak smile. “I don’t think I can join. But, like— you guys can do it without me. I mean, Fabian was the one who did everything, so really, this should be about him, right?” Her words are slipping out quickly, faster than she can think. “The only thing I did was ask him to help,” Adaine says with a nervous laugh. “Or we could. I don’t know. Do this tomorrow?”

For one brief second, nobody speaks. She senses disappointment, a reluctant acceptance, from the way Kristen and Gorgug trade looks, and the way Riz sets his jaw.

And then she hears someone speak.

“So what happened to having more time?”

She flinches.

Turning around, Adaine meets a single grey eye. Whatever mirth was bubbling in it earlier has faded, a shadow cast over it instead. Fabian’s shoulders are stiff, his arms folded sharply, and there’s a scowl marring his lips, stretched tight across his face.

“I…” Adaine hesitates. What does she even say? Fabian took the words she told him and threw them right back at her — her saying that they would have more time. She swallows the lump in her throat, forcing out her words. “Well, today’s been stressful—”

“Yeah, I know.” His words are sharp, cutting like the edge of his blade. Adaine flinches again. This— this isn’t something she’s used to, having that anger pointed at her. “I was in the thick of it, you know.”

At that, Gorgug briefly glances over at Fabian. “You say that like you weren’t enjoying it,” he points out, voice mild.

Fabian splutters. “I— That’s not important! I can enjoy something that’s still stressful, okay?” He turns back towards her. “So it was stressful. Why does that mean you can’t— spend time with us?”

“Because,” Adaine says, voice darkening as she takes a step forward, staring Fabian down, “I’m going to spend time with Oisin.”

As those words escape her lips, a silence falls over them. Brief, short, it engulfs the air, a tense, thick, palpable thing.

“So you’re responsible for him?” Fabian’s voice is hard. “You’re not responsible for him, Adaine. Why do you have to— god, I don’t know, babysit him whenever he throws a hissy fit?”

“Don’t call it that!” she snaps, her own frustrations finally getting the better of her. Her hands ball into trembling fists. “It’s not— babysitting. He can’t fucking help it, it’s these instincts—”

“I think he can.” She stiffens at the cold cadence of Fabian’s voice.

She forces herself to take a deep breath, to still her tremulous heart. “In any case,” Adaine utters, reaching up to rake a hand through her hair, “I kind of am responsible for him. I’m his girlfriend.”

And it isn’t Fabian who speaks this time. Another voice cuts in, and somehow, it hurts more than Fabian’s seething words, than the anger she’s gotten so used to, learning to expect it from him whenever he crosses paths with Oisin.

“That’s not healthy, Adaine.” Gorgug stares at her, eyes wide, and something in her shrivels, all her fight withering away. Something glints in his eyes, and she jerks her head away as she recognises it as pity.

Her head hurts.

“Listen.” She reaches up to rub her aching temple. “Can we just… do this tomorrow? If you guys still want to meet then.” She shakes her head, shrinking away. “I can’t do it today. I’m sorry, I just—”

“No.”

Adaine jerks back, staring at Fabian in bewilderment. “What?”

“No,” he repeats, and he’s trembling, shoulders shaking, but as he raises his head, looking past Adaine towards Oisin, there’s something in his eye unlike anything she’s ever seen before — a raw, unfiltered hatred. The force of his words, the piercing edge of his stare, is enough for her to take a step back, stepping closer to Oisin.

She doesn’t notice that her Mage Hand has disappeared, that a minute has passed. She doesn’t notice Fig staring at her, at Fabian, the box of cake held lamely in her hands.

“I’m fucking sick of this,” Fabian hisses, taking a step forward, and then another. “I’m fucking sick of you.” He jerks his finger forward, jabs it right in Oisin’s direction. Pressed against his side, her hand hugging his arm, Adaine can feel Oisin stiffen. “I’ve had to keep my mouth shut for months while you get to steal my friend away from me— from all of us.” Spreading his arms open wide, Fabian gestures at everyone else — at Kristen and Gorgug, at Fig and Riz.

His voice drops. “You’re not fucking slick, Oisin,” Fabian utters, voice deadly cold. His hand lashes out, grabbing the collar of Oisin’s shirt to pull him in close. “I know what you’ve been doing.”

Oisin narrows his eyes, slits like needle-sharp pinpricks. “And that is?”

“Isolating her. Keeping her away from us.” His grip trembles. “Monopolising all her time so you’re the only person in her fucking life.”

“Fabian.” Adaine’s lip twitches as she wedges her way between them, forcing Fabian to let go of Oisin’s collar. Her body shakes, and her heart rattles against her chest like a frantic, caged animal, but she pushes herself to raise her head, to meet Fabian’s cold, grey eye, brimming with malice. Her words come out in a fog of breath. “What the fuck are you doing?”

At that, Fabian actually laughs. “You— You genuinely don’t notice anything wrong with this, do you?”

“Fabian.” Another voice cuts in. Adaine’s eyes flick to the side to see Riz, stepping forward, an imperceptible expression in his face. “Stand down.”

“When was the last time all of us hung out?” Fabian challenges, ignoring Riz’s words. “When, Adaine? Don’t even bring up Fallinel, because we had to practically drag you there.”

When had they last hung out — all of them, together, the Bad Kids? She racks her head, digs through her memories, only for horror to slowly creep down her spine as she realises she doesn’t know. Beyond their occasional passing hangouts in school, beyond winter break in Fallinel, the last time Adaine can remember spending time with her best friends is—

When the nemesis ward went off.

Her head really hurts, pain throbbing along her temple. That indescribable feeling engulfs her chest, the one Adaine can’t put a name on, the one that makes bile rise in her throat as her stomach roils uncomfortably until she swears she’s going to be sick.

“S-So what?” Gritting her teeth, Adaine musters everything she has, cobbles together a shaky defence. “So what, Fabian?” she argues, scowling at him. “I haven’t spent time with all of you— so fucking what?” She takes a step forward, only stopped by the clawed hand that curls around her wrist, stopping her from getting too far. “Why would I want to,” Adaine utters, eyes wide, her body shaking with an anger she kept burying for months on end, “when you and Riz keep hounding me about my goddamn life?!”

A beat of silence.

“You… really don’t see anything wrong with this.” Fabian’s voice is flat.

Her breath spills out. “There isn’t anything wrong with this,” Adaine states, exhaustion seeping into her words. “There isn’t.”

She feels Fabian’s eye scrutinise her, watching closely. “You know what I think?” he finally says, after a pause. His gaze shifts, glancing past Adaine, right at Oisin.

“I think you’re lucky, Oisin,” Fabian utters. “I think you’re lucky that Adaine chose you.”

Behind her, Oisin tenses.

Riz curses. “Fabian—”

“I think you should be grateful that she cares so much about you,” Fabian continues, swatting away Riz’s attempt to interrupt as though he hadn’t heard it at all. “Because do you know what I really think about this entire thing?”

His voice drops dangerously low.

“You,” Fabian hisses, eye flashing with hate, “don’t fucking deserve her.”

And all hell breaks loose.

One moment, Adaine’s hand is wrapped around Oisin’s own, feeling the way he trembles as Fabian speaks. The next— she can’t even begin to say. It’s all so sudden, a blur of movement, noises, voices coalescing together as Oisin lunges forward, his hand wrenched out of Adaine’s hold, claws glinting in the weak winter sunlight as he charges straight for Fabian. There’s a horrible howling in the air — guttural, primal, a roar unlike anything she’s heard before — and Adaine is left reeling, her mind grasping for answers before it snaps back into place, and everything clicks.

“Shit!” she hears someone yell, voice rising above the carnage unfolding before them. She doesn’t realise it’s her own voice yelling that, doesn’t realise it as she sprints forward, flinging herself into the mess of slashing claws and tangling limbs. It’s a disaster — Oisin trying to reach for Fabian, Fabian standing his ground, the rest of the Bad Kids tumbling between the two of them in a last-ditch effort to separate them. Panic throbs through Adaine, thick and heady, sending a tremble all across her body, but she forces it down, banishes it to whence it came as she throws herself onto Oisin’s back, ignoring the chaotic yelling as she tries to yank him backwards.

“Stop!” The plea comes out, pierces the air as she pulls, dragging with all her might. “Just— stop!”

She stumbles backwards as Oisin pulls back, nearly falling against the ground with the sudden force of his movement. The growling cuts off, replaced with a low rumbling in Oisin’s throat, a ripple that courses through his body.

“We’re done here,” he chokes out, smoke curling from the corner of his jaw. Pure malice permeates his words, and as Adaine catches a glimpse of the look on his face, her heart wedges in her throat. There is nothing but a cruel, unadulterated hatred everywhere she looks — from his eyes, the thinnest sliver of pinpricks she’s ever seen, amber flecked with ruby; from his mouth, fangs bared, smoke curling out; from his fins and frills, pricked up and flared out.

He wraps his arm around her, so tightly that she squeaks. Crackling magic courses through the air.

The last glimpse Adaine gets of her friends before she’s whisked away, pulled elsewhere by staticky magic that engulfs her like storm clouds rolling in from afar, is of them all staring at her, their eyes blown wide. Flecks of blood splattered across clothes and skin. Torn sleeves, slashed by something sharp.

Adaine catches Fabian’s eye, recognises something flickering through it. Something like a horrified regret.

And then she’s gone.

“Sorry.”

She bites back a sigh as strong arms pull her in closer, claws digging into the back of her coat. It’s warm, too warm; she hadn’t even had a chance to rip off her coat upon being teleported into Oisin’s house, into his room, instead being immediately dragged into his bed, held close in an earth-shattering grip by trembling arms that cling to her for dear life.

Adaine doesn’t know how long they’ve been lying here. Time ticks by, fuzzy and undefined. She only lets Oisin have his way with her, lets him hold her for as long as he needs as he buries his head into the crook of her neck, unable to muster up even the raspiest of words. Every inch of him is curled possessively around her — his arms, his legs, his tail, all gripping her close.

She cranes her head, manages to shift just enough that she can see his face. “Your glasses are cracked,” Adaine says quietly, wriggling her arms free to reach up and grab them. Oisin watches as she runs her fingers over it, sparks of her magic working as she casts Mending. The glass melds back together until the lens is spotless, a shiny surface, pristine and untouched.

“There.” She attempts a smile as she places them back onto his snout, watching Oisin blink at her as his vision adjusts.

She should be mad at him. Adaine knows, somewhere within her, that she should be mad at him. And yet, she’s not. She’s spent ages thinking about it, with little else to do but sift through her mind as Oisin clung close to her, his shallow breathing evening out into something calmer over time. It doesn’t matter which way she looks at it — she’s not mad. Not at Oisin, anyway. Not at him.

Her head still aches. The pain has ebbed into a dull throb, but even so, it lingers.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” She traces the curve of his arm, fingers brushing against the soft material of his coat, his shirt, as she drags her touch all the way down to the tip of his claws. Adaine stills as her eyes land upon them, the keratin flecked with blood. “Well, maybe one thing,” she amends with another sigh, winding their fingers together. “I wish you didn’t lash out at them like that.”

A low exhale. “I couldn’t help it.”

“I know.”

They lapse back into silence. She leans her head against Oisin’s chest, endures the stifling warmth of his hold for a while longer. It’s what he needs, after all — possessive, obsessive, territorial. Even so, the words of her friend still linger with her — not Fabian, no, his words only filling Adaine with a simmering rage. No, the voice that echoes in her mind is calmer, quieter, pity underlining his words.

That’s not healthy, Adaine, Gorgug had said to her, with something in his eyes that made her head hurt and her chest throb.

She feels Oisin shift, pulling away slightly. “How are you feeling?” Adaine asks, her focus turning back to him as she meets his eyes. “Do you—”

“I want to show you my hoard.”

The words die on her tongue.

Adaine stares, frozen in place, her thoughts stuttering to a halt. Oisin watches her carefully, his eyes focused, powerful and intense. He gives her hand a sharp squeeze.

She’s never seen Oisin’s hoard room. Adaine knows he has one, from the way he’s talked about it — passing mentions at the start of their friendship turned into elaborate descriptions of what it is: a room filled with all his ancestral treasures, inherited from the great lineage of dragons that came before him. She’s always tried envisioning it in her head, conjuring up images of a shadowy room gleaming with treasures — shining gold and silver, glittering jewels of all kinds, artefacts of priceless value. In the end, her imagination always comes up short; Adaine isn’t sure if she can process what Oisin’s hoard room looks like, because every time he describes his wealth, her head hurts trying to picture the magnitude of it.

But every time Adaine has attempted to see it — asking him if she can take a look, her curiosity sparking within her — Oisin has always turned her down, dodging her attempts to ask why. She deduced for herself that it probably has to be a dragon thing, her theory further enforced by the books she read at the library. A dragon’s hoard is precious to them, and though a dragonborn has slightly more self control than their dragon ancestors, they’re still obsessive over them all the same. Possessive and territorial, clinging to their treasures; Adaine has long stopped pressing Oisin about showing it to her, conceding with a trace of dissatisfaction.

Except now, Oisin wants to show it to her. His hand gripping her own, his gaze overwhelming; Adaine can only suck in a shaky breath, all thoughts flung out of her head in favour of one single question.

“Why?” she whispers, the question slipping forth without thinking. “Not that I don’t want to,” Adaine adds quickly, blinking as she realises what she just said. “It’s just—” She furrows her brow. “You never wanted to show it before.”

At that, Oisin lets out a raspy little laugh. “Ah… no, that’s not quite right.” Adaine raises a brow at him questioningly, and he adds, “I’ve always wanted to show you my hoard. It’s just—” He shrugs. “Well, you’re precious to me, Adaine. You’re part of my hoard. And if I let you in there, I might have just… kept you there?”

It takes a moment for his words to sink in, but when they do…

Blood rushes to her face, the implications of everything he’s said sinking in. “Wait,” Adaine says, suddenly dizzy. “Wait. So all this time, the reason you didn’t let me—”

“I don’t think I would have let you go,” Oisin answers nonchalantly. Adaine gawks at him.

“I asked you as early as— as freshman year,” she says weakly, the memories coming back. “You— you really liked me? For that long?”

“Yeah,” Oisin breathes, earnest and true. “Yeah, I did.”

Her words fail her. All Adaine can do is avert her gaze, mortification and some sweet, preening pleasure settling in, clashing against each other as her skin burns.

A throaty chuckle. “Shall we go then?” Oisin asks, a claw curling under her chin to tilt her head up so she can see him smile at her, amber eyes warm with love.

She doesn’t have the heart to say no. Not that she wants to, anyway.

Oisin takes her by the hand, leads her through his house, through the hallway of the second floor. He stops in front of a nondescript door, just the same as any other, before he glances back at her. His mouth quirks. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” She nods. “Bring it.”

His claws curl around the doorknob, twisting it. The door pushes inward, hinges squealing as it opens wider and wider—

What Adaine sees inside is enough to make a gasp spill from her lips, eyes widening, her breath hitching.

A yawning, cavernous room— no, not a room, Adaine realises, as Oisin gently leads her inside, motioning her to step over the doorway. This is a cave. The ground under her feet is rough, the soles of her boots scraping against it, leaving scuff marks below, and as she cranes her neck backwards, taking in every inch of this chasmal space, she sees stalagmites reaching up from the floors, stalactites pointing down from the ceiling, some meeting together to form mineral columns that takes up space across the cave.

But the chambered room only catches her attention for one brief moment, enough for her to recognise her surroundings, the rock fixtures sharp, dangling spikes dripping water around the space. Because as she twists around, drinking in every inch of the space, it suddenly dawns upon Adaine just how many riches fill this cavern. Mounds of treasure spill across the expanse of rocky floor, some stacked up in piles taller than her; everywhere she looks, she sees gleaming bronze, silver, gold; glittering jewels that refract the soft-glowing lanterns hung everywhere; treasure boxes overflowing with gems and gold; priceless jewellery beyond her imagination; magical artefacts whose names she recognises; and so much more.

Perhaps her eyes had glossed over everything the first moment she stepped in, unable to comprehend just what she had been looking at. But now, as Adaine stares at the hoard before her — Oisin’s hoard, she realises, her newfound understanding of just how rich he is rendering her unfocused and dizzy — all she can do is cling to Oisin’s hand like a lifeline, grounding her as her mind works, suddenly sluggishly slow, to process it all.

She’s speechless. Utterly speechless. The words have escaped her mind, evaporated on her tongue.

“Well?” a voice cuts in, piercing like a lightning bolt through the fog clouding her thoughts. Oisin’s face dips into view; his eyes glint with amusement, a smile curved along his snout. “What do you think?”

She blinks, slowly coming back to herself. Taking a deep breath, Adaine collects her thoughts, trying to cobble together an answer to his question. “What do I think?” Adaine echoes, her gaze drifting from Oisin back towards the hoard — gleaming mounds of pure opulence, a lavish prosperity beyond anything she could have ever imagined.

She realises, all of a sudden, the way her skin is flushed hot. A humid heat brushes against her cheeks, and as Adaine becomes more aware of it, she begins to feel… too warm. It’s not unbearable, not in the way the Bottomless Pit was, where she had to strip off her layers before she melted into a puddle of her own blood, sweat, and tears, but it’s uncomfortable.

“...I think it’s way too hot in here,” Adaine finally says, turning to give Oisin a light grin.

His throaty laughter wraps around her, sings to her heart and makes her feel all giddy and warm.

“Well, I can fix that,” Oisin teases. She bites back the sinking disappointment that dwells within her when he lets go of her hand, only to perk back up as those claws reach for her — unwinding the scarf from around her neck, dropping the knitted fabric to the floor; slowly undoing every button along her coat, from the collar to the hem. His hands run all over her, undressing her outer layers so slowly, with an air of reverence so delicate it makes her heart beat against her breast, fluttering like a caged bird.

She needs to break the silence. To speak, before she combusts on the spot.

“So this is… this is a cave?”

Oisin pauses in the middle of helping her to take off her coat, pulling it off her shoulders and allowing her arms to slip out of the sleeves. “Yeah,” he answers, folding her coat over his arm. “There’s too much treasure to hold in the house. It’s just easier to hold it in a cave somewhere, especially if I move out. I can just hook up a new gate connecting to it instead of manually moving everything.”

“I see.” It makes sense to her, at least.

“It helps the instincts too,” Oisin adds, flashing a smile at her. “Like— don’t get me wrong, I love my bed, and I like my room, but…” He shrugs. “Latent instincts,” Oisin simply says, leaving it at that. Bending down to gather up her scarf, slinging it over the arm carrying her coat, he reaches his other hand out to her. “Come on.”

She takes it without a moment’s hesitation, fingers curling firmly where they belong.

There’s a few narrow gaps in-between the treasure piles of the hoard, paths that wind through the endless sea of wealth, allowing for both of them to walk through. “This is still just— so much,” Adaine observes, head twisting from side to side.

Oisin shrugs. “It really isn’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“My parents’ hoards are bigger,” is all Oisin says, leaving Adaine’s muddled brain to process that particular piece of information as he strings her along.

She gets better at not stumbling and tripping the more she walks, each step taken allowing her to get used to navigating this new territory. But when Oisin releases her hand to clamber over a small pile of treasure, all Adaine can do is watch, briefly stunned, as he hops down the other side. But all it takes is for him to peek over the pile, to tell her, “Come on, come here,” for her to snap back to attention, shoving away her confusion, her reservations, in favour of climbing up.

Small coins fall out of the pile as she drags herself up, the soles of her boots scrabbling against gilded treasures as she drags herself over. It’s not a particularly hard climb. Adaine has done much worse on her adventures. But she winces at the sound of gold plinking against gold, tumbling down to the ground below.

“Okay,” she sighs, as she pulls herself over the top. “I’m here. Now wh—”

She blinks, her words cut off as she takes in the sight before her. Below her, the pile of treasure dips down into a semi-circle, hollowed out of the pile; the towering heaps of wealth around it act as a wall, a small barrier. It takes a while for her to pinpoint what it is, meeting Oisin’s amber eyes as he grins up at her, beckoning for her to slide down and join him, but Adaine puts it together.

It’s a nest. Or a little like one, anyway. As Adaine skids down, gold scattering to the side as she lands in front of Oisin, she studies the space around them carefully, listening to him ramble. “This is… I guess you would call it the heart of the hoard?” He plops down, patting the space beside him, and Adaine sinks to her knees, her stockinged legs rubbing against the harsh surface of gilded treasure, uneven and strange. “I like to nap here sometimes,” he tells her, averting his gaze. In the dim lamplights illuminating the hoard, the purple flush on his face is stained darker, like a deep midnight. “It’s— it just feels nice.”

“Let me guess,” she says, slightly teasing, “you want to cuddle here with me?”

Oisin doesn’t reply. He only blinks at her, his tail stiffening behind him, like a deer caught in headlights.

Her chest melts. “C’mere, you,” she sighs, opening her arms. She relishes in the sweet sound of his purring as strong arms swoop around her, pulling her in close against his chest. She fidgets slightly, the uneven surface of the hoard-nest digging into her body. “You should really get something softer here, though,” Adaine points out, wiggling away slightly. She bites back a laugh at the whine she hears, raising her head to meet Oisin’s eyes. “It’s not really comfortable.”

He ducks his head, letting out an embarrassed noise. “Oh, I— I guess I never really… thought of that. I never had a problem just lying here.”

“Yeah?” Adaine exclaims, reaching up to stroke the scales along his cheek. “Well you’re a dragon. I’m guessing this is what you’re made for. Lying on treasure, and all that.”

A raspy sigh. “Yeah, fair enough,” Oisin concedes, slowly stumbling to his feet. “I think I have a blanket somewhere…”

As he wanders off, climbing out of the nest with ease, Adaine is left with little but her thoughts, as unhelpful as they may be. There’s not much to do here, and already, she feels a creeping impatience waiting for Oisin to return, so she distracts herself by looking around, peeking closer at the hollowed-out dip in the midst of a room of treasure.

She finds it as she’s running her hands across the floor, the rough, cold surface of metal suddenly shifting into something… softer. Fabric, she realises as she’s trying to look closer. There’s what she thinks to be a shirt wedged between some gold and silver — plain and unassuming, a simple white shirt with stripes across it.

And yet, it’s familiar to her. Déjà vu flickers within her as she gazes at it — until it clicks, and suddenly, she knows why.

By the time Oisin clambers back in, making his presence known with a grunt and the sound of coins skittering everywhere as he slides back down, Adaine is fully distracted, searching around with an alertness to her that she hadn’t had before. “What are you doing?” she hears Oisin ask, somewhat amused.

Adaine twists around, staring up at him. “These are the things I’ve given you,” she says, eyes wide.

She noticed it first in the shirt she found. The memory darted back to mind with enough poking and prodding — a warm summer’s day, during that first break between freshman and sophomore year. The rain had come out of nowhere, pouring down, and the two of them had sprinted for shelter midway through walking over to Basrar’s. They were inexperienced wizards, darting for the first overhang they could find, and when they spotted it—

Adaine had Misty Stepped over, watching as Oisin got even more soaked by the downpour. At the time, she had laughed at how soaked he was, all while he grumbled at her, but she had also felt bad for him, stuck in dripping wet clothes. The shirt she pulled from her jacket was inexpensive, but she’d taken it out anyways, handed it to him with a smile as he blinked at her, confusion melting into gratitude.

And like a lightbulb going off, as soon as she recognised that shirt, she began to recognise everything else. Other pieces of cloth and clothing here and there, tucked along the walls of treasure. Small trinkets she’d pulled out — a lot of stationary, a lot of silly knicknacks, inexpensive and tiny, pulled straight from the pockets of her jacket. She had even recognised a tiny crystal ball, a gag gift she got from Oisin when they’d been bickering playfully about which of their respective schools of magic was superior.

Bewilderment clouds Oisin’s eyes ever so briefly before it snaps away. “Yeah,” he says, dropping the lump of sheets tucked under his arm onto the ground. “They’re things you’ve given me,” he says, a smile in his voice. She understands the implications, the words unsaid: They’re things you’ve given me, and they’re some of the most important things I’ve ever had.

A hand grasps around her wrist, helping her up. “Come on,” Oisin calls, tugging her over to join him. There’s a thick blanket laid out across the ground, and as he drags her down with him, pulling her snugly against his chest, Adaine can feel her cheeks warm at the thoughtfulness, the sweetness of Oisin’s actions — it’s still not the most comfortable, the treasure far too hard and weirdly shaped, but it’s more comfortable. It’s nice.

She snuggles into his hold, a smile gracing her lips as her eyes slide shut. She doesn’t need to sleep, and she usually never does, but— there’s just something about this that makes her want to. Not to trance for four measly hours, but to rest, unbothered and at peace, held in the arms of the person she loves most with all her heart and soul, more than the moon and the stars, the infinite cosmos above.

A soft whisper. “Stay with me?”

Her mind is a fuzzy mess, her thoughts turned to vapour. “Yeah,” Adaine breathes, leaning into Oisin’s touch as one hand reaches to caress her cheek, clawed thumb stroking her skin with tender reverence.

She can’t think of anything else she’d rather do.

(She fails to notice the passage of time, as day slips into night in a world outside; as her crystal, tucked away in her coat, thrown over the side of a pile of treasure, lights up with notifications silenced by another’s hand.)

Ring… Ring…

Click!

“Adaine?”

“Jawbone!” Fingers curling tighter around her crystal, Adaine tries to hide the tremor in her voice, mustering as much appropriate enthusiasm as she can. She can hear her heart thumping in her ears, a twinge of anxiety spiking in her chest. She knows Jawbone, trusts that he won’t be mad at her, won’t make her feel as horrible as her parents did to her, but her nerves are spiked all the same.

The last thing she wanted to see after waking up, following a search for her coat and crystal, were text messages from Jawbone, asking where she was. There were more messages, of course — texts from the Bad Kids, both in their group and in their individual chats — but Adaine ignored them, pushing them out of mind as frustration briefly flickered through her. But the ones from Jawbone…

She had felt bad enough for making him worry. Enough for her to shake the dredges of tiredness fogging her mind, to find his contact and hit the call button. He should be up by now; it’s a school day, and she winces slightly at that mental reminder, that she probably has to drag herself over to Aguefort later with her rumpled clothes from yesterday, but nevertheless, Jawbone usually gets up to get ready for work. He should be awake.

And he is. “I’m sorry,” Adaine blurts out, first and foremost. There’s some guilt eating at her, stirred by his messages asking after her, if she could just reply to him and let him know she’s alright. Kristen and Fig told me some of what happened, he had sent. I know you’re probably safe with Oisin right now but can you check in? “My crystal was on silent, a-and Oisin was really rattled after everything that happened, so I didn’t really check my crystal until I woke up, and—”

“Adaine,” Jawbone interrupts, voice steady. “Breathe.”

She forces herself to stop, sucking in a deep breath, feeling it fill her lungs. She holds it, counts the seconds, before she exhales — rinse and repeat.

After a while, she hears Jawbone ask, “You feeling better?”

She nods before realising, with some embarrassment, that he can’t see her. “Yeah!” Adaine says quickly, a bit too breezily. She catches herself. “Yeah, I am.”

“I’m glad.” The relief in his voice makes her feel bad, shrinking into herself slightly at the thought of all those worried messages unanswered. She hadn’t gone home at all. It’s not like she hasn’t stayed over at people’s places before; she’s slept overnight at Oisin’s in the past, like on the night before she left for Fallinel, and the Bad Kids have had far too many sleepovers to count. But all those times, Jawbone at least knew about it — even if it was impromptu, she always remembered to text him, or to reply to his message if he asked her where she was. He held a lot of trust in her, and she didn’t want to break that.

“I take it you’re at Oisin’s place right now?” he asks, drawing her back to the present.

“Yeah,” Adaine says, again. “We came back here yesterday.”

“Yeah, the girls told me. Said he teleported you away, or something?” There’s a pause, before she hears a sigh. She can practically imagine Jawbone shaking his head. “I don’t know. I’m just glad you’re safe, kiddo.”

The guilt nibbles at her again. “I’m sorry for making you worry.”

“Hey, mistakes happen.” Jawbone’s voice is warm. Somehow, it makes her feel worse. “And it seems like whatever happened, it was one hell of an argument. Fig and Kristen didn’t want to tell me too much, and it’s not my business to pry, but… hopefully you guys can resolve it, whatever it was.”

Adaine doesn’t reply. She only hums, a little absentmindedly.

“Just…” A beat of silence, before she hears, “You are doing okay, are you, Adaine?”

She blinks. “Of course I am. What… what brought this on?”

“Just checking in,” Jawbone says, nonchalantly. “Listen, I get that you’re a teen, and I don’t wanna shackle you with a whole buncha arbitrary rules. You deserve your space, time to grow, y’know? But next time, at least tell me where you are. I’m still your dad, Adaine. It’s my responsibility to take care of you, and I can’t do that if you’re missing.”

It’s strange to hear Jawbone’s words take on a stern undertone. Adaine can’t remember the last time it happened — where she tensed listening to him speak in such a way, all while understanding the reason why. “I know,” she sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“Alright, I think that’s enough apologies from you.” Relief soaks through her as Jawbone’s voice takes on a lighter tone. “You’re still at Oisin’s place, yeah? Need a ride to school later? I can take a detour, come pick you up. Just let me know.”

It’s a nice offer. She’s a bit tempted to say yes. But instead, Adaine says, “I’ll be fine. I’ll probably just— hitch a ride with Oisin and all that.”

“You sure?”

“Positively.” Adaine pauses, a little unsure what else to say. “I’ll see you at school later?” she offers, slightly nervously.

“Sure you will! Don’t be a stranger to your old man, yeah?” At that, Adaine snickers, a grin spreading across her face. “Listen,” Jawbone says, “I gotta go off now, gotta help Sandra Lynn and Lydia with breakfast and all that. Gotta make sure everything’s up and running, and that the girls don’t sleep in. But you text me if you need anything, alright?”

“Yeah, of course. Thanks, Jawbone.”

After she hangs up, clicking away from the call screen and turning off her crystal, it’s like all her energy has suddenly left her. All Adaine can do is let loose a sigh, leaning back her head against the pile of treasure she’s resting against, feeling the uneven edges of all the hoarded wealth dig into her skin. All her earlier anxiety has vanished, that problem resolved, but it only leaves her with a vague, undefined feeling, her thoughts a hazy mess.

She’s not fully sure how long she spends there, sinking into her thoughts absentmindedly while fiddling with her crystal, but eventually, she hears the clinking and pinging of treasure skittering loose, a faint, familiar huff accompanying it as someone drags himself over to join her.

Adaine turns her head as Oisin skids down, gracing him with a smile. “Morning.”

“Morning,” he echoes, giving her a nod. His eyes are wide, slightly dazed, but as she tilts her head at him questioningly, he slides down beside her, bringing her into his arms. She leans against him, snuggling down with a sigh. “Were you awake for long?”

“Dunno. Definitely woke up before you, though.” She gestures at her crystal, resting in her lap. “I had to call Jawbone. I kinda fucked up a bit, not telling him I was gonna stay here. Then again…” Her gaze flicks back to Oisin. “It’s not like I really planned for that.”

“But it was nice, wasn’t it?”

Yeah, she thinks. Yeah, it was. It was nice, lying there with you. It felt… really good — warm and cosy and safe.

“You need to invest in a mattress if we’re going to do this more,” Adaine says instead. She cranes her neck, feels the crick of her bones as she twists it around, a groan coming loose. “That blanket is not going to cut it on its own.”

“Whatever you want, dear,” Oisin says, a teasing lilt to his words as he leans in, pressing a kiss against her lips. She lets him, leans into the touch as he reaches a hand to caress her cheek.

This — all of this, kissing him here and letting his hands roam all over her, surrounded by gilded opulence beyond her wildest dreams — feels right. It feels like where she should belong.

As a frigid, biting winter melts into the crisp cool of spring, a new normal blooms around Adaine, engulfing her in its sweet scent. It’s different, so very different from before — her priorities tweaked, her time spent with her party altered. Anger and frustration still dwells within her, latent emotions that spark to life whenever she crosses paths with the Bad Kids; the public spat in the parking lot of Basrar’s still lingers on her mind, the memory forever exasperating and embarrassing.

So she spends time with Oisin instead. She spends time with him, more than ever before, and she likes it so much more. After months of arguing with her friends, forced to defend her decisions against scrutinising eyes and snide comments, now, Adaine can just— cast all of that aside. It’s so much better than trying to manage the stress of balancing her life between her boyfriend and her party, of trying to make sure they don’t kill each other.

The odds have always been stacked against them from the start — Oisin and her, their relationship — because no matter how hard she tries to prove it otherwise, Adaine knows Riz has always held a grudge against them — uncertain and suspicious as far back at freshman year, his lips pressing thin as Adaine talked about her dragonborn friend, tail lashing whenever she dared to bring him up. The odds have gotten worse ever since Fabian joined in, hostile and cruel, and Adaine’s blood boils whenever she recalls his words in the parking lot. She bristles whenever she thinks of them, of the way he stepped close, hissed the words You don’t fucking deserve her, as though his opinion mattered at all.

Oisin does deserve her. She knows this down to the very core of her soul.

But there’s another reason why she’s given up on them, stopped trying to defend herself to people who refuse to understand. Adaine’s tired now, her energy sapped, her mind a mess; she simply doesn’t have the strength to muster up a defence, to stand her ground. She keeps a tenuous politeness with Fig and Kristen, nods at Gorgug in passing, but whenever she sees them — the Bad Kids, sans her — Adaine simply… walks by. She doesn’t bother trying to speak with them, ignoring Fabian’s probing stare and Riz’s sharp sneer; she only tightens her hold on Oisin’s hand, pulling him along, her addled mind suddenly swarmed with vexation over how unfair they’re being.

She’s gotten very used to Misty Stepping away whenever she needs to. Whenever she sees Fabian approach, or hears Riz’s voice calling her name.

School becomes a tedious mess. She goes through her classes, mustering up an air of attentiveness to avoid anyone checking in on her. It’s better during the classes she has with Oisin, leaning on his company, but she finds herself bored and restless during the classes they don’t share, eyes watching the clock until class lets out, and she can scurry away, free.

“I could really use a break,” Adaine comments distractedly at one point, gathering some of her things from her locker as Oisin waits nearby, the two of them about to head out together. She slams it shut, stares tiredly at the glossy metallic surface, at her faint reflection. “I’m just— god, I don’t know.” She lets out a short laugh, raking her hand through her hair. “I’m tired.”

“That’s weird.” Oisin furrows his brows, concerned. “You shouldn’t be getting tired. You’re an elf.”

“Yeah, well…” With a shrug, she reaches for his hand, clasps it tight. “I’m tired,” Adaine declares. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

She doesn’t need to tell him where to; the two of them already know. Ever since Oisin led her into his hoard room, showing it to her for the first time, it’s like a dam has burst open, uninhibited desires roaring free. The cavernous room glittering with treasure becomes their new main spot, the place they go to the most whenever they’re free. Oisin is keen as ever to drag Adaine in there, day after day, beaming at her with such an innocent, wide-eyed joy that the thought of suggesting anything else feels positively criminal.

Not that she has any reason to, though, after Oisin drags in enough soft sheets and downy mattresses to make that nested dip in the middle of his hoard finally comfortable. She doesn’t really remember everything they get up to in there, and she doesn’t really care; it’s comforting to just lie there, held in her boyfriend’s arms, and that’s all that really matters, in the end.

Adaine ignores the way she still wakes up with stiffness in her limbs, her body aching from being held so tightly in a dragon’s possessive hold for hours at a time. She ignores the way her thoughts run slow, sticky like honey, because it’s better than the ache that kept throbbing along her temples whenever a fight broke out between Oisin and Riz and Fabian, that gaping feeling cracking open in her chest alongside the pain, the emotion Adaine never found a name for.

She’s never been happier, she thinks— no, she knows. It’s a sweet, tranquil bliss, and after months of trying and failing to connect the two parts of her life, it’s a relief to just… not.

Together, they depart from Aguefort, stepping through the door, hand in hand. Outside, the air brushes against her skin, a crisp cool that rests like a balm against her cheeks. The snow has long since melted, the trees having grown back their leafy boughs, evergreen and alive; spring has sprung, the days steadily ticking towards spring break, and as she takes a deep breath, some of the fog in her mind dissipating as the fresh air fills her lungs, Adaine lets out a content sigh.

And then she freezes.

Parking lot, a sharp voice says, piercing through her thoughts with its familiar cadence. Now.

“Shit,” she mutters reflexively, reaching up to rub her forehead with her free hand.

A familiar face pokes into view, Oisin peering at her with concern. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, I just—” Breaking off, Adaine steps forward, her hand slipping away from Oisin’s. She cranes her head, scanning the parking lot, the rows of lots filled with so many cars. Discomfort twists in her gut as her mind catches up to her, connects the dots; she knows that voice, and whatever its owner wants with her isn’t going to be pretty.

She turns her head one last time, biting back an exasperated sigh, when she sees her. Blonde hair cut into a pixie cut, a coat wrapped around her and belted at the waist, leaning against her car with her arms folded.

Aelwyn Abernant stares at Adaine, meeting her eyes from afar. And in spite of the distance between them, as soon as their gazes meet, Adaine feels a shudder ripple down her spine.

Aelwyn’s eyes are piercing, blue and ice-cold.

She hears Oisin hiss, taking in a sharp breath of air. “Is that—?”

“My bitch sister?” Adaine utters, voice flat. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

A brief pause.

Adaine. Even from afar, Adaine can still see Aelwyn’s fingers flicking in her direction, the sharp twist of her lips as she stares at her, waiting expectantly but impatiently. Get your ass down here. Now.

“She’s not going to leave until I go talk to her,” Adaine says, raking a hand through her hair as she lets out an irritated sigh.

“Do you want me to teleport—?”

She shakes her head. “Tempting, but I know my sister. And if she’s showing up here, then she’s not going to stop until we talk.” Turning her head to the side, Adaine meets Oisin’s eyes, breaking away from Aelwyn’s frigid glare. “I don’t want her to, like— break into your house. Because trust me, she will if she wants to.”

Oisin reaches out, clasping their hands together once more, their rings rubbing against each other. “Then I’ll go with you.” There’s a flash of something in his eyes, mouth curving into a sly grin. “Anything she says to you, she can say to me too.”

So with Oisin’s hand wrapped tightly in her own, squeezing it for courage, Adaine sets out, beginning to close the distance between her and her sister. Irritation burns within her, a constant fire lit within her ribcage, and as she gets close enough to see all the little details — the dark bags dusting underneath Aelwyn’s eyes, the impatient way she taps her manicured nails, the polish chipping, against her upper arm, the dents and scrapes of her car, obviously second-hand — she watches Aelwyn turn towards her, narrowing her eyes as Adaine approaches.

“We need to talk.”

She comes to a stop, just a few steps away from Aelwyn. “Wow,” Adaine utters, deadpan. “Not even a hello?”

Aelwyn’s lips curve into a wry smile. “Would that make you feel better? Me pretending like everything’s normal? Because if that’s what it takes to talk to you, then so be it. Hello, Adaine.”

Her molars clack against each other as she grits her teeth. “What do you want?”

“Like I said,” Aelwyn says, dropping the sardonic smirk in favour of something impassive, unreadable, “we need to talk.”

Eyes flicking up to meet Aelwyn’s own, Adaine holds the stare, standing her ground. Her grip on Oisin’s hand tightens, trembling from the force of her hold. “I don’t want to.”

Aelwyn scowls, her porcelain mask shattering in an instant — eyebrows digging low, the corners of her lips twisting into a snarl, pure, unfiltered fury coming over her face. Unfolding her arms, she steps forward.

Instinctively, Adaine takes a step back.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Aelwyn hisses, eyes darting all over — scrutinising her, Adaine realises with a sudden jolt. And yet, there’s a tremble to her words that’s so un-Aelwyn, so unlike the cunning, conniving sister that Adaine knows.

She reels backwards, twitching at Aelwyn’s words. “Nothing! I just—” She tears her gaze away from Aelwyn, staring pointedly at the car to her side. “Just leave me alone,” Adaine finishes, bitterly.

A sharp laugh. “So you can continue making the worst decisions of your life?” Aelwyn crows, and Adaine flinches, those words digging through her flesh, through blood and bone and muscle, to hit her deep where it hurts. She feels a squeeze of her hand and clings to it, grounds herself with it. Judging by the look on Aelwyn’s face, pure malice and loathing as she looks past Adaine to the person behind her, Adaine knows just what she’s here for.

Her frustration curdles in her stomach, twisting and contorting to become something sharper, angrier. Something worse.

Bristling in her silent rage, Adaine listens as Aelwyn takes a deep breath, watches her sister’s expression smooth over, anger lines melting away like they were never there to begin with. “I just want to talk,” she states, her voice controlled, taut as a string. The tension is evident despite her efforts to evade it.

“Then talk.”

Ice-blue eyes flick to the side, staring past Adaine. “I would,” Aelwyn says. “Except there seems to be some unwanted company around here.”

“Unwanted to who?” Adaine challenges, firing back.

Aelwyn opens her mouth, before snapping it shut, irritation flickering across her face as she seems to think better of it. “Unwanted to me,” she says stiffly. “I want to talk to you. Alone.”

“Anything you say to me, you can say to him too.” It’s a reprise of Oisin’s words, perfect for the situation, and Adaine relishes in the way Aelwyn’s eyes widen, suddenly gobsmacked. “So if there’s nothing else here, dear sister,” Adaine says, voice dripping with animosity, “we’ll be on our way.”

As those words leave her lips, a silence unfurls around them, a thick smog of tension. For a moment, as Adaine glares at Aelwyn, challenging her silently, she thinks Aelwyn is going to crack — her composure broken even further, genuine emotions seeping into her carefully-controlled voice.

But the fractures in Aelwyn’s mask seal back up, as if they were never there to begin with. Aelwyn levels her with a hard stare, her eyes boring holes right through Adaine’s soul.

And then she sighs.

“What are you doing?”

She’s so surprised, so startled by the simple question, that all the barbed words she’s been preparing, dagger-sharp and poised to cut, snap in half. Jerking back, all Adaine can do is stare. “Huh?”

“You heard me.” Leaning against her car, Aelwyn folds her arms. “What are you doing, Adaine?”

“I…” Her words trail off, mind stumbling to a halt. The muscle in her cheek twitches. “I, uh—”

“You don’t know.” Aelwyn smiles at her, pityingly, and Adaine grimaces. “And if I’m being completely honest,” Aelwyn continues, smile fading in favour of something impassive, scrutinising and sharp, like fingers prodding into her psyche, “I don’t know what you’re doing either. The Adaine I know wouldn’t throw away everything in her life for a boy.”

The fire inside her sputters pathetically to life, a desperate attempt to muster her conviction, to defend herself. “I—” Her words lodge in her throat, stuck there. Choking them down, Adaine shakes her head furiously. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.” Her words carefully timed, Aelwyn slices right through Adaine’s argument, sniping through the words she’s been cobbling together. Another subtle smile. “It’s not good to lie, sister dear.”

She grits her teeth, jaw clenching hard. “S-So what if I am?” Adaine blusters, jerking her head up to glare at Aelwyn. She scowls, and yet, her heart beats uneasily in her chest. Sweat trickles down the back of her neck, and the crisp spring air is no longer cool against her flustered skin. “What’s it to you?”

“What’s it to me?” Aelwyn lurches back, as though struck by her words. Staring at her with wide eyes, her brows press together, dipping into a scowl. “You’re my sister, Adaine,” Aelwyn stresses, like that’s supposed to mean something when they spent most of their life being pitted against each other, fighting endlessly without any chance of harmony. “God! Get a grip!”

“You never gave a shit previously—”

“But I’m giving a shit now.” Closing her eyes, Aelwyn takes another deep breath, her chest rising and falling, the angry creases marking her face smoothing out once more. Adaine glowers at her as she opens her eyes, rests those blue eyes on her yet again. She hates how it’s rooting her to the spot, exposing her like nothing else. She hates how it’s making her feel seen.

Aelwyn smiles again, thin-lipped. “Remember when you said you didn’t want to rely on your little boyfriend for everything?” The words make her flinch, her grip on Oisin’s hand curling tighter. “Wasn’t that the entire point of trying to work?” Aelwyn continues. She gestures at her. “Look at you now. Relying on him for every little thing.”

She hates this. She hates this so, so much. Exhaling through her teeth, Adaine glares at Aelwyn, ignoring the way her body quivers. “Did Riz and Fabian put you up to this?” she hisses, because— because that’s what this is about, isn’t it? They probably noticed her avoiding them, not wanting to interact with them in the slightest, and they dragged in Aelwyn, because she’s not in Adaine’s party, she’s completely uninvolved. Hurt throbs through her, raw and aching. “You’re on their side?”

“As a matter of fact, they did not put me up to this. But even if they did…” Those cold eyes narrow at her. “This isn’t about taking sides, Adaine,” Aelwyn utters, with no room for argument in her words, an air of finality to them. “This is about you.”

Silence.

Adaine stares at Aelwyn, lips parting, trying to muster up something, anything at all. But her words are failing her, dying in her throat before they even reach her tongue. Standing here, under Aelwyn’s piercing gaze, her narrowed eyes, Adaine—

Her head hurts.

She presses her palm against her temple, as though the pressure can help to alleviate some of the pain. “That—” Adaine tries to say, trying one more time to dredge up a defence, a way to counter everything Aelwyn’s just dropped on her — a scathing hot truth. “That’s—”

And then, like lightning slicing through the fog of pain—

“We’re done here.”

She hears Oisin’s voice, feels his hand squeeze hers tightly as he tugs her backwards, pulling her a step back. It’s like she’s snapped back to herself, grounded by his touch, reminded of his presence; she twists her body around to catch sight of his face, his amber eyes narrowed dangerously small, smoke curling from the corners of his jaw. The frills near his ears have pricked up, flaring out like a threat; she takes another step back, lets him take her into the safety of his arms as the ache in her head dulls into a pleasurable numbness.

Head snapping to the side, Aelwyn turns her sharp gaze on Oisin, irises blazing with frostfire. “That’s not for you to decide, Hakinvar,” she utters, hostility dripping from her every word.

“No,” Adaine interjects, shaking her head. “No, he’s right. We’re done here.” She watches her sister’s eyes widen, mouth agape as she stares at Adaine, but Adaine is already shrugging it off. “Just— whatever you have to say, Aelwyn, keep it to yourself.”

Aelwyn’s eye twitches. “You cannot be fucking serious,” she breathes, as Adaine turns her head away, pointedly avoiding her gaze. Her voice pitches, suddenly desperate. “Adaine—”

“C’mon,” Oisin murmurs, hot breath brushing against her ear. “Let’s go.”

In a flurry of magic, like a storm swirling around her, a flash of lightning that strikes her away, they’re gone. Leaving Aelwyn alone in the parking lot, arm outstretched, words unsaid dying on her lips.

Her eyes flutter as a voice enters her mind.

Adaine? Can you come home? Haven’t seen you since yesterday. You’re not answering your crystal. We’re worried.

It takes her a moment to pinpoint the familiar cadence of the voice speaking to her, of the spell that has entered her mind. She sifts through thick clouds of fog, her thoughts cloying and sticky, until she finally recognises it — Kristen’s voice, yet so decidedly un-Kristen, her tone serious and worried, her words lacking any hint of her usual antics.

Somehow, that’s enough for her to stir properly, opening her eyes wide as Kristen’s Sending spell echoes in her mind. Huh, Adaine thinks, her mind a whirling mess, everything slow and sluggish. I didn’t know she had Sending.

She moves to get up, only to be constricted by the strong arms around her. Her first attempt to wiggle free only gets her pulled back against a hard, warm chest, an annoyed little huff filling the air. The intimacy of it makes her still, heart beating hard as she catches her breath; for a short while, Adaine is tempted to give up before she’s even started, to lay back and close her eyes again, to let her boyfriend cuddle her greedily.

But there’s twilight magic flickering about her mind, a Sending spell that waits for its response. Kristen’s magic lingers with her, guiding her thoughts, and it is her presence that strengthens Adaine’s resolve enough for her to crawl free. She summons her Mage Hand to help her pry Oisin’s hand away from her just enough that she can tumble out of his hold, rolling across the soft, downy expanse of the hoard nest, and coming to lie on her back, staring wide-eyed at the yawning darkness of the cave ceiling.

As she lays there, chest rising and falling, a slow realisation creeps over her.

What time is it?

There are no windows here, no holes in the ceiling, no way to differentiate the passage of time. She’s not sure where her crystal went — or her bag and jacket, on that note, unable to spot them no matter which way she turns.

“Mm… Adaine?”

Turning her head, Adaine watches Oisin stir, his eyes slowly opening. Amber eyes meet hers, blinking until the sleep clears from them. Neither of them speak for a moment, merely staring at each other, but eventually, she hears him ask, “Why are you over there?”

“I got out,” Adaine says with a shrug. “What time is it?”

Oisin pulls a face. “Hold on.” He shuffles around, reaches into his pocket and pulls out his own crystal. Flicking it on, the light from the screen illuminates his face. “It’s about eleven,” he answers, after a brief pause. Turning it off, he drops it to the side. “Why?”

“Just wondering.” But Kristen’s magic nags at her mind, the words of her Sending spell lingering. Haven’t seen you since yesterday, she had said, her voice filled with concern; those words spur a small sliver of concern within Adaine, squeezing its way through the heady fog of exhaustion engulfing her mind. Furrowing her brows, she asks, “What day is it?”

Oisin blinks at her.

“Friday.”

Adaine blinks back.

“Ah,” she utters.

It dawns on her then, just how long she’s been here. As she scrunches her face, more and more memories return to her, squeezing through the narrow gaps in the veil cloaking her mind. She had school yesterday, like she always did. And then it had let out, and she and Oisin had left together, intending to make it back to his place, except…

God, she can’t remember. All she knows is that yesterday was Thursday, and today is apparently Friday, and the only thing she can really remember, her mind a hot mess of memories mushed together, is curling up in Oisin’s arms, content and happy and safe. It’s tempting to just return to that — to clamber back over and sprawl out against him, because it’s easier than any of the alternatives. Adaine very nearly does it.

But the cool, velveteen twilight of Kristen’s magic still brushes against her mind, her Sending spell unanswered. “I should go home,” Adaine murmurs.

“Already?”

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “Kristen sent a Sending spell. Didn’t even know she had that. She said they’re all worried, and…” A sigh spills out. “God, what am I gonna say to Jawbone?”

“Well, he knows you come here a lot,” Oisin points out as Adaine pushes herself to her feet, catching her balance before glancing around, trying her best to spot her jacket or crystal, or even her bag. “So maybe he won’t be that mad? Does he even get mad, actually?”

“I don’t know,” Adaine answers, “and I don’t want to find out.”

She replies to the Sending spell, cobbling together a hasty message with no pirate lingo because she’s too tired to think of any. Sorry. Lost track of time. Trying to find my shit. Will be back soon. As Kristen’s magic dispels, returning back to sender, Adaine exhales, raking a hand through her tousled hair. “Have you seen my jacket?” she asks, her gaze turning to Oisin. “Or my bag?”

He helps her find them, helping her out of the nest as they go search for it together. Adaine finds her jacket thrown over a random pile, her bag slung from another, swinging precariously, but as she slips her arms through the denim sleeves, slings the strap of her bag from her shoulder, she reaches into her pocket, scrounging around, only to come up empty-handed.

“Shit,” Adaine curses, eliciting a confused sound from Oisin. “My crystal’s missing,” she explains, brows pressing together.

Oisin’s face scrunches in confusion, lines wrinkling along scaled skin. “Is it not there?” he asks, sounding just as bewildered as Adaine feels.

“No.” Adaine sighs. “I must have dropped it somewhere.” Which, considering the expansive, massive mess that is Oisin’s hoard room, made up of a seemingly infinite pool of wealth, probably means she’ll never see it again. Finding her crystal in here is going to be like finding a needle in a haystack — more or less impossible. “God, this sucks.”

“Do you need a new one?”

Her eyes flit to Oisin, a soft smile coming over her. “Not right now,” Adaine answers, reaching up to peck a kiss against his snout in gratitude, relishing in the way his eyes widen, blinking at her so cutely. “Just… let me know if you find it?”

He returns the smile, hands curling around her waist. “Will do.”

Oisin ends up calling a car to drop her off at Mordred, accompanying her there. He doesn’t get out when they arrive, though, instead bidding her goodbye with a kiss that’s slightly longer than it needs to be, a clawed hand caressing her cheek. As Adaine shuts the car door behind her, glancing back briefly to smile and wave at her boyfriend through the window, she turns her gaze back towards the towering form of Mordred Manor — elegantly gothic in its architecture, a spiralling, towering beauty in the darkness of the night, with only the stars and moon for light.

As she walks up the driveway towards the front door, Adaine notices something in the distance. Shadowy figures skulk along the porch — two of them, hard to discern from afar, their features difficult to pick out even with the help of the dim lantern hanging next to the front door, glowing faintly.

Drawing closer to them, Adaine slows her steps until she comes to a halt. Recognition flickers in her mind as the two figures’ heads snap towards her, faces flooded with relief; as they practically jump out of the rickety old bench on the porch, the wood creaking with their sudden movement, and stumble down the front steps of the manor.

“Adaine!” Fig all but yells, uncaring for the time as she barrels into her, arms wrapping tight around her. Adaine stumbles back under her weight, managing to steady herself as Fig clings tight to her, hands curling into the back of her jacket.

“Fig,” she breathes, eyes wide. She’s stunned, suddenly uncertain; what could have brought on a reaction like this? Slowly, her arms curl around Fig too, pulling her in, and as Fig’s grip on the back of her jacket tightens, clenching fistfuls of denim in her trembling hands, Adaine remembers, through the sluggish beat of her mind, just how emotional Fig is. Just how much she cares.

When was the last time she spoke to Fig, in the thick of her cold war against Riz and Fabian?

“Hey, girlie.” The sound of Kristen’s voice, of that familiar greeting, brings a small smile to her face. Raising her head, Adaine tilts it in Kristen’s direction as she walks over to join them, staff in hand. She grins, but it’s tired, slightly heavier. “Glad to see you back with us.”

“I wasn’t gone that long,” Adaine points out, mildly defensive. Below her, she hears Fig snort, pulling back to fix her with a questioning look. “It was only a day,” Adaine says with a sigh. “I’ve been gone for longer.”

“Sure,” Kristen says, resting a hand on her hip, “except this time, it happened with zero notice.”

“What are you, my mom?” Rolling her eyes, Adaine swats away the tiny flare of indignance that spikes inside of her. She doesn’t want to bring that here. She doesn’t want to entangle Fig and Kristen, who have always been so supportive in their own ways, into her frustration and anger. “In any case,” Adaine says, glancing over at Kristen, “I’m surprised you know Sending.”

“Wha— Oh, yeah.” Leaning against her staff, Kristen shrugs. “Yeah, I know it. Have known it for like… an hour.”

“What?”

“I mean…” Kristen gestures at her. “You weren’t replying any of us, so we crashed Leviathan and learnt Sending. Fig learnt it too.”

“Yeah, I was gonna send a message if you hadn’t replied Kristen,” Fig adds, pulling back from the embrace. She flashes a grin at Adaine — and yet, the way she trembled holding Adaine close doesn’t slip her mind. Pulling a face, Fig grouches, “Three hours straight of studying. Ugh! How do you do that?”

“I like doing it!” Adaine protests, crossing her arms with a huff. “It’s fun!”

“Of course you’d find it fun,” Fig grumbles, rolling her eyes. She grins, flicking Adaine’s shoulder affectionately. “Nerd.”

She scoffs, but inwardly, her chest is melting, a sweet warmth engulfing her; content and happy, keen to be here talking with her best friends, her family. “In any case,” Adaine says, brushing past the ribbing, “it was probably for the best that you guys learnt that. I, uh—” A sheepish laugh tumbles forth. “I think I lost my crystal,” Adaine confesses, rubbing the back of her neck.

A beat of silence.

Fig scrunches her face, staring at her. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” Adaine says, with a halfhearted shrug. She gesticulates aimlessly, before dropping her hands to the side. “I’ll probably, um, go find it tomorrow or something. I just…” She hesitates, before she says, the words spilling out, “I don’t know. I rushed back here, I guess.”

“Well,” Kristen says, her voice softening slightly, “I’m glad you did.”

For a moment, none of them speak. There is only a brief stretch of silence, interrupted by the distant hooting of owls, and the skittering of wind rustling against spring-blooming boughs, the many trees growing along the Mordred property. In the dim light of the night, only illuminated by the moon, the stars, and the flickering lanterns from the porch of the house, Adaine studies both her friends closely.

She catches them sharing a glance, heads turning to peek at each other in silence.

Something unsaid passes between them, from the twin looks of some emotion she can’t pinpoint glinting in their eyes.

“What’s going on?” Adaine asks, cutting through the quiet. Her voice is terse, and as she crosses her arms tightly, hugging herself close once more, her eyes dart between the two of them.

“Nothing!” Fig says quickly, whirling back to face Adaine head-on. There’s a smile gracing her face, wide and eager, and though Adaine presses her brows together at the sight, Fig only lets out a long sigh. “It’s just— I mean, we haven’t heard from you in a while, and you lost your crystal, so I don’t know if you saw our messages—”

“I didn’t.”

“Yeah.” Fig nods. “Yeah,” she echoes, repeating it again. “So, like… I guess Kristen and I are checking in? Like— if you’re doing good.” She pauses, a shadow falling over her gaze, her smile drooping the slightest bit. It’s strange, Adaine realises with a jolt, to see Fig sad — but here she is, looking at Adaine with the barest flicker of hurt in her eyes, concern mingling with her enthusiastic relief. “It’s been a while,” Fig says, her voice coming out low and soft. “I miss you.”

Her shoulders sag, regret unfolding within her, guilt nibbling through her exhaustion. “I miss you too,” Adaine admits, the honest truth — because she has. She loves spending time with Oisin, and it’s nice not having to defend her livelihood every time her friends corner the two of them together, but she misses Fig and Kristen. She had been avoiding them, her words clipped whenever they spoke to each other, because the unfortunate byproduct of the Bad Kids — them, together, as a group — was that Fig and Kristen were constantly around Riz and Fabian.

She wants to step forward, to hug Fig close again. It was nice the first time, taking Fig into her arms and holding her tight. And yet, as Adaine makes to move forward—

Her body stiffens, a flash of light streaking across her eyes as a vision takes hold.

(The glow of a metallic staff, a violet mist of constellations and night swirling around it. A freckled hand gripping it tightly, green eyes hard with steadfast determination as the head of the staff flicks in her direction.

As a spell hurtles directly at her.)

Her hand flings up immediately, instinctively, a familiar spell ricocheting from her palm.

Twilight magic ricochets off her Counterspell, off the sleek, mirrored surface of her magic, crystalline and clear. The spell bangs against it before it dives towards the ground, fizzing out into wisps and sparks as it sputters against the grass.

Adaine stares at both of them, chest heaving.

The two of them stare back — eyes red and green, both blown wide.

A slow, simmering rage slowly snakes its way through her veins, oozing along like molten lava. “What,” Adaine breathes, her eyes wide, her voice deadly low, “did you do.”

Fig cracks. “We’re trying to save you!” she yells, a tirade of emotions exploding over her face, too many for Adaine to count, too many for her to pinpoint.

She ignores her, head snapping to the other side instead — towards Kristen, whose grip on her staff tightens, her knuckles turning white. Adaine wants to laugh hysterically, to scream, to yell and seethe and reach out and snap that fucking thing. Why didn’t it strike her as strange, that Kristen was lugging her staff around? They were at home. They weren’t out and about. There was no reason to cart around her staff when there were no spells to be performed.

Unless, of course, there was one.

She takes a step towards Kristen. Kristen stands her ground.

“What spell was that,” Adaine breathes, meeting those green eyes — steadfast, determined, deadly serious.

Kristen twists her lips, before they part. Her voice is desperate. “Adaine—”

“What fucking SPELL was that!” Her voice crescendos, shattering the air. To hell with the night, with the calm and quiet, with the fact that she’s about to wake up everyone at Mordred. Adaine grits her teeth, her blood boiling with rage, red-hot and searing, like all the blazing heat of the Nine Hells coalesced into one person. Her nails dig crescent-moon indents into her palm, squeezed so tightly together that she swears she’s broken through her own flesh.

And still, Kristen doesn’t reply. Fine, Adaine decides, a sneer contorting her lips. She raises her hand, magic crackling through her body, a spell prepared with the help of the thing wriggling about her mind. She doesn’t need Detect Thoughts to work in full; Adaine has no need to probe deeper, to dig and dig into the recesses of Kristen’s head.

She only needs her surface thoughts. She only needs to know what spell she casted.

And soon enough, she knows.

Greater Restoration.

“Oh,” Adaine breathes, the piercing chill of realisation seeping through her skin, sinking through her bones, an algid touch against the lava boiling in her veins. She rests her gaze on the two girls before her, something callous and cold unfolding within the confines of her ribs. “You’re just like them.”

Kristen’s mouth twitches. “Adaine—”

A bitter laugh bubbles forth. “God,” Adaine utters, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I trusted you.”

“Are you even hearing yourself?!” Fig’s voice turns shrill. “You— We’re a goddamn party, Adaine. We’re friends. We’re fucking family—”

“Yeah, and I trusted you guys, because you trusted me, except apparently that’s not the case anymore!” Adaine retorts. Gesturing at herself, she spits, “What, do you think I’m cursed? Is that it?”

“YES!” Bursting forward, a strong grip closes around both her arms, fingers curling tight. Adaine reels backwards, but Fig is deceptively strong, her infernal lineage granting her just that bit more strength. “Yes, you’re goddamn cursed! You— Do you even notice?” Her hands tremble, her voice quavering despite her blazing, fierce words. “You’ve been pulling away from us for months—”

Throwing her head back, Adaine groans. “Not this again.”

“But you still involved us in shit before.” Fig grasps her hard, pulls her in closer — and in such close proximity, Adaine can see the emotions in her eyes: the scorching hot anger, fierce and powerful, setting her red irises ablaze; the foggy fear that seeps in at the edges, vulnerable in a way she’s so rarely seen in Fig. “What the fuck happened, Adaine?” Fig insists, mouth contorting into a snarl. “Because if it’s not Oisin’s fault, then tell me. Tell me why you’ve been pulling away. Tell me who to blame.”

She jerks back, yanks with all her might, but she can’t pull herself free of Fig’s vice grip. Glowering, Adaine snaps, “Riz and Fabian—”

“Yeah, no, that’s not gonna cut it.” Her head snaps to the side, watching as Kristen steps over, staff in hand. “The only reason why they’ve been pressing as hard as they have been is ‘cause they think it’s Oisin’s fault.” A shadow falls over Kristen’s eyes; a shudder curls down Adaine’s spine. “‘S not like you gave them a reason to think otherwise.” Kristen utters, voice flat.

Her words are drying up inside of her, evaporated by the scorching heat of Fig’s indignant fury, crumbling under the weight of Kristen’s steely stare. And yet, when she senses the hum of magic surrounding Kristen’s staff again, Adaine’s eyes blow wide, her body seized by some great pulse of adrenaline, of some sheer, primal desperation. In that instant, she wrenches her wrist free, hand flying up to counter Kristen’s spell — another bloody Greater Restoration, from the looks of it.

“Will you stop that!” Adaine yells, firing a murderous glare in Kristen’s direction. She whirls around, snarling at Fig as she tries to yank her other arm free. “Will you just— fucking let go!”

“NO!” Balling her hand into a fist, Fig trembles with rage. “God, I was such a fucking idiot. I should have noticed. I should have fucking noticed—”

“Notice what?”

Hand slamming down against her shoulder, Fig stares into Adaine’s eyes with pure desperation, guilt stabbing through her voice as she shrieks. “What he’s been DOING to you!”

SLAM!

“That’s enough.”

Immediately, Adaine freezes. All of them do — Fig locking up in place, Kristen stiffening. Slowly, all of them turn their heads towards the front porch, to the person standing there, watching them all with folded arms.

Jawbone stares down at them, his eyes narrowed dangerously low, lips pulled into an expression Adaine has so rarely seen on him — anger. And yet, she watches as he squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing the spot between his eyes, pinched and pained. She watches as he composes himself, arching his back as he takes a deep breath, before his eyes open again.

This time, there’s no ire in his expression, though he looks no less stern. Stalking forward, Jawbone descends the front steps, pawed feet padding against the ground, looking as though he had come straight from bed — and maybe he has, Adaine realises.

He comes to a stop before them. He crosses his arms yet again. “...What the hell is going on?” Jawbone asks, his voice serious and stern.

Fig releases her, taking a step back. Kristen grips her staff harder, a flicker of guilt crossing her eyes.

Exhaustion floods Adaine all of a sudden, all her pent-up adrenaline from the surprise attack ebbing away. “I’m tired,” she utters, her voice flat. Without a single care in her mind, she steps forward, brushing past Jawbone and heading for the steps.

She gets as far as the middle step before she hears Kristen call her name, hears Fig yell, “You can’t just walk away like that!”

Her last shred of patience snaps.

“Yes I can.” Whirling around, Adaine shakes where she stands, face contorting into a snarl. “You know what, Jawbone? Here’s what happened!” Jabbing her finger in the direction of the girls, Adaine hisses, “Kristen and Fig decided to ambush me with a Greater fucking Restoration because they think I’m cursed! Because—”

Something chokes in her throat, like a cork stopping all the other words from gushing out. Adaine shakes her head, dishevelled blonde hair swaying with the movement. “I’m done,” she says, her brief spat of rage petering out, weariness sinking in in its place. “I’m tired. I want to rest.”

She sees Jawbone stare at her, hears him as he opens his mouth. “Wait, Adaine—”

But Adaine only walks away. She escapes through the front door of Mordred, her steps quickening the further she gets from them. The path up to her room feels strange to her, that winding, spiralling staircase taking her up to the top of its tower. By the time she bursts inside, she’s panting, something constricting her chest, binding tight around her lungs until she can barely breathe.

Her room looks alien to her, dim and dark, the light of the moon filtering softly through her window. Pushing the door shut behind her, she slides down the door, back pressed against the wood, until she hits the ground.

Pulling her knees against her chest, Adaine leans her head against the door, gazing at the ceiling with nothing on her mind save for the dulling ache of her temples, the pain fading with each ticking second.

She’s tired. That’s all there is to it.

She doesn’t know how long she sits there, hugging her knees, her head pressed against the steadying surface of solid wood. All Adaine knows is that she’s still on the floor, her back against the door, when the sound of footsteps ascending the spiral staircase slowly filters through the solid surface. Hearing it pulls her out of her reverie, like hands reaching through the sluggish expanse of her mind, her thoughts like molasses, and closing around her wrist, helping her to break through.

The footsteps grow louder, drawing closer. And then they stop.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Adaine?” She shuts her eyes against the sound of Jawbone’s voice, muffled by the layer of wood between them. He sounds concerned. She feels ill. “You still up, kiddo?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. Shifting slightly, Adaine curls into herself even tighter.

For a moment, neither of them speak.

“Permission to come in?”

“What for?”

Jawbone pauses, before he answers, “Well, it seems like an awful lot happened earlier. I talked to Fig and Kristen about it—” Hearing their names sends a flicker of anger through her, bursting to life for one incandescent moment before fizzling out into sparks, “—and I do agree that what they did… wasn’t the best. Trying to force a spell on you…”

“Yeah.” She shifts again, leaning forward to rest her chin against her knees with a heavy sigh.

“Even so… there’s still quite a number of things we should talk about.” His tone shifts, taking on something firmer; Adaine stiffens. “I want to trust you, Adaine. I don’t like the idea of restricting you, or stopping you from doing things you really want to do. But… I have to agree with the girls on one thing.”

“And that is?” She already knows the answer.

“You’re not communicating as much. You—” He breaks off, and Adaine’s shoulders slump under the weight of his disappointment, more harrowing than any anger he could have ever had. “You and the Bad Kids were so close. What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Adaine replies, insistent, putting some force behind her words. “I’m just— dealing with some things right now. Other priorities.” Those priorities being her own well-being, not forced to defend her livelihood against barbed accusations and hostile antagonisation. And, of course, her boyfriend’s own. It’s simple, so simple; she just doesn’t get why everyone thinks otherwise.

“Sure, sure.” Jawbone trails off again, and Adaine hates it — the thick, stretched out pauses, where she knows he’s trying to think of what to say. It makes her feel horrible, queasy and gross and wrong, wrong, wrong. She hears a gentle thump as he rests his hand against the door. “You mind if I come in? We’ve got a lot more to talk about.”

For the first time since coming to live with him, Adaine doesn’t say yes.

“Sorry.” Her voice comes out like a whisper, weak and frail. She curls tighter into herself, blinking away the exhaustion pulling at her eyes, at the weight dragging down her soul. Taking a deep breath, Adaine steadies herself enough to muster up a few more words. “Not now. Please.”

The silence between them eats at her, and she ends up adding, “We can talk about it tomorrow. I just… can’t do it now. I’m tired.”

It feels like forever before she hears Jawbone’s reply, in a soft voice filled with so much tenderness that it makes her heart ache. “Tomorrow then,” he says, kindly. She closes her eyes as her chest hurts. “Get some rest, kiddo,” Jawbone tells her. “Love you.”

She listens to him leave — presses her head against the door as footsteps thud against the stairs, growing fainter and fainter until, in the end, she can’t hear it at all. There, leaning against the door, in the suffocating silence of her room, Adaine lets loose a shaky sigh, filled with something she cannot begin to explain.

She doesn’t know when she drags herself up to get ready for bed, only that she does. For once, Adaine doesn’t bother with washing up or brushing her teeth, only having the energy to change out of her crumpled clothes and collapse into bed. Her mattress feels too stiff, her pillows lumpy; she curls her arms around it, tries to hug it close, but not a single thing changes. Her earrings dig into the sides of her cheek, her necklace into her neck, but she doesn’t bother taking them off; she very rarely ever has.

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Rolling over in bed, her eyes snag onto the empty terrarium on her shelf. Pushing herself upright, Adaine spends a moment stretching out her hand, magic sparking from her fingertips, returning Boggy back to his glass home. The sound of him happily chirping at her does a little to ease the weirdness swirling about her chest, her familiar keeping her company in the entangled mess of her mind.

Tomorrow, Adaine thinks, as she sinks back into her lumpy pillow. Tomorrow, she’ll handle everything. She’ll talk with Jawbone, hear him out. She’ll go back to Oisin’s place and try to look for her crystal. She’ll…

She doesn’t really know. I’ll do what I have to do, Adaine thinks. Snuggling down in bed, she lets her eyes slip shut, lets her exhaustion overwhelm her, waiting to slip back into the dull, comforting nothingness of an elven trance.

…Except that doesn’t happen.

She can’t rest. She can’t trance. Something eats at her despite the bone-deep fatigue that drags her down, despite the weariness that reaches deep into her chest, cupping her soul and squeezing it tight. She tosses and turns, sprawling about in her bed, her eyes fluttering yet unable to sink into a trance — and it feels wrong to be restrained from doing so, because Adaine has always been able to slide into her trance-state immediately, except now she can’t.

Her room feels wrong, like it belongs to someone else. Her bed feels wrong, too weird and uncomfortable, making her back ache. Her frog is not ample company, his presence hindering more than it helps. She feels—

Lonely.

A haggard sigh spills from her lips. Rolling onto her back, Adaine stares at her ceiling, struggling to parse through her honeyed thoughts. With a defeated groan, she pushes herself upright, sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed as she drags her hand across her face. “I can’t do this,” Adaine mutters to herself, her voice a whisper in the dark. She can’t trance. Her head is too muddy.

There is only one possibility that lingers in the depths of her mind, in the thick of cloying, syrupy thoughts. One place she can go to, to get some proper rest. A place she’s felt more at home staying in over the past— weeks? Months? She’s not sure anymore. Time keeps slipping through her fingers like sand through an hourglass.

It’s probably a stupid idea, given the time. She doesn’t have her crystal, can’t check the clock, but it has to be sometime in the dead of night, the witching hours where scarcely anyone in Elmville is awake. And yet, drained as she is, desperate for some semblance of normalcy — of peace and belonging and strong arms wrapping around her, tugging her in and making her feel safe, where she belongs — it’s an incredibly tempting one.

She needs a second opinion.

Clambering across her bed, Adaine stumbles down the stairs, wandering over to her shelf where Boggy sits, smiling at her happily. She picks him up, holds him in her arms. Staring down at him with heavy eyes, Adaine can’t help but smile back, the dopey grin on his face always making her feel good.

“I don’t know what to do, Boggy,” She sinks to the floor, cross-legged, hugging him close. Peering down at him, Adaine exhales deeply. “It’s— It’s so late. I don’t even have my crystal, I don’t know if I can go over, I just—”

Leaning forward, she presses her forehead against Boggy’s round body, closing her eyes in defeat. “I just want to rest.”

Boggy doesn’t speak — he only chirps, ribbits, makes frog sounds that Adaine coos at, finding them cute. But he’s still her familiar. There’s still a bond between them, connecting their souls, wizard and familiar inextricably intertwined. So Adaine understands it when Boggy continues to beam at her, ribbiting happily. She understands it when there’s a flood of warmth from the other end of the familiar bond, wrapping around her heart and making her feel safe.

She understands what he’s telling her, his message loud and clear.

Her shoulders slump as she looses her breath. “Yeah,” Adaine murmurs, a small smile coming over her lips. “I should probably just go, shouldn’t I?”

That’s how she finds herself packing a small bag late at night, all while she changes out of her pyjamas again into something else, something a little less crumpled. She pauses for one brief second as she crosses the mirror, staring at the earrings dangling from her ears, the bracelets and rings decorating her fingers and wrist, wondering if she should change it. In the end, she doesn’t; all Adaine does is take Boggy into her arms, sling her bag from her shoulders, and stare out her window, peering at the grounds of Mordred outside.

The entire house is asleep. She would prefer it to stay that way.

Adaine casts Misty Step, and vanishes from her room.

The walk over to Oisin’s place is a blur — a massive one, her memories melding together. All Adaine remembers is walking along the empty streets and sidewalks of Elmville, the only light guiding her way being that of the flickering streetlights.

It would have been faster to call for a car before she left. And yet, despite the ache throbbing through her legs, Adaine doesn’t really feel the need to have one at all. She just walks in silence, all by herself, with only her rotund familiar for company, tucked safely in her arms. Most of the journey is lost to her, the long, winding path from Mordred all the way to Clearbrook, taking her across all of Elmville.

In the dead of the night, it is strangely peaceful.

She blinks, coming back to herself as she arrives at his house. Adaine stands at the end of the path leading up to his front door, her thoughts dispersing ever so slightly. This late at night, the moon has reached the highest point of the night sky, shining bright; the windows of the neighbouring houses are all dark everywhere she looks, the parked cars dim and asleep. Not a single soul walks these empty streets — not a single soul, save for her.

Turning her head back to the front, Adaine stares up at the manor.

Oisin’s own home is dark too, the lights turned off.

A thin sliver of mortification sneaks inside her as she steps forward, pacing down the path. Standing on the front step, Adaine hugs Boggy close, realising that she— well, she may have messed up slightly. Now that she’s here, she’s suddenly uncertain about how to tell Oisin that she’s here, impromptu, standing on his doorstep in the middle of the night.

I should have called him, Adaine thinks, her skin flushed with embarrassment; within her grasp, Boggy chirps, trying to calm her down. They have a house crystal back at Mordred; Adaine should have used that to tell Oisin she was coming. She still doesn’t have her crystal, presumably lost somewhere in his hoard, and she isn’t sure if he’s going to notice it if she rings the doorbell. Oh god, she thinks, heartbeat echoing in her ears. I’m going to bother him. I’m—

Boggy ribbits at her, and Adaine squeezes her eyes shut, resolve strengthened. No, she tells herself. Focus. There has to be something you can do. She’s a wizard, for god’s sake; there’s definitely another way in. Like… Like a Sending spell. Maybe she has the components needed for one somewhere in her bag? She also peers at the windows, craning her head and trying to peek through the nearest one. She could also Misty Step inside. But would that count as trespassing, breaking in? Were there wards up to prevent that sort of magic?

She’s so distracted, so lost in her own brainstorming, that Adaine doesn’t notice the sliver of window above the front door flooding with light, nor does she notice the sound of a lock turning. She does notice when the door swings wide open, jerking back to attention with her heart rattling against her chest. Light floods through, casting a shadow over the front step.

“Adaine?”

Oisin stares at her, eyes wide with surprise, his tail stiffening behind him. His glasses are slightly askew, and he’s dressed in night clothes of his own. “What are you doing here?”

“Oisin,” she breathes. Relief floods through her, turning her legs weak; she all but staggers forward, slumping into his hold. She exhales as strong arms catch her, wrapping around her, pulling her close against his chest. Boggy squeaks a little, sandwiched between their bodies, but Adaine doesn’t pay attention, far too focused on the giddy feeling of being safe.

They stand there, for a while, before Oisin pulls away. A quiet whine slips forth at the loss of contact, but she can’t bring herself to notice or care. Claws curl around her shoulder, his other hand reaching to tilt her chin up towards him. Amber eyes watch her, pupils dilated. “What are you doing here?” Oisin asks again, repeating the question from earlier.

She shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep,” Adaine mutters, reaching up to rub her eyes, shifting Boggy’s weight over in her arm. “Trance,” she corrects. Adaine shakes her head. “It just… felt weird. Too lonely.”

His eyes soften. “So you came here?” At her nod, he runs his eyes all over her, staring in silence before his brows furrow. “Wait,” Oisin utters, disbelief infiltrating his shaking words. “Did— did you walk over?”

At Adaine’s nod, Oisin gawks at her. “Didn’t hire a car,” she mutters. “Doesn’t matter. I’m here now.” Glancing up at him, her heart melts. “Can I stay over tonight?”

That indignant shock vanishes, a sweet, affectionate care appearing in its place. “Do you even need to ask?” Oisin replies, swooping in to press a kiss against her lips, a low purring beginning to build in his throat.

He brings her through his house, the two of them walking the familiar path to the hoard room. Ever since he introduced it to her, they’ve taken to sleeping there, cuddling there; it’s so much safer than his room ever felt, a strange tranquillity coming over Adaine; where she can lean into a reverent touch, of arms holding her tight, love engulfing her heart as she feels safe and treasured.

Tonight is no different. He pushes open the door to a cavern of glittering treasure, gently pulling her by the wrist and ushering her inside. It’s intoxicating, the headying sweep of thick syrup that coats her mind; she doesn’t have to think too hard about what happened earlier, the raging inferno of anger and betrayal that rocked her world, the sinking exhaustion that threatened to drag her down to the very depths of the ocean. She doesn’t have to think too much about the way her room felt so wrong, the ache in her heart as she longed for another’s company; all Adaine has to do is curl her hand tight around Oisin’s own as he leads her over to the soft, blanketed nest, helping her in, and gently laying her down.

There’s a couple of items scattered around, she notices — the Pouch of Holding she got for him, for one, sitting with its flap wide open, showing a gaping void of endless storage inside. “What are you up to?” Adaine asks as he presses his hands against her shoulders, helping her to sink into the downy, mattressed ground. She sees scattered ingredients everywhere, parchment paper, a whole slew of different things. She sees Boggy hop to the side, looking at everything with his usual enthusiasm.

Oisin hums. “Just working on something,” he tells her. “Don’t worry about it.”

She blinks at him. “Is that why you were awake?” Something flickers in her mind. “How did you know I was there, anyway?” Adaine asks, her forehead wrinkling in a foggy confusion.

“I just did.” Claws brush her hair to the side. Oisin kneels beside her, gazing at her with such fervent adoration brimming in his amber eyes. She feels something curl around her leg, recognises it as his tail just a moment later, her mind working on a delay. “Is this better?” he asks her, so kind, so sweet. His touch trembles as he brushes over her arm, quivering with veneration.

She meets his eyes, lips melting into a smile. “It is,” Adaine confesses, and it’s the truth. Already, she can feel herself sinking into the soft, downy surface of the hoard-nest, her head pressed against a cushioned pillow, smooth and cool to the touch. She reaches out to him, beckons him to come closer, tracing her thumb across the scales ridging his face with a devotion of her own. “Thank you,” Adaine murmurs.

Her eyes are exhausted, slowly slipping shut. For a while, she lays there, dozing off — not quite trancing yet, but getting close. And yet, she shifts as she feels something heavy being draped around her neck, eyes blinking open as she gazes at Oisin — his arms held up, hands pulling away from her throat.

She furrows her brows. “What are you doing?” Adaine whispers.

He blinks at her. “You’re still awake? I thought…” Oisin falters. “I thought you were trancing already.”

“Mm.” She moves slightly, reaching for the cool thing clasped around her neck, taking it in her hand. It’s another necklace — a golden chain with orange gems. She turns her gaze back to Oisin, mildly curious. “What’s all this, then?”

“Just wanted to decorate you,” Oisin says, with a shrug. His arm reaches for something else at his side, and Adaine watches as he wraps something else around her wrist, snug and cold.

She smiles at him. “Why?”

“Because I want to.” Another piece of jewellery, winding up the expanse of her forearm. “Because you look beautiful like this,” Oisin breathes, leaning in to press a kiss against her knuckles. “All wrapped up in my jewels.”

A laugh spills out, melodious and sweet. “Greedy,” Adaine teases.

“I can’t help it.” He gazes at her, hand creeping up to trace her cheek with an adoration so powerful, it makes her weak. “I want to keep you safe,” he confesses, claw brushing against her tender skin. His eyes burn, his words passionate despite the softness of his tone. “You… you’re just too precious to me. I really don’t know what I would do without you.”

“I know.” She does. She knows it, from everything she’s seen from him, his hands always finding their way to her own, intertwining their fingers, squeezing tight. The aftermath of Frostyfaire flickers to mind; being held in tight arms, curled against a strong chest as a dragon lets out a choked sob, clinging on to her for dear life.

“Do you trust me, Adaine?”

The answer comes out without even needing to think.

“Yes.” She smiles at him, saccharine sweet, as he leans in, trailing kisses along her cheeks. Adaine gazes at Oisin, brimming with nothing but love — honest and true. “I do,” she whispers, her breath brushing against his snout, as he takes and takes and she happily gives him all she has left.

He pulls away, gently pressing her back down against her pillow. “I’ll keep you safe,” he whispers — a promise.

“I know you will,” Adaine breathes, cheeks aching from her smile.

One last kiss against her forehead, warm and heady. “Rest now,” Oisin tells her, gently tipping her mind backwards, away from the waking world, and into the enveloping warmth of a trance. His claws rest against her hands, clasping them one last time; as she sinks into the embrace of unconsciousness, wrapping around her, so snug and warm, she hears his words, hears him murmur to her one last time.

“I’ll wake you when it’s all over.”

Adaine isn’t here today.

Discomfort sits uneasily in his gut, eating at him from the inside-out. A restless energy thrums through his veins as they walk through the halls of Aguefort together — five of them, their sixth missing. There’s a low chatter spreading between them, halfhearted conversation made in strained voices, but he remains silent, mouth pressed shut as he works through the thoughts in his mind.

Something about this simply doesn’t feel right.

“Have any of you guys seen Adaine today?” Riz asks, finally breaking his silence. He bites back a wince at the way the mood immediately turns dour. Fabian flinches, averting his gaze, while Gorgug shakes his head, brows pressing together. “She didn’t come back all weekend, right?” he asks, turning to Fig and Kristen, who both shift uncomfortably where they stand. They’d said as much in the group chat, over the span of the weekend — adaines not here.

Riz tries not to look at who’s online in the group chat anymore. He tries not to pay attention to how many days offline Adaine has been.

“Yeah,” Kristen finally says with a weary sigh. “Honestly, there’s not much we can do.”

“Which I hate.” Glowering, Fig slams her boot into a nearby locker, fury blazing across her face. “I want to kill him,” she utters darkly — a sentiment that Riz agrees with, something sharp and cruel seizing his soul.

“Well, it’s Adaine.” Kristen doesn’t seem any more pleased about that fact, but Riz understands what she means. Adaine is stubborn, standing her ground, turning more and more hostile when the odds are stacked against her. Kristen and Fig didn’t let slip everything that happened last Friday, only that they’d tried to do something and, in Kristen’s own words, we fucked up.

“But none of us have seen her today, right?” Riz presses again, anxiety tingling in his chest. This shouldn’t be anything out of the normal — this new normal, loathe as he is to say it. Adaine has scarcely spoken to any of them, much less him, and there have been days where he hadn’t even seen her, despite the fact that Kristen and Fig assert that she came with them to school. Sure, she’d skipped last Friday, but—

But something just feels off today.

The sound of a ringtone goes off. His ears prick, flicking slightly as he glances at Fabian, who pulls out his crystal. “It’s Mazey,” he tells them, briefly looking over at the rest of them. “I should probably take this.”

“You do that,” Kristen tells him, a small grin crossing her lips as she slaps him on the arm. Fabian rolls his eye but walks away to take the call.

“If it helps,” Gorgug says, drawing the conversation back to Adaine’s absence, “I don’t think I saw Adaine today. I mean, I don’t think we’d have crossed paths, but still.”

“She’s probably just ditching again,” Fig says with a scoff. Narrowing her eyes, she grits her teeth, molars clacking hard. “Seriously, what the fuck did he do to her? Adaine would have never skipped school. She fucking loves it.”

“She’s a nerd,” Kristen agrees, and Riz doesn’t fail to notice the way her voice softens at the end, taking on a somewhat sad tone. He jots that down, chucks it somewhere in the conspiracy board brewing in his mind — clues to piece mysteries together, and in this case, the truth of what happened between the three of them, Fig and Kristen and Adaine, last Friday.

For a moment, none of them speak. The silence is utterly suffocating, all of their moods darkening at the thought of this— this—

Honestly, even Riz is at a loss to describe it. It’s not a mystery by any means. It’s not as though this has been secretly happening over time. Adaine’s slow spiral downhill has been out in the open for months, even if it took the rest of the Bad Kids, sans Fabian, a long while to come around and realise Riz wasn’t just being jealous. It’s not jealousy, Riz argues, defending himself in his mind; it’s not jealousy, because he was right, and there’s something wrong with Oisin Hakinvar and whatever it is, he’s dragging Adaine down with him.

And yet, a tiny part of him whispers, you were suspicious of him for years. Since sophomore year. Since freshman year.

“She’s WHAT?!”

Fabian’s shrill voice pierces through his thoughts, striking Riz back to reality. Without needing any prompting, Riz is off — hurrying down the hallway, closing the small gap between Fabian and him, Fabian and the rest of them. “What’s going on?” he bursts out, frenetic and frenzied. Fear flickers through his words; the pronoun Fabian used hasn’t escaped his notice. The panic in his voice, the sudden way he had yelled—

That looming cloud of dread grows, dragging him underneath its shadow. Fear creeps down his spine, chilling him to his very core.

Fabian turns to stare at him, pulling the crystal away from his ear. His eye is blown wide. As Riz meets his gaze, his tail tenses, ears pressing against his head; Fabian looks utterly stricken, his careful, practised guise of normalcy blown apart, all his fear and anger and panic and guilt plastered on his face for the world to see.

The words he says makes Riz’s blood run cold.

“Adaine’s dropping out.”

Chapter Text

SLAM!

“What do you mean, Adaine’s dropping out?” Fig’s shrill voice pierces through the air as soon as the door to the principal’s office swings open, all five of them practically tumbling over each other in their desperation to get through the doorway.

There’s a loud shriek as the familiar figure behind the desk whirls around. Mazey Phaedra blinks her wide eyes at them, startled expression swiftly melting into relief. “Oh good,” she sighs, slouching slightly, “you guys are here.” Curling her fingers, she gestures at them to come on in — something that’s a bit hard to do, in Riz’s honest opinion, when all five of them are entangled in a pile of limbs, struggling to wiggle free.

He manages to break out soon enough, squirming out of the pile and skittering off to the side, watching with keen eyes as the rest of his friends right themselves. Fig pushes herself to her feet in no time at all, her expression a cross between fearful desperation and indignant ire as she turns her glare towards Mazey. “Well?” she demands, stamping her foot.

Mazey winces. “Can you back off a bit? I don’t like this any more than you guys do.” And, as far as Riz can tell, scrutinising Mazey carefully, she’s telling the truth; concern lines her face, eyes glinting with worry from behind her fluffy bangs, and her hands are restless, grasping at a sheet of paper absentmindedly.

For whatever it’s worth, Fig shrinks back, guilt flickering across her face. Averting her gaze, she mumbles, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Taking a deep breath, Mazey nods at Fig, trying to smile reassuringly. “I know my call was… probably a bit of a shock,” she admits, her gaze flicking to Fabian, who shifts nervously, before sweeping over all of them. “Shut the door behind you, please?”

Kristen kicks it shut without looking away.

“Thank you.”

For a moment, none of them speak. Riz’s eyes dart around the room, looking at everyone closely — at Kristen, her eyes shadowed, twisting her staff in her hands; at Gorgug, his gaze imperceptible, mouth pressed shut; at Fig, jittering with restless energy, her teeth bared in a growl; at Fabian, leaning against the wall, hugging himself close, his one eye distant and guilt-ridden. All of them, tense with anticipation, bracing themselves for whatever comes next — because Riz knows, from the way Mazey surveys them all, eyes wrinkling with worry, that whatever it is, it’s definitely not good.

“So,” Mazey begins, hand pressed against her desk as her eyes flick between them all. “None of you guys knew?”

“Nope.” Kristen shifts, her grip on her staff tightening. “This is the first we’re hearing of it.”

“How does the withdrawal process work?” Riz asks, his eyes trained on Mazey. His tail flicks to the side; “There is a process, is there?” he adds, scrunching his face. “It’s not just, like, a ‘text and you’re out’ type of thing, right?”

“No, no, it’s not like that.” Mazey glances around the table as she speaks, flipping over papers, searching for something. “There’s a whole process. Or at least, there is one if you’re dropping out midway through the year.” She hesitates, biting her lip. “It’s… a lot,” Mazey admits, after a beat. “Like— I did a lot of paperwork? As student body president? But this is insane—”

Her hands close around another sheet of paper, and she pauses. With a firm nod, Mazey beckons them all to come over, sliding the sheet of paper towards them. “You guys might wanna take a look at this,” she says, gravely.

As all of them share looks, gathering around the table, Riz scampers up the chair facing the principal’s desk, arching his neck so he can get a proper look. But as soon as he does—

His breathing catches in his throat, heart stuttering in his chest. He hears his friends inhaling sharply all around him, numerous fingers grasping at the paper, crinkling it at the edges. “No fucking way,” he hears someone whisper— Fig, he realises, her voice quavering, a tremulous, fragile thing.

Set before them is a form of withdrawal from Aguefort — labelled as such, with the school’s logo printed at the top corner of the page. And filling in every single box, the words and numbers jotted in that familiar looping cursive, the ink bleeding into the paper, is, undoubtedly, Adaine’s writing.

His head begins to spin. All of a sudden, Riz feels weak.

“How did you find this?” He takes a deep breath, forcing himself out of that dizzy state when he hears Gorgug’s voice, like a breath of clarity breaking through the fog of disbelief. Gorgug is looking at Mazey not with disbelief or distrust, but something else entirely — an inquisitive glint in his dark eyes, a brow arched in tentative curiosity.

Mazey clasps her hands together; the sound makes Fig jolt, jumping a little as her head whips upwards. “Right,” Mazey says, staring down at the paper, a nervous undertone seeping into her voice. “I was working on paperwork today. ‘Cause spring break is next week and all, you know? It’s—” She gesticulates, shrugging a little helplessly. “It’s really convoluted,” Mazey admits, gesturing at the pile of papers to the other side of the table, which— now that Riz is looking at it, is stupidly tall. He thinks it might be half his height.

“Anyways,” Mazey continues, the tension easing from her voice as she gets into the groove of speaking, of telling her story, “I’m like, acting principal, right? But I’m still a student, and I’m not officially enrolled on staff records, so I can’t really do any of my principal duties during spring break. But I have to submit all this paperwork before school lets out, or else there’s going to be a bunch of bullshit repercussions because Aguefort’s bylaws are insane, and—”

Cutting herself off, Mazey squeezes her eyes shut, taking a deep breath. “Anyways, that’s not the point,” she eventually says, opening her eyes to glance around at all of them, a flicker of worry sparking in her eyes. “The point is that, like, I was working through the paperwork, and then I found this.” She taps a finger against the form, knocking her nail against the table. “And it's just—” She shakes her head. “I don’t know,” Mazey admits. “Something just felt wrong. Like, I know you guys have been having some strife with Adaine recently—”

“Who told you?” Kristen asks, raising an eyebrow.

Scratching the back of her head, Mazey scrunches her face. “You guys know that, like, you haven’t really been private about all that, right?” she eventually says, and— yeah, she’s right. Riz shrinks back, a hot shame seeping through him at the reminder of just how known they are — The Bad Kids, the adventuring party that had saved the world three times before the start of their junior year. “People have been talking about it for weeks. Saying that you’re all breaking up, or something like that.”

Jerking his head up, Fabian narrows his eye. “We’re not,” he insists, his downtrodden expression momentarily overtaken by a sharp vehemence.

“And I know that,” Mazey concurs, raising a hand. She licks her lips. “I know that,” she repeats again, placatingly, soothingly. Riz studies the way she leans back, as though suddenly nervous; though judging by the twin scowls across Fig and Fabian’s faces, the terrifying impassivity of Kristen’s expression, and Gorgug’s quiet rage, he can’t exactly… blame her. “But the point is… withdrawal from Aguefort?” She studies them all, doubt creasing her features. “Would Adaine really do that?”

No, Riz wants to say, that single, furious word immediately flying to mind. Maybe, his mind corrects, suspicious and distrustful. He hates that thought, hates that single word; guilt floods him immediately at the possibility that maybe Adaine did do this, that she did decide to leave, but—

Can Riz really say he knows what Adaine would do anymore?

(No, his mind answers helpfully. He grits his teeth, clawed nails digging into the flesh of his palms.)

The resounding silence in the room says it all. Their eyes shift towards one another, uncertainty staining their steely determination. “She wouldn’t,” Fig eventually says, but her voice is weak, lacking the resolute fire that usually strengthens her conviction. She squeezes her eyes shut, creases marring her forehead, before she opens them again, pupils blazing. “She wouldn’t,” Fig insists, with stubborn obstinance, head whipping around to glance at all of them. She grits her teeth. “Guys, come on—”

“The Adaine we knew wouldn’t,” Fabian interrupts, dipping his head at her. His grey eye darkens, his gaze hard as steel. “Can’t say the same for the Adaine we know now.”

Fig scowls. “Fabian—”

“He’s right.” Fig’s mouth snaps shut at Riz’s interjection, as he forces out the words he hates most — bitter and acerbic on his tongue, staining his teeth with the ugly truth. Leaning forward, he grabs at the paper, snatches it up, and everyone around him backs off. Perched on top of the back of the chair, Riz inspects every little detail as closely as he can.

He feels them circle around him, studying the same page he’s looking at. “The Ball,” Fabian eventually says. There’s a thin worry veiling his words; Riz knows it, from the near-imperceptible quiver as he speaks. Fabian’s voice doesn’t quiver. He stutters, stammers, runs his mouth faster than he thinks sometimes, but everything he says, he delivers with the utmost conviction — except now. “Is it a forgery?”

“I don’t know.” He hates the answer that comes out of his mouth, but it’s all he can say. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Riz glances around at his friends, before he says, “I can figure it out, but I need time.” Raising his head, he meets Mazey’s dark eyes. “Can I take this with me?”

Mazey’s brows press down, hesitance written all over her face. His heart sinks. “Mazey—” he tries, only to be cut off as she opens her mouth.

“I can’t give it to you,” Mazey says, drumming her fingers against the table. In that instant, the mood in the air shifts; disappointment engulfs the atmosphere, punctured by other flickering emotions — a brief spurt of hot anger, a flare of frustration, an iota of incredulity. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” Mazey argues, shoulders tensing at the obvious change in atmosphere, sweeping her gaze across all of them. “It’s just— all this paperwork’s the property of the school, and I’d get in a lot of trouble if I just gave it out. Like, I’m acting principal, not principal.”

He hears a frustrated hiss, hears Fabian’s pleading voice. “Mazey, come on—”

“But,” Mazey interrupts, glancing between all of them as she pauses, “if that form happened to go missing…” Tilting her head up, Mazey glances down at Riz, meeting his eyes. He catches it — the knowing gleam in her dark pupils, something flickering there: faith. The corner of her mouth curves upwards. “I could turn a blind eye,” she utters, giving him the barest hint of a nod.

You can steal it. It’s plain and clear what she expects of him, and Riz straightens up, paper crinkling in his hands. “Right,” he says, trying his best to feign nonchalance; he’s not as good at it as Fig is, but he’s doing his best, damn it. He leans forward, sliding the paper back to Mazey, who places it at the edge of the table, lying there in plain sight.

The tension in the room has ebbed, thankfully, displeasure and vexation melting into something kinder. “You guys should head out,” Mazey tells them, leaning against the table, a hand resting on her hip. Her tail flicks behind her; there’s a knowing spark in her eyes, accompanied by her smile. “Bell’s probably gonna ring soon anyways.”

“Another question.” Riz turns his head at the sound of Gorgug’s voice, watches him furrow his brows before he asks, “Does anyone else know right now?”

It’s— It’s a good question to ask, good enough that Riz mentally slaps himself for not asking it first. Nevermind that, he tells himself, forcing his attention back on Mazey. Less pitying, more focusing; Adaine’s missing, for god’s sake.

“I told Jawbone,” Mazey replies, after a pause. “Because he’s— y’know. Adaine’s dad and all.”

The reply makes them all tense — and yet, it makes sense. Still, Riz can’t stop wincing at the thought of it: of Jawbone being told that Adaine is withdrawing after a weekend of dead silence. His mind blanks immediately; he can’t even begin to imagine what he’d do next if he were in Jawbone’s shoes right now. “He doesn’t push Adaine enough,” Kristen had explained to them once, about a month ago, when they were all hanging out at Seacaster Manor together — all of them, except Adaine. Kristen’s face had fallen, strangely vulnerable, before she said, “He… knows something is off too, but it’s just—”

“It’s Adaine,” Fig interrupted, leaning in, strands of hair swaying past her shoulders. A flash of anger pierced her eyes; it had taken her the longest to come around out of the five of them, but when she finally made the switch, she crashed in with guns blazing. The ugly spat between Oisin and Fabian in the parking lot of Basrar’s had simply been too explosive for her to ignore any longer.

“She keeps pulling away from you guys whenever you press,” Fig continued, red eyes swivelling between Riz and Fabian. At the time, he felt a hot shame creep across his skin, along with a flare of defensiveness that he batted down. There was a time and a place for that, and it wasn’t back then. Fig twisted her lip before saying, “Jawbone isn’t stupid—”

“Are you calling us stupid?” Fabian had bristled next to him, face contorting into a scowl, and Riz had reached out to rest a hand against his arm. Careful, he thought, wishing that Fabian could somehow hear him. He watched Fabian take a deep breath, before saying, through gritted teeth, “I don’t see you doing any better than I did, Fig.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t.” Folding her arms, Fig let out a huff. “I don’t know how you held off for that long. I just want to—” Her lips contorted into a horrid scowl. “I just want to kill him.”

“Join the club,” Gorgug muttered, leaning back with his hands in his hoodie pocket.

“What Fig is trying to say,” Kristen interjected — and really, how ridiculous had this entire situation gotten that Kristen was now playing the voice of reason on a regular basis? — “is that Jawbone knows Adaine will explode. He’s doing his best, but at this point, it’s just—” She exhaled, shaking her head. “It’s like walking on goddamn eggshells,” she eventually said. “No fucking clue when you’ll stomp down too hard and crack one, huh?”

Riiiiiiing!

The shrill screech of the bell pierces through the air, knocking Riz out of his thoughts. “Right,” he utters, straightening up. “Thanks for all the help, Mazey.”

“Yeah, you guys should really be getting to class,” she says, tilting her head at them. “And hey, if there’s anything I can do to help—”

“We’ll let you know,” Fabian promises, a smile settling on his face.

As they all take their leave, Riz slips down the chair, landing on the floor with nary a sound. While his friends chatter to each other in low, hushed noises, their murmuring worried and frustrated, threatening all shades of bloody murder, Riz scampers forward, keeping his tail poised and still, his steps lithe and silent.

Mazey has turned around, her back to him. He knows she’s pretending; it’s obvious from the way she’s absentmindedly brushing her fingers across Arthur Aguefort’s bookcase, inspecting the book spines with feigned interest.

As he reaches out, though, snatching the paper off the desk—

“One more thing,” Mazey says, without turning; Riz startles slightly, the paper crumpling in his hand, worn and wrinkled. He swiftly hides it behind his back as she glances over her shoulder, giving him one last look. “I can’t hold this off forever. The paperwork, I mean,” she clarifies. “The bylaws of Aguefort are really fucking weird, and I’d rather not get cursed for not completing all of it.”

His eye twitches. “Wait, are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Mazey says with an apologetic shrug. “I can give you guys till Friday to look into… things.” Dodging around the fact that I just stole it, Riz observes. Clever. “If this is a forgery,” Mazey continues, “I can reject it based on that claim. But if it’s not…”

Trailing off, she exhales. “The only one who’d be able to withdraw it, in that case,” Mazey says, her voice grim, “is Adaine herself.”

The gravity of her words, of this entire situation, presses against Riz’s shoulders, adding to the weight already piling down on him. With a silent nod at Mazey, armed with perhaps the most damning piece of evidence he’s obtained yet, Riz slips out of the door, quietly taking his leave.

None of them go to class. It’s a unanimous decision between all five of them; they don’t even need to verbally discuss it. All they do when Riz rejoins them, the four of them hanging around outside the principal’s office, is nod at him, their expressions various arrays of stressed. “Ready?” Gorgug asks, pushing off the wall, hands tucked in the pocket of his hoodie.

“Yeah,” says Riz, with a nod. “Let’s go.”

They head straight for the front doors of the school, bursting through it together as the second bell goes off somewhere behind them. The spring wind whips at their faces as they hurry across campus, heading for the parking lot, and Riz curses as the paper in his hands gets ripped out by a gust of air, only caught by Fabian’s quick reflexes. “Thanks,” he breathes with a shaky smile as his friend passes it back to him.

“I mean, it’d be pretty bad if we lost that,” Fabian says with a shrug. Still, Riz sees the way the tension in his shoulders ease up slightly, that one expression of gratitude doing a lot more than Fabian lets on.

As they step off campus grounds, they all slow to a stop. Gathered together under the shade of a leafy tree, the wind rustling against their ears, Riz takes a moment to tuck the paper away in his briefcase.

“What now?” he hears Kristen ask as he snaps the latches of his briefcase shut. Her eyebrows press together as she twists the staff in her hands. Immediately, Riz feels everyone turn towards him, biting back a wince at the sensation of their eyes boring holes into his skin. It’s an expectant pressure, thick and heavy — but pressure, for all it weighs him down, is good. It’s something he’s used to, something he can work with.

He takes but a moment to string together a plan in his mind, divided into two parts. “First, I need to analyse the form,” Riz states, patting his briefcase a little awkwardly. He furrows his brows. “It’d probably be best to do that at my office. Less interruption.”

“I’ll take you there,” Fabian volunteers immediately.

Riz smiles gratefully. “Thanks,” he says, as Fabian shrugs. “Gorgug, I want you with us too,” Riz adds, watching Gorgug nod, steadfast as ever.

“Wait— what about us?” Fig’s voice cuts through the air. Turning to her, Riz sees the way she bristles with indignance, sees the way Kristen grips her staff, her fists white-knuckled, her eyes dark. “We’re coming too!” Fig insists.

“I actually need you guys to do something else.” At that, some of the hostility leaves them both. They watch him expectantly, waiting for more, and Riz continues, saying, “I need you guys to go back to Mordred. There’s got to be stuff in Adaine’s room. Clues, evidence, information— anything.” He closes his eyes, taking a breath before he adds, “That, and… Mazey said Jawbone knows.”

“So you want us to keep an eye on things at home.” Perceptive as ever, Kristen immediately catches on. He nods at her, and she leans back. “We can do that.”

“I’ll probably still… scope out Adaine’s room myself when we meet,” Riz adds, before wincing. “N-Not that I think you guys are, like, bad at investigating,” he adds quickly, furiously waving his hands to dismiss the prospect. “Just— Just in case.”

A laugh. “Yeah, I get it,” Kristen says good-naturedly, stepping over to pat him on the back. Riz stumbles forward, nearly keeling over from the force of her slap. She nods at Fig, who dips her head in return; hellfire burns in her red eyes, a common enough sight these days, ever since Fig snapped to her senses and finally realised there genuinely was something wrong with Oisin. Twirling her staff in her hands, Kristen says, “We’ll go dig through Adaine’s stuff, alright? And you can, like, find all the stuff we missed.”

There’s a hiss from nearby. Scowling, Fig crosses her arms. “God knows Adaine probably hid shit,” she mutters, eyes flickering with hatred. Levelling Riz with a look, Fig flashes him a wickedly sharp grin — there is not a single trace of amusement in it, only a cruelty that has become more common with each passing day. “Don’t take too long, yeah?”

“I’ll try not to.” He really will. Fig is like a walking bundle of dynamite nowadays, her clock ticking down, the amount of time left indeterminate. Riz understands her, he really does — all of them do. More than anything else in the world, they want to show up at Oisin’s house and burn it down, slap Adaine to her senses and drag her home. Keep her with them, keep her safe; they couldn’t stop this from happening the first time, but they’ll prevent it from happening again.

But they can’t — not yet. They only know who has taken her, and where she most likely is; they know little more than that. The withdrawal form, filled and signed in Adaine’s cursive scrawl, has only added another layer to this horrid little mystery. There’s a possibility lingering in Riz’s mind, one he hates dwelling upon because of what it means for everything else. If the form isn’t a forgery… if it was, in fact, filled by Adaine—

In that case, Riz can only hope that they’re not too late.

The five of them part ways, then and there, their roles doled out to one another. The last Riz sees of the two girls, as Fabian calls for the Hangman to come pick them up, is the fiery outline of a door forming in the air, simmering and burning, the hellfire sharp in the daylight. Fig and Kristen both take one last look at him, at Fabian and Gorgug, before they step through.

Despite the lazy slope to Kristen’s smile, the casual air of Fig’s demeanour, their eyes betray what’s deeper inside. Cold shadows falls over Kristen’s gaze, green eyes sharp with such a frigid, cutting wit, while a hot rage burns in Fig’s eyes, vicious and raw — a promise, more than anything else, to find Oisin Hakinvar, and tear him apart.

“I haven’t been here in a while.” Gorgug’s voice fills the air as Riz unlocks the door to his office, hinges squeaking as he pushes it open. The room is dark, the curtains drawn; he reaches up for the light switch as Fabian and Gorgug make their way in, the lightbulb flickering on with the snap of a plastic switch. Gorgug’s head darts around, looking left and right before peering back at him. “Kinda surprised you’re still using it, to be honest,” he admits, with a shrug.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean—” Gorgug hesitates, before he shrugs again. “You have, like, a hundred clubs. I dunno, I guess I’m surprised you still have the time to come here at all.”

“Oh yeah, no,” Fabian interjects, as Riz turns to shut the door and lock it tight (you can never take too many precautions, after all; it’s also why he keeps his curtains drawn). “The Ball and I have been using this place for a couple of months.” With the lock tightly shut, Riz returns to the two of them; he watches Fabian sprawl out on the raggedy old couch that came with the office, making himself at home. “Back before you guys— y’know.” Fabian gesticulates with a hand, before he says, “Came around.”

“Ah,” Gorgug utters, realisation dawning upon him, followed by a crease between his brows — some semblance of regret.

“Yeah,” Riz says, taking the moment to interject. He reaches out, patting Gorgug a little awkwardly on his arm. “We, uh, needed a place to go. I needed to build conspiracy boards.” The boards propped up around the room is proof enough of that; there are a couple that tie to the larger mystery at hand, of Ankarna and red, star-shaped crystals, of contaminated soil and a slow-building rage all around Elmville, but there are also a few that tie to whatever’s been happening to his best friend. Riz’s heart twists as he looks at one, the latest edition; countless red strings loop around round-ended pins, connecting together countless notes, pictures, and small, sealed plastic pouches. Evidence, simple and clear; every little detail that Riz could ever find to clue him in on what’s happening.

“In any case,” Riz continues, pulling his hand away from Gorgug in favour of giving him a nod, “make yourself at home.” He turns, clambering into his chair and laying his briefcase out on the table. Undoing the latches with a snap, Riz digs inside, pulling out the crumpled form of withdrawal — the latest piece of evidence, and hopefully the one that’ll clue him a bit more on what’s happened to Adaine.

“This might take a while,” Riz says, slightly apologetic, as he adjusts his necktie, pulling twice to activate the first of its effects.

“Take your time,” Gorgug tells him, joining Fabian on the couch. He catches Riz’s eyes, and he gives him a reassuring smile. “Like, I know we’re all impatient, but— this is pretty important. Probably shouldn’t mess it up.”

“Spring break, I believe in you,” Fabian calls out, flicking him a bardic. He feels his friend’s magic soak through his skin, lingering and waiting — an aid for him, for whenever he possibly needs it.

Riz takes a deep breath, gulping down any of his lingering anxieties — about what he could find, about the implications of his discoveries.

One way or another, he’s going to figure things out.

Detect Magic comes up empty. Detect Good and Evil also comes up empty. He runs through both effects a second time, and then a third; each time, it all comes up empty.

“Shit,” Riz curses, slumping against the back of his chair.

He hears Gorgug’s voice, wavering slightly. “That doesn’t sound good.” Glancing up, Riz watches both his friends glance at him, their faces twin expressions of worry. Twisting around slightly, Gorgug slings an arm over the back of the couch, his attention trained on Riz. “What’s up?”

“Did you find something?” Fabian asks. He, too, has turned around; unlike Gorgug, he crosses his arms across the back of the sofa, leaning forward as much as he can. There’s an anxious tremor to his voice, despite the way he tries to hold himself together, keep his words straight.

“No,” Riz admits, loosening his grip on his necktie. His hands tremble as they fall to the paper on the table, fingers smoothing out the creases and tracing the curving slopes of ink as though doing so would make something suddenly apparent, some magical indicator that Riz must have missed. He swallows nervously, choking down the lump wedged in his throat. “And that’s the problem,” Riz says, glancing back up, his gaze fixed on Fabian, a silent plea for him to understand.

And Fabian does. His eyes widen, the implications of Riz’s words hitting him. “Crap,” he hisses.

Gorgug glances between the two of them, furrowing his brows. “Sorry,” he begins, slightly hesitant, “but, uh— am I missing something?”

“No, no, just—” Raking a hand through his hair, Fabian exhales. Looking at the stress marring his friend’s face, a pang of guilt thrums through Riz’s chest. “The Ball taught me this a while back,” Fabian explains, leaning back against the couch. “Basically that no evidence isn’t good, ‘cause it’s either making it more difficult to figure shit out, or it means you’re wrong.”

“It might be the second here,” Riz interjects, sparing Fabian from needing to ramble on. He bites his lip, chewing on it absentmindedly. “It’s not like there’s no evidence,” he continues, his gaze drifting back down to the insidious form, taunting him from his table. “This form is evidence, in and of itself. But there’s no magical evidence.” Head lifting back up, Riz resists the urge to fiddle with his necktie again, to activate both its effects one more time. There’s simply no point, not when he’s already tried so many times. “There’s nothing at all,” he says, eyes darting between his friends. “Which means this paper wasn’t magically modified.”

Silence fills the air, thick enough to be tangible.

The first to break the silence is Fabian. “S-So what?” he forces out, but for all the bravado he puts on, Riz can see the wrinkles at the corner of his eye, the fear that flickers across his face. “Adaine actually submitted that?”

At that, Riz hesitates. “I still need to… investigate it,” he says, after a beat. Drumming a finger along the table, he narrows his eyes; the longer he stares at the page, the more the looping scrawl of Adaine’s handwriting blends together, words muddled into something that doesn’t look like words at all. “You can still forge documents without magic. All this means is that this—” He gestures at the piece of paper, “—isn’t enchanted. Or a magical copy of something.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?”

At Gorgug’s question, Riz pauses, racking his head. “...I wouldn’t mind if you guys tried to help,” he eventually says. “That is— I mean, I guess if you guys notice anything weird, you can let me know.” It’s vague, frustratingly so; he does want his friends’ help, wherever possible, but at this point in time, Riz can’t pinpoint with what.

Despite the look they share with each other, mirrored expressions of furrowed brows, they accept his words. The two of them get up from the couch; while Gorgug circles around the desk, joining Riz as he peers close at every inch of space across the paper, Fabian winds up peering at their conspiracy boards.

For a while, they work in silence. None of them speak, and there’s no sound save for the gentle humming of the fan somewhere in the room, and the sound of Riz’s tail thwacking against the back of his chair as he sinks into the deep focus of an investigative spiral. He smooths out the paper the best he can, tweaks with his glasses slightly so he can zoom in even closer; every single bit of this form is important evidence, and even the slightest anomaly can give away it being a forgery.

He gets Gorgug to run around for him, instructs him to pull certain files out of certain boxes, things that Riz needs to cross-reference. He snatches up the documents that Gorgug slides him, forms and letters from Aguefort that Riz saved instead of binning, letters sent to his home in envelopes, or things he brought back from school. For one, his tendency to save anything that might be useful comes in handy; he compares the official documents given out by Aguefort to Adaine’s form of withdrawal with as much painstaking accuracy as he can.

His anxiety mounts with each comparison made, with everything he discovers. The little details are precise, perfect; the paper has the same thickness, the details of the Aguefort logo are all correct, the placement of certain things, like the headers and small text, all match up. There aren’t any typos, any mistakes, no smudged ink from printing, or missing sections. As far as Riz can tell, the form is legitimate.

“Shit, man, how prepared are you?” he hears Gorgug ask him as he passes him another retrieved document — something written in Adaine’s writing. With the form being legitimate, the only course of action he has left is to make sure that the contents filled in it are correct too. Which— Riz doesn’t want it to be legitimate. Because that means that Adaine actually filled in this form, scratched all her information in the right places in her cursive, looping scrawl, and that means she’s actually trying to leave. It’s easier to pin the blame on Oisin, to attribute everything wrong to him — but if Adaine is still cognisant enough to make decisions of her own, even in whatever altered state of mind Oisin has put her in—

It means you can’t stop her from leaving, that pesky voice in his head whispers, a cruel reminder. It means that she’ll leave you, leave the Bad Kids, and even if she’s fucked in the head, it’s still her choice that she’s making, and she’s choosing to let go.

His eyes snag on one thing that piques his interest, enough that he can temporarily shove that voice out of the front of his mind. “There’s a date here,” Riz murmurs, tracing it with his claw — a couple of numbers jotted next to her signature. He runs it through his head, pinpoints the exact day; “She signed this last Friday,” Riz says, eyes widening slightly with that realisation.

It’s a hint. A clue. It doesn’t tell him much more about the situation — but he knows that Adaine was with Oisin all of last Friday. She hadn’t shown up to school at all, hadn’t even shown up at home, and the last time she was seen was that very night, returning home after Fig and Kristen’s attempts to reach out with a Sending spell.

He still doesn’t know the exact details of what happened, only that it was ugly. Fishing into his pocket, Riz pulls out his crystal. He’s about to punch out a message, to ask Fig and Kristen when, exactly, Adaine returned home that Friday night, when, all of a sudden, he hears Gorgug speak. “That’s weird.”

In a flash, attention grabbed by those two words, Riz snaps his head back in Gorgug’s direction. “What is?” he asks, trying to shove down his desperation.

“This.” Gorgug presses his index finger against the page, pointing at Adaine’s lettered scrawl.

For a moment, Riz stares at it, mind working overtime to figure out what, exactly, Gorgug is pointing at. He doesn’t even notice that Fabian has rejoined them, having found nothing of note at the conspiracy boards, until he hears his voice, all but jumping out of his skin at the sudden sound. “That’s just her birthday, Gorgug,” Fabian says, sounding sceptical. “It looks fine to me.”

“No, not that,” Gorgug says. “Look at the thickness of the ink.”

The… thickness of the ink?

In his years of diving into mysteries, digging through countless clues and stringing together the solutions to a mystery, Riz knows that some clues are harder than others to identify. It’s easier for his keen eyes to pinpoint a flaw in the midst of perfection, an anomaly in the midst of normalcy. A typo, handwriting that looks just a bit too off, the misprint of a logo — all of these are easy for him to identify.

The clues that tend to fly past him, the ones that he misses, are the ones that don’t look wrong at all.

He scrambles for that paper with her handwriting, sticks it next to the page to cross-reference it again. And all of a sudden, everything clicks.

The ink scrawled on the form is thick, almost blotchy; the paralleling lines of circular loops nearly meld together, the nib of whatever pen was used being broad. In contrast, across the few documents Riz has with Adaine’s writing, the lines of her letters are fine and thin — delicate, neat, and easy to read.

“Adaine uses those pens with really fine nibs,” Gorgug says, all while Riz mentally smacks himself. How hasn’t he ever noticed? Gorgug pauses, narrowing his eyes. “Then again, she could’ve just… I’unno. Borrowed a pen or something.”

“But Adaine’s pretty particular about things, isn’t she?” Fabian points out. “And, like— she has her jacket. Which she can pull anything out of. I dunno about you, but if I was as particular about shit as Adaine is, I’d probably just pull out a pen. Use it.”

Gorgug sounds unsure. “Maybe.”

“No, Fabian’s right.” Riz takes a deep breath, steadying his anxious heart. In the line of investigating mysteries, everything matters — and in a form that otherwise looks normal, this is perhaps the only piece of evidence they have. He shifts his attention back to his crystal, pulling up their group chat. “We should probably ask Fig and Kristen if Adaine’s got pens of other sizes. If she doesn’t, then this is definitely an anomaly, but if she does…”

He trails off, shaking his head to shrug off his lingering, uneasy thoughts. “Let’s just ask,” Riz says, firmly, already typing out a message.

Riz: @Fig @Kristen Does Adaine have any pens with a thick nib?

Fig: ?? wdym

He raises his crystal, snapping a quick photograph of the crumpled form of withdrawal, before sending it off with the tap of a button.

Riz: Gorgug pointed out that the ink here is too thick. Adaine usually uses very fine nibs.

Another image comes in — this time from Gorgug, a quick snapshot of one of the documents with an example of Adaine’s writing.

Gorgug: for comparison

“Thanks,” Riz breathes, eyes darting towards his friend. Gorgug merely smiles in response.

Fig: wtf

Fig: how the fuck did i jot notice this

Riz: I didn’t either. It’s very subtle.

Fabian: Gorgug figured it out!

Fig: kristen says rhats legitimately insane she didnt notice it either when i showed it to her

Fig: how tf do you even notice sth like that????

Gorgug: she’d help me study in sophomore year sometimes

Fig: yeah she did that for me too and i didnt Fucking Notice

Gorgug: didn’t adaine write kristen’s essays for her? sometimes?

Fig: madam president is not taking any qns at this time soprry

Riz: Can you guys check her stationary? Please?

Fig: yeah hangon

They wait for a reply. Time stretches on and on, like it lasts for an eternity. Riz can feel his tail lashing about in impatience, his ears twitching, claws drumming across the table restlessly. He’s stuck waiting for the screen to light up, for his crystal to vibrate with a reply. He sees the way Fabian keeps clicking in and out of the different apps on his own crystal, swapping between checking their group chat and absentmindedly scrolling social media, and he also sees the way that Gorgug keeps wandering around the office, unable to sit still and wait.

They’re all impatient, stranded and waiting for a response. Each ticking second stretches to the absolute limit to the point where Riz seriously wonders if someone is fucking around with chronomancy right now.

After what feels like forever, Riz’s crystal lights up, beginning to vibrate against the wooden countertop. But rather than the message he had expected to receive, a continuation of their conversation just moments earlier—

His screen has lit up with an incoming call from Kristen.

The first words to blurt out of Riz’s mouth, as soon as he picks up, are, “Did you find it?”

“Wh— oh!” Kristen’s voice floods his ear. “Yeah! Yeah, we did. We found it.”

“What’s she saying?” Gorgug asks, at the same time Fabian says, “The Ball, put it on speaker.”

Riz hears Kristen swear as he pulls his crystal away from his ear to put the call on speaker, to allow both Gorgug and Fabian easier access into what’s going on. The first thing they all hear as he presses the appropriate button is Kristen saying, “Shit, I should— probably put this on speaker too. Hang on—”

“You guys were right!” Fig’s loud voice pierces the air as Kristen adjusts her end of the call, causing Riz to wince briefly, pulling the crystal away slightly. There’s a clattering sound through the receiver, before she adds, “Adaine does use these— god, the nibs are so tiny.”

“So there’s no other kind of pen in there?” Riz asks. “Nothing at all?”

“Nope.” Kristen’s voice comes through, taking back over as Fig’s voice trails off into something incoherent, mumbling to herself. “It’s as you guys said — she only seems to use those really fancy, fine-tipped pens. Can’t find anything else in here, unless she’s secretly hiding something.”

“Again,” Fig grumbles, “you have an entire pile of essays Adaine wrote for you—”

“You think I read any of them?” Kristen barks out a laugh. “Think again, girlie,” she crows; Riz can’t help but smile slightly, their bit of banter uplifting his weary heart. Even in the thick of an emergency situation like this, there’s still just enough chaos to render the mood lighter, less doom and gloom. “Anyways,” Kristen continues, pulling her focus back to the call, “girlie’s consistent—”

“Told you,” Fabian mutters, crossing his arms as his gaze flicks to Gorgug.

“—and she doesn’t have anything else apart from this. Pen-wise, I mean.” There’s a brief pause, a momentary beat of silence; all of a sudden, that festering uncertainty returns, like a predator coiling around in his gut. Riz bites the inside of his cheek, trying to swallow down his sudden flicker of anxiety. “But we—” Kristen pauses again, her voice suddenly serious, all the banter evaporating from it. There’s a waver to her words. It doesn’t sit right with Riz. “We found something else,” she finishes.

It isn’t Riz who presses her about it, but rather Fabian. “What is it?” he asks, leaning closer. Gorgug mimics his movement on Riz’s other side, the two of them pushing in, sandwiching Riz between them.

“It’s like— a card, I think.” There’s a brief pause, before Kristen continues, her voice strained. “From Oisin.”

In that very instant, the tension in the office thickens. Heat, searing and ugly, burns within Riz’s chest. He knows, from the sharp breath Fabian takes and the way Gorgug narrows his eyes, that he’s not the only one to feel this way upon hearing that name.

“It’s a birthday card,” Kristen clarifies, her voice getting slightly steadier. “Probably from… the summer after freshman year? We were gone last summer, so.” She stops again, and Riz can hear her take a deep breath, audible over the call. “And like… his handwriting is kind of a mess, but the ink is thick.”

Dead silence.

It’s a confirmation of what they’ve known all along. All five of them know who took Adaine, who has her right now — who else could it be, if not Oisin Hakinvar? Who else could it be, save for the one person who’s been slowly, deliberately, methodically isolating her from all of them throughout their junior year? And yet, having that knowledge doesn’t stop Riz’s heart from plummeting at Kristen’s words. Her quiet confirmation of his suspicions, that there is something weird about the thickness of whatever pen Adaine used for this form, is like ice-cold water being poured on his simmering rage, leaving something cold and algid freezing deep in his stomach.

It’s Gorgug who speaks first, voice trembling with anger. “That bastard.”

“Well, we knew, didn’t we?” Despite his words, Fabian just sounds uncomfortable, more than anything else; there’s no fire, no indignance, only a bone-deep exhaustion that mirrors the bags under his eye, the gaunt quality to his skin. He’s done a good job keeping himself together, feigning normalcy for the sake of the hundreds of eyes trained on him every day at school, but Riz knows better; even now, as he steals a glance at his friend, he watches Fabian hunch into himself slightly, grey eye growing distant. “I mean, it couldn’t have been anyone else.”

“It still sucks to get the confirmation, though,” Riz points out, mildly.

“So… what?” Fig’s voice comes through the receiver. Her words tremble despite her obvious effort to keep herself together. There’s no trace of her usual rage, spitting curses and threatening to flay Oisin’s skin; all that’s left is a strained stolidity, an uncomfortable impassivity. “Did he forge her documents?”

“That’s the thing.” Riz places his crystal down on the table, brushing out the form once more. “It’s not a forgery,” he says, and he can’t hide the desperate waver to his voice, a pang of hopelessness throbbing through him. “It’s Adaine’s handwriting. I can’t find anything wrong with it.”

“So what then?” Kristen asks. “Did he force her into doing it?”

As soon as those words come through, the mood darkens.

He hates the way his mind can conjure up what that might have looked like — blue claws wrapped around slender fingers, pressing a pen into her hand, whispering words of coercion into her ear. Oisin, forcing his best friend to sign that document, to withdraw from Aguefort. It’s insidious. It’s sickening. It’s—

He chokes back the guttural hiss forming in his throat, steadies his tail from lashing back and forth with too much aggression. Riz swallows down his anger, bats away those mental conjurations. Fact over emotion — that’s what he should be focusing on here, above all else.

There is, undoubtedly, a connection between Adaine and Oisin; it would be idiotic to think otherwise. There is, also, no discounting the fact that the ink of Adaine’s words is an important clue. But if Riz allows himself to dwell for too long on the prospect that Adaine was forced into this, that she didn’t actually want this—

He thinks he’ll fucking snap.

You can’t say that for sure, he reminds himself, tempering his ire. Just focus on finding Adaine. Bring her back. Figure out the truth, and then you can kill him. Fire a bullet through his skill. Rip him from limb to limb. Cut his head off, so he can’t be revivified, and Adaine can stay safe and far away from him.

Riz shuts his eyes, taking a deep breath. “We’re done here,” he says, after he feels calm enough. With a brief nod at Fabian and Gorgug, both their expressions dark and inscrutable, Riz picks up the crystal.

He ignores the way his hand shakes.

“We’ll meet you guys back at Mordred.”

“The Ball?”

Riz startles at the sudden sound, whirling around where he stands. Fabian stares down at him, his one good eye creasing at the corner with concern. “Sorry,” he says immediately, pulling back his hand — probably about to touch his shoulder, if Riz had to guess. “You’ve just, uh— well, you’ve been staring at that for a while.”

At that, Riz looks down, blinking at the sight of a conspiracy board in his hands — one of the Adaine ones, the latest version of it. “Uh,” he says intelligently, turning to look back at Fabian. With a halfhearted shrug, all Riz says is, “I… I guess I was.”

Neither of them speak, for a while.

In the silence, pondering his thoughts, Riz slowly comes back to himself, remembering what he was doing before he zoned out. Gorgug had left the room a while ago, citing the need to find the toilet before they left for Mordred Manor, though judging by the muscle twitching in his jaw and the inscrutable look in his eyes, he might have just needed a moment to himself. In his absence, Riz had headed over to his rows of conspiracy boards, stuffing as many of them into his briefcase as possible, so he could… more or less put together all the new clues they’ve found later, pinning evidence and looping strings to tie it back to all the old information he already gathered.

And yet, when he had picked up the latest iteration of the board, taking a moment to study it closely, Riz had gotten… distracted.

His eyes had caught onto the looping strands of red string, following the endless, weaving trails, and his mind had simply wandered. His thoughts drifted back in time — beyond junior year or even sophomore year, instead harkening all the way back to freshman year. Back when the six of them were a bunch of awkward teenagers who met each other in detention, forging an unshakeable bond during their battle against eldritch corn monsters. Adaine had been right there with them that entire year, a nervous, anxious, panicking mess, yet filled with a spitfire that Riz admired.

Even so, they weren’t the only people she met, nor were they the only ones she befriended. It wasn’t like Adaine ever told them much about her other friend, the wizard she met outside their party — the Bad Kids — but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that it could be no one else but the scrawny, blue dragonborn she constantly studied with — Oisin Hakinvar, as Riz eventually found out, digging up information on him when he had some free time.

The first time Riz actually met him, though, was when they were all stuck in jail.

He had scarcely slept at all during their imprisonment. It wasn’t like Riz slept much at all to begin with, but the weeks they spent trapped in jail was on a complete other wavelength; he kept his senses constantly alert, ears pricked for the slightest hint of noise, eyes darting around for any opportunity to escape. Riz had noticed Oisin’s entrance before Adaine did, heard him before she even saw him; his ears flicked at the sound of clawed feet thudding against the hard ground, picking up on the softer sound of a tail swishing from side to side.

“Adaine?” he heard the dragonborn call, as he came to a stop outside her cell.

All throughout their conversation, Riz had kept his eyes wide open, his attention trained on the words they traded with each other. His heart thumped with uncertainty with each passing second, with each word uttered — could they trust him? Their antics had landed them in jail, after all, which didn’t bode well. Their most recent battle found them double-crossed by someone they thought they could trust. It had been that festering wariness that spurred Riz to open his mouth, to call out to Oisin, saying, “So you’re Adaine’s friend, huh?” because no matter how much Adaine liked this guy, regarding him as a friend, Riz couldn’t trust him.

But what had started as a simple distrust borne out of the fear of being betrayed twice quickly twisted into something sharper — a stabbing uncertainty, like a knife jammed between his ribs, piercing fear and something ugly into the depths of his heart. It hadn’t escaped his notice — the tufts of smoke that spilled from Oisin’s jaw, the sparks of magic that danced between his claws. The way he’d snapped at Adaine, voice sharp, with a snarl more beast than man. Even now, years later, Riz still remembers his words, remembers the way they lodged within his chest, striking him with the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

“I can’t just— sit back and wait for you to get out.” Riz had snuck closer to the bars of his cell, heart hammering in his chest as he watched the dragonborn pace back and forth. A clawed hand curled around the warded bar, knuckles clenching tight. “I hate seeing you in there, all locked up,” Oisin had snarled. “It’s not fair— you shouldn’t be in there, you should be—”

With me, Riz realised, filling in the gaps where Oisin could not.

Needless to say, it hadn’t been a very good first impression. Riz hadn’t relaxed until long after Oisin was gone, lying on his cot and running those words he heard through his head. It had taken him the night to figure out why it left him utterly revolted, especially when his friends found nothing wrong; his heart had thumped uneasily, and bile had churned in his stomach.

Oisin’s words were possessive, claiming; a hostile aggression had sparked through the dragonborn’s body, only tempered by Adaine’s presence, by her words. There was ultimately just something about Oisin’s snarls, his agitation, the way he moved with a sharp restlessness, that shook Riz to his very core.

It had taken Riz a good while longer to realise it was because he recognised it.

It was the same reason why he blew off Biz Glitterdew’s fingers with no mercy. Why he tackled the mystery of Penny’s disappearance with such a one-track mind, refusing to let up on her throughout the entire year. It was the same reason why he constantly kept an eye on his friends, wanting to make sure they were fine; why he threw all his inhibitions to the wayside and killed Kalvaxus with such savage barbarity. Sinking into your instincts, protecting what you loved and ripping apart what you hated — for however much Riz held himself together, there were moments where his goblin lineage would slip through, a hiss spilling out as he battled the urge to rip something to shreds.

Those instincts were— stupid. They were stupid. Riz didn’t even like Adaine in that way, not in the way Oisin so clearly liked her, and in the way she liked him. It didn’t stop his heart from hammering as he stared down visions of them both together, sappy and domestic, in the thick of the Forest of the Nightmare King, as Baron whispered cruel words to him and Riz realised that Adaine could leave him. It didn’t stop him from glaring at Oisin upon their return from Sylvaire, claws digging into his palms as Adaine talked to him, because the possibility of losing his best friend, childish as it felt, was still far too raw and hard for him to back off.

It was different from the others, Riz realised, when he gave it more thought. Because Ayda had weaved herself into the group. Tracker was practically one of them. They had all cheered on Gorgug in his pursuit of Zelda back then, because she liked him and he liked her, but she wasn’t hostile to the rest of his friends. But Oisin Hakinvar regarded the rest of them like they barely existed, curt in his attempts to be cordial. Riz had the horrible, nagging feeling that Oisin wanted nothing more than to have Adaine for himself—

And he was right.

“I wanted to be wrong.” The words slip out without thinking, spilling past his lips. They hang in the air around him, thick and suffocating; he swallows the lump in his throat, a sudden weariness pressing down on his shoulders. “You know how badly I wanted to be wrong.”

“I know.” Fabian’s voice is quiet. And he does; Riz had spilled the truth to him one frenzied night, during the thick of Adaine’s cold war against them. He let it all out, the irrational emotions, the illogical instincts — Riz had known for years now that he couldn’t trust Oisin Hakinvar, except he swallowed it down, trying his best to grant Adaine the clemency she so desired. But where had that gotten them? All it had done was push her further into the claws of the beast, her time slowly torn away from her without even realising it.

All he wanted was his best friend back.

A hand comes to rest on his shoulder. “We’ll get her back, Riz,” Fabian promises him, his voice kind. It’s jarring to hear his name instead of the Ball, strange to hear Fabian speak so gently, but maybe all that speaks to the gravity of this entire situation too.

At the very least, Riz hasn’t had to struggle through this distrust alone. He’s grateful for that, if nothing else.

Shutting his eyes, Riz sucks in a deep breath, steadying himself. He shoves all the emotions, the instincts, out of his mind; he can’t let them cloud his judgement, his decisions, no matter how much he desires to go absolutely fucking wild ripping a certain dragonborn’s throat out. With the conspiracy board in hand, he walks back to his briefcase, still left open, and shoves it inside.

The sound of the doorknob jiggling echoes through the air as he snaps the latches of his briefcase shut. For one, brief moment, head whipping up to stare at the door with wide eyes, Riz’s mind runs wild with the worst case scenarios — a certain halfling breaking in to steal his stuff, a certain dragonborn showing up to take him out, or even a certain elf—

He doesn’t let himself finish that thought.

“Uh… guys? Is there a reason why the door’s locked?” At the sound of Gorgug’s muffled voice from the other side of the door, Riz lets out a sigh of relief, practically sagging where he stands.

He ignores the concerned look Fabian fixes him with in favour of grabbing his briefcase and hurrying over. “It locks from the inside,” Riz explains as he unlocks the door, opening it to reveal Gorgug hovering there, slightly bewildered. Stepping out, Riz nods at Gorgug, before glancing over at Fabian. “You ready to head over?” he asks, beckoning his friend to join them.

In a flash, the worry lines vanish from Fabian’s face, his expression smoothing out. “Yeah,” he replies with his usual air of casualness, walking over to join the rest of them. Despite that, Riz can still see it — the flicker of concern in his grey eye as his gaze drifts towards Riz.

“Let’s go.”

“Finally!” Fig yells as Riz cracks open the door, pushing his way into Adaine’s bedroom. The archdevil leans forward, teetering dangerously at the edge of Adaine’s bunk bed, eyes blazing with impatience. “What took you guys so long?”

Jerking his thumb at Gorgug, Fabian says, “Gorgug had to piss.”

“Sorry,” Gorgug adds.

“Well, at least you’re finally here.” Hopping off of Adaine’s desk, Kristen makes her way over to them, arms crossed. Her smile is strained. “Turns out there was a lot of stuff Adaine was hiding from us.”

A cold chill trickles down Riz’s spine. Biting back his anxiety, he nods at Kristen, steadying his resolve. “Show it to us,” he tells her — and they do.

Adaine’s bedroom is a ransacked mess as all of them walk around, listening to Fig and Kristen go back and forth, voices overlapping as they try to explain their findings. Her wardrobe doors hang wide open, half her clothes piled in a heap on the ground; some of her drawers are still partially opened, an assortment of objects — all forged from different materials, be it cloth, metal, or paper — scattered about haphazardly. Riz spies a small mountain of fine-nib pens sitting on Adaine’s desk, all pulled out from somewhere; he bites the inside of his cheek at the sight of a card piled under them, recognising it as the card that must have come from Oisin.

“This is the weirdest thing we probably found,” Fig says as Kristen reaches into one of the open drawers, pulling out a thick leather tome. As Kristen shoves it into Riz’s hands, Fig leans over the side of the bunk bed, one hand pressed against her cheek as she adds, “I’m pretty goddamn sure that’s Oisin’s spellbook.”

His hand stills at the sound of that name, the realisation of what, exactly, he’s holding hitting him at once. “Wait,” Riz breathes, head whipping up to stare at Fig and Kristen in confusion. “Seriously?”

“Yep.” Leaning back against the wall, Kristen gestures at him, at the tome in his hands. “Just look at it. Looks like the thing he was casting with during Frostyfaire.”

“So you remember that, and not Adaine’s handwriting?” Gorgug says, mildly bewildered.

Kristen gesticulates, before she shrugs. “Details,” she says, dismissing the question. “Anyways, it doesn’t look like anything Adaine would have.” Crossing her arms again, she adds, “I’m no language nerd like Adaine is, but those runes on the cover… that’s probably Draconic, right?”

Glancing back down, Riz studies the cover carefully, narrowing his eyes. He smooths his thumb over the leather, high-quality and luxurious, observing the gold and jewels gilded into the cover, the ancient script etched into the leather. He knows a couple more languages than most, able to speak four different tongues, but the scratchy runes before him are lost to him.

“None of us know Comprehend Languages, right?” Riz asks, looking up. The dead silence that follows his question, along with everyone glancing around at each other expectantly, tells him what he needs to know. “Nevermind,” he sighs, shaking it off.

He opens the book, beginning to flip through thick parchment pages. Magic radiates off the paper in spades. A sudden cough catches his ear, drawing his attention back to Kristen. “Fig and I took a look through already—”

“Yeah, and it’s’s all in fucking Draconic.” Fig’s voice cuts through the air, sullen and annoyed. Sure enough, as Riz skims through a couple of pages, he wrinkles his nose; every single page of this spellbook is written in the script of dragons. “So even if we wanted to, we can’t fucking decipher any of it.”

“But why would Adaine have his spellbook?” Fabian sounds utterly flummoxed — not that Riz can blame him. He gestures at the book as he says, “Wouldn’t he, like, not be able to cast without it? He’s a wizard.”

“And Adaine has spells of her own too,” Gorgug points out, voice peppered with just as much confusion as everyone else. The half-orc scrunches up his face in thought, before he says, hesitantly, “Did he… have his spellbook with him, actually? When was the last time any of us saw him?”

Last week, Riz thinks, the memory rising to mind. Another attempt made on his part to corner Adaine, only for her to Misty Step away and hurry off, joining Oisin. The recollection is tainted by his frustration, his anger, his lingering fear of losing her, but if Riz racks his mind enough, strains hard and focuses on the details he hadn’t paid attention to…

He’s pretty sure Oisin had his spellbook — strapped by his side as it always was.

“He still has it,” Riz finally says, snapping the book shut. Studying it closely, Riz can see the minor details that clue him in on something important — the leather of the cover is pristine, not worn in any capacity, and the pages had crinkled and cracked as he flipped through them, like a book that hadn’t been read before. “I think this is a replica,” Riz says, glancing between all of his friends.

“But why would she have a copy of it?” asks Fabian — and that, Riz doesn’t know. The silence that follows his question tells him that none of them know; there are far too many questions tangled around Adaine and Oisin, things that she never told them about.

“I don’t know,” Riz finally says, in response to the question hanging in the air. He exhales, moving to put the tome to the side, placing it next to the mountain of pens on Adaine’s desk. “I’ll try to look at it later.”

“What, you know Draconic?” Fig asks, her words dripping with incredulity.

Riz winces. “I— I don’t, but—” He shakes his head, breaking off. “Anyways, that’s not important now.” Pulling his focus back to them, Riz asks, “Did you guys find anything else?”

“Just a crapton of jewellery,” Fig answers, narrowing her eyes in the direction of the drawers. Sure enough, when Riz follows her gaze, he sees an open box, tons of assorted jewellery cluttered all around it. Walking over, Riz picks up one piece — a pendant with a sapphire jewel, simple yet elegant. Something about it makes his stomach churn uneasily, and when Fig mutters, “None of it’s cursed,” Riz turns towards her, his attention piqued.

“It’s not?”

“Kristen did Remove Curse.” With a flick of her wrist in Kristen’s direction, Fig slouches over the side of the bed, annoyance flickering through her red eyes. “Nothing happened! No curse got expelled!”

Something lingers on his mind. Lowering his voice, Riz turns to Fabian, beckoning him over. “Can you look through the jewellery for me?”

He blinks at him. “I mean— sure, of course, but…” Fabian’s brow dips down in mild confusion. “What am I looking for?”

“Just…” Riz hesitates, gaze shifting to the pile of precious accessories, gilded metals and glittering jewels. “Let me know if you sense anything weird,” Riz finally says, all but shoving the pendant into Fabian’s hand. “I need to go look at everything else.”

He leaves Fabian there, puzzling over the jewellery, while Fig and Kristen finish rounding up the rest of their findings. It’s nothing much, all things Riz kind of expected — Adaine has diamonds stashed at the back of her wardrobe, expensive components for school tucked away in hidden drawers. There are clothes in her wardrobe that neither Fig nor Kristen can ever remember buying with her — “The day Adaine goes clothes shopping alone is the day hell freezes over,” Fig remarks drily, while Kristen nods in agreement — and a treasure trove of savings stashed away under one of her floorboards, which Gorgug notices and pries loose.

What sticks out to Riz most, though, is what’s there. His eyes catch onto it as he looks around — Adaine’s jacket is draped over the back of her chair, and that’s damning in and of itself because Riz can’t remember the last time she went somewhere without it. Her sword leans against the wall, a thin layer of dust veiling the hilt, and her components pouch lies abandoned on the floor, as though haphazardly tossed to the side.

“Why didn’t she take any of that with her?” Riz asks, pointing out the anomalies.

Fig shrugs, irritation wrinkling her expression. “How would I know?” she bites out, her tone harsh. “I’m not a fucking mind reader.”

“Only her bag’s gone,” Kristen points out, flicking a finger at the wall. There’s a row of hooks hanging there; the farmost one is empty, and Riz faintly remembers seeing her bag hanging there, a constant presence with every visit he makes. “So she took something,” Kristen says with a shrug. Despite her nonchalance, her voice is terse, her shoulders tense. Her lips curl into a wry smile. “Then again, Fig and I have no fucking clue what she took.”

“Her spindle-y wand’s still here.” Riz’s gaze flicks to Gorgug at the sound of his voice, watching him turn over the spindle-shaped wand in his hand — the Spindle of Fate, if Riz remembers right. He recognises it well by this point; Adaine has used it numerous times throughout their battles, altering doomed situations to have better outcomes. He still remembers the last time she used it on him at Frostyfaire, shattering a spell that was flung straight at him, repelling it before it could do Riz any harm. The memory makes his chest ache.

Now’s not the time for that, Riz tells himself, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath. Letting loose a sigh, he opens his eyes, gaze flicking between all four of his friends. “Is that everything?”

Fig and Kristen share a look. “More or less, yeah,” Kristen answers with another tense-shouldered shrug.

“Then I guess we should talk about it then.” Finally setting his briefcase on the ground, Riz drops to the floor, unlatching the handles and swinging it open. He reaches in, hands closing around the square edges of a corkboard; pulling back, he drags the latest iteration of the Adaine conspiracy board out, leaning back slightly at the sudden force.

A sudden yelp. “What the hell?” Fig cries out; when Riz glances at her, her eyes are blown wide open, utterly bewildered. Her grip on the side of Adaine’s bed frame is white-knuckled, her hands trembling slightly. “When did you make that?”

“The board?” At Fig’s nod, Riz pauses for a moment, thinking it over. “I think Fabian and I made this one like, a month ago?”

“What do you mean, this one?”

“I have more.” Putting the board aside, where Gorgug swiftly picks it up to look at it closely, Riz reaches back into his briefcase, yanking out the previous version, and then the next. “I brought these too,” he says, a little breathless as both Fig and Kristen gawk at him. He shrugs, suddenly abashed. “Y’know. Just in case.”

A shadow falls over Kristen’s face, bewildered expression softening into something almost… sad. “You’ve really known all along, haven’t you?” she says quietly.

It is those words that cut through his soul more than anything else so far, the lingering implications unsaid. You were right all along, weren’t you? And we didn’t listen. We didn’t pay attention.

“...I just think it would help if we—” He sets down the boards, gesturing at them lamely. “If we went over all of it,” Riz says. “From the top.”

It’s okay that you didn’t know, he thinks, putting every ounce of that into his words as he glances at Fig and Kristen with what he hopes is reassurance. I’m just glad you’re here now.

The girls share another glance. Fig averts her gaze, struck by a sudden vulnerability that makes Riz’s chest ache, while Kristen smiles at him, a small, tenuous thing. “That would help,” she says, with a brief nod. “That would help a lot.”

He tells them everything he knows — them being Fig, Gorgug, and Kristen. Fabian knows all of it already, Riz’s partner in crime all throughout the school year, but the others don’t know the full extent of everything they’ve dug up, all the little details, habits, evidence they were able to find.

He begins with the point it started. “It had to be the night of the party,” Riz says, claw dragging along one trail of string, leading to a haphazard scrawl of what he remembered from that day, the picture he snuck while Adaine was out playing beer pong with Oisin. It makes his chest hurt to look at it now, a blurry picture he snuck on his crystal while she wasn’t looking — Adaine, leaning back against her chair, the hands pressed against her lips unable to hide the massive, beaming grin spreading across her cheeks. Her eyes looking ahead, distracted by the game of beer pong before her, all while people milled about, chattering and partying.

He shoves down the misery he feels seeing it, tucks it away for later. Now’s not the time to dwell; he has to stay focused. “It’s just weird, isn’t it?” Riz stresses. “One moment, she was so adamantly against Oisin giving her anything, and the next, they’re— what, dating?”

“It’s the fact that he dragged her away that’s really weird to me,” Fabian says, and as Riz glances over, he sees his friend stepping over to join him. There are a couple of bracelets wound loosely around his palm, as though he was in the middle of inspecting them. “Like— he shoved me into a beer pong game just so he could drag her away.” His eye narrows, lips pulling taut the way they always do when he talks about it. “And next thing I know, they’re sleeping together in my house, and he’s got the audacity to bitch at me about— about what? Inhospitality?”

“She got her bracelet then too, right?” Gorgug asks, eyes flicking between all of them. “I remember seeing it. I kinda asked her about it, since—” He pauses, before he sighs. “The craftsmanship was nice, and— I dunno.”

“It… is a nice bracelet,” Fig admits, with heaps of reluctance. Her eyes narrow dangerously, spitfire roaring in red irises. “It’s also probably cursed.”

“I thought so too.” Riz traces the scrawl of his handwriting, the bullet point he jotted down — Bracelet: cursed? Adaine’s acting weird. “But now…” He bites his lip. “I don’t know. It might be something else.”

Fig’s words drip with disbelief. “What else could it fucking be? She started acting weird as hell after he gave it to her.”

Twisting around, Riz glances over at Fabian, eyes latching onto the shiny jewellery wrapped around his hand. “Fabian,” he begins, shifting his gaze towards his friend’s face, “did you notice anything weird? With the, uh— jewellery, I mean.”

“Wh— oh.” Furrowing his brows, Fabian shakes his head. “No?” he says, slightly hesitant.

That gives everyone pause. Riz notices how Fig and Kristen’s eyes latch onto Fabian, staring at him in surprise. “What do you mean, you didn’t notice anything?” Kristen eventually says, blinking at him. She scrunches her face. “That jewellery’s really sus.”

“Really?” Fabian arches an eyebrow, turning over the bracelets in his hand with renewed interest. “I don’t feel anything. Gorgug, have you tried?”

“Huh?” Gorgug startles, before he blinks. “Oh. Nah, not yet.”

Raising his hand towards him, Fabian asks, “You wanna try?”

“Sure.” A shrug. “Why not?”

Anticipation builds beneath Riz’s skin as he watches them closely, eyes trained on their every movement. He watches Fabian wiggle the bracelets out from his hand, holding them out to Gorgug’s outstretched palm. Riz holds his breath, eyes wide, as Fabian drops the golden jewellery into Gorgug’s hand — and as soon as the gilded accessories make contact with Gorgug’s skin, he sees the way the half-orc flinches.

“Oh,” Gorgug utters, staring at the bracelets. His face contorts slightly, scrunching up. “Oh, that’s—”

“Right?” Fig jerks forward, hands clinging to the side of Adaine’s bed frame for dear life, leaning over as far as she can get. “Kristen and I found it, and we were looking through it, and it’s so fucking weird.”

Fabian’s voice rises, battling against Fig’s cries. “Again, I don’t know what you guys are talking about! It feels— fine to me. Perfectly normal.” Bewilderment seeps in, that one grey eye flicking between all of them. Flinching back slightly, as though a sudden realisation has hit him, Fabian utters, “Why don’t I notice anything wrong with it? Am I cursed?”

Fig’s eyes blow wide. “Shit. Are you cursed? Did he get to you, somehow?”

“Fabian’s not cursed.” As his voice cuts through the air, everyone grows silent. Riz holds himself against their probing stares, as they wait expectantly for an answer. Tracing the clues of the board, Riz says what’s on his mind, a theory that’s been brewing for a good, long while.

“It’s probably dragon madness.”

Silence. Dead silence. Nothing but their eyes boring holes into Riz’s soul, bewilderment and confusion slowly morphing into dread, palpable and thick, like swathes of smoke clogging up the air.

“Oh,” Kristen breathes, the first to break the silence. She’s raised her hand to her lips, struck by some deep horror, her eyes distant as though lost in thought. “Oh, fuck. Oh my god, wait—”

“That’s why Fabian doesn’t have a reaction,” Gorgug interrupts, dark eyes turning to stare at Fabian, as though struck by an epiphany. “He— You got that tattoo. In hell.”

“With the gold.” Fig’s voice trembles.

“Oh,” Fabian utters, eyes widening as it hits him too. His hand flies up, traces the gaudy tattoo wrapped around his neck, inked in gold, the one that reads MAXIMUM LEGEND. “Oh.”

A loud bang echoes through the air, causing Riz to yelp, jolting to his feet. “Fuck!” Kristen curses, her fist trembling where it rests on the dresser-top, and— that’s anger in her voice. Genuine anger, frustration and irritation, annoyed in a way that sounds so unlike her. A hysterical laugh slips out as she throws her head back. “God! This is so—” Swivelling around, she stares at all of them, possessed by some sudden, deadly ire. “Do you know who told us about dragon madness?” Kristen utters, her voice pitching.

Fabian and Gorgug both blanch. Riz glances between them, scrunching his face in confusion. Anxiety thrums deep within his chest. “What?”

“Oh, right, you weren’t there.” With a sharp exhale, Kristen kicks at the floor. “Fucking hell,” she hisses. “Before we left on our spring break trip— you and Fig were gone, remember?”

Fig’s expression darkens. “Yeah,” she mutters. “Possessed.”

“Abducted,” Riz deadpans; the memory is not fun to recall.

Kristen rakes a hand through her hair. “Yeah, so you know who showed up to see Adaine off?” she continues, voice tremulous. “And conveniently got to explain more about dragon madness since Aguefort refused to elaborate?”

It finally clicks. “No fucking way,” Riz whispers.

Kristen grins again — strained, incredulous, sardonic. “Yep,” she says, nodding as Fig lets out a gasp. “The man himself. Fucking— Oisin.” Hands falling to her side, Kristen practically sags as she exhales. “Fuck,” she whispers, all the fight leaving her system, like a ghost being expelled from her body. “It was right in front of us all along.” She shakes her head, slumping to the floor. “So even Greater Restoration wouldn’t have worked. It’s not a curse.”

“But didn’t we break a curse during spring break?” Gorgug asks, confused. “There was that coin curse—”

“That was different.” Kristen pulls her knees against her chest, folding her arms across them. “I think,” she adds, after a pause. “That was a different curse that got spread through a hoard. Dragon madness makes you susceptible to suggestions from the hoard’s owner, except the hoard’s owner was Kalvaxus—”

“Who’s currently in hell,” Fig interrupts, eyes wide. “As a fucking boat.”

“Yeah.” Kristen exhales. “Like, I guess the Nightmare King hijacked the way dragon madness works to make us more susceptible to him? But once we got rid of the curse, everything was fine.”

“And once we gave all the gold away too,” Gorgug points out.

A pained expression comes over Kristen’s face. “God. All the jewellery she’s been wearing. I just thought that was— y’know, gifts. Him being nice. But it was—”

“Dragon madness,” Riz finishes, with a terse nod. His chest aches as he watches Kristen bury her head in her hands, letting out a muffled screech. Stepping towards her, he tries to say, “You couldn’t have known, Kristen—”

“Yeah, but I should have.” Head snapping up, Kristen glares— not at him, but past him, her green eyes unfocused and cloudy. “I freaking live with her. We go to school together.” Her voice trembles. “Fig and I literally helped her pick out her jewellery before.”

“Don’t remind me,” Fig hisses. When Riz looks over at her, he sees her ducking her head, eyes trained pointedly away from him and everyone else.

His mouth is dry. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Riz reaches out, resting a hand on Kristen’s shoulder. “You couldn’t have known,” he repeats, again, firmly this time; out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Gorgug nodding in agreement. “None of us knew,” Riz stresses, curling his fingers tightly — reassuringly, he hopes. “I didn’t even realise it until recently. It’s just—”

The words catch in his throat, choking him up. “It’s just fucked up,” Riz finishes weakly, biting back another wave of that feral fury. Indignance burns within him at the prospect of it — the slow, gradual process of draping Adaine underneath some draconic madness, pulling her deeper and deeper under his influence until she withdrew completely. Until she regarded Riz and Fabian with cold fury, lips twisting into a snarl at the sight of them. Until six became five, and Adaine left them in all but name — except based on the letter of withdrawal she filled in, she might be working on that too.

Silence slips into the room. For a moment, none of them speak.

Riz slides down to the floor, still patting Kristen’s shoulder with his hand, studying her expression. It makes his chest twist to see her stare off vacantly, eyes distant, lost in the thick of her own thoughts. It’s not your fault, Riz thinks with a pang. He doesn’t know if she can hear his thoughts, the words he’s struggling to say in the tense silence around them, but she barely reacts.

Finally, someone breaks the quiet. “So, uh—” Gorgug begins, shifting slightly as he crosses his arms. “Dragon madness.” He pauses, before he presses on. “Do we… know what it does? Like, as a whole? I know we talked about how it makes them susceptible, but is that it?”

Exhaling, Riz pulls his hand away from Kristen, resting his arms against his knees. “That’s all the information we have.”

“More like, that’s all the information we need.” Fig’s words are barbed, needle-sharp, pricked with bubbling poison. She shifts where she sits, arms resting along the side frame of Adaine’s bunk bed. “Adaine’s susceptible to Oisin,” she says, every word simmering with anger. “That tells us everything, doesn’t it?”

“So if he told her to do something…” Fabian begins, face pained.

“She wouldn’t be able to say no,” Kristen finishes, finally speaking up. Exhaustion bleeds into her words, a bone-deep weariness that resonates with Riz, pulsing through his very soul. She shifts slightly, leaning her head back as she says, “Like how the Nightmare King took over us— Fig couldn’t do anything. Fabian couldn’t either.”

“I couldn’t too,” Riz says, shrinking slightly at the memory. It’s not one he likes to think back upon at all — alone in his office, staring down a ghastly figure in the mirror, one whose head twisted in impossible angles and taunted him with words of a romance partner. “I mean, I… I was conscious, but he still came after me. He sent Baron.”

A sharp, guttural hiss slashes through the air. Riz’s head jerks upwards, eyes wide as he watches Fig slam her fist against the wooden side of the bed. She’s hunched over, curling slightly into herself, and— She’s trembling, Riz realises, heart aching at the sight. It’s the same agony he’s felt many times over himself — anger and helplessness coalescing until all he felt like doing was smashing something off his table and letting out a guttural screech.

“God,” Fig rasps, her voice scarcely a whisper. “I feel so fucking stupid. I should’ve known. I should’ve known.” Regret and guilt seeps into her words — a byproduct of her ignorance, the fact that she took so long to come around. It had taken the fight in the parking lot, of Oisin snapping and trying to tear Fabian’s throat out, for her to finally realise, in sickening clarity, that something was very, very wrong.

Riz has had to listen to her beat herself up about it numerous times. It still hurts each time he hears it.

“We should have known,” Kristen eventually says, voice wavering with something sad yet kind. She tilts her head, resting it against her own shoulder; Riz sees the way her jaw sets. “I wanted to believe that Adaine knew what she was getting herself into.”

A beat of silence.

“I guess,” Kristen murmurs, “in the end, even she didn’t realise it herself.”

“He dragon madnessed her.” Fig’s voice shakes harder, burning with rage. Her fingers clench tightly; Riz flinches at the sound of a crack, at the fractures splintering the wood underneath Fig’s grip. “How could he do that to her?!” Raising her voice, Fig snarls, “And why— how did Adaine accept? She knew about it—”

“Love makes you do stupid shit,” another voice cuts in, like a cooling balm against searing heat. “It also makes you forget about things.”

Gorgug leans against Adaine’s desk, biting out a sigh. He tucks his hands away in his hoodie pockets, allowing for the room to fall into a steady silence, before he speaks. “I think it’s easy for us to say, like… oh, Adaine should’ve known, because we did this before. But…” Gorgug hesitates, something like pity coming over his gaze. “They were friends, y’know? I feel like we’re all forgetting that.”

The quiet that follows his words is deafening.

“...Anyways,” Gorgug continues, brushing past that and moving on, “I don’t know about you guys, but if one of you were a dragon and gave me a gift, I’d take it. Because you’re my friend, and I’d trust you.” He exhales audibly, breath spilling through his teeth, tusks poking out. “Even if Adaine remembered about dragon madness,” he says, “do you really think she’d expect it from her friend? Someone she trusted?”

It’s the truth, spilled out in the open for all of them to hear. A hot shame slinks through Riz’s system, forcing him to bite his lower lip and tear his gaze away, staring pointedly off to the side. He feels his tail wrap around him, curling tight against his body.

What Gorgug said is right. For so long, Riz has focused on the suspicious aspects of Oisin, wondering how someone like Adaine could slip and fall so deeply into his clutches, spiral without realising anything was wrong. And yet, for all the distrust Riz holds against Oisin, for as much as he doesn’t like the dragonborn, for all the uneasiness their group, five of them, began to feel as more time passed and Adaine drifted away—

Adaine and Oisin were friends — indubitably, unquestionably. She trusted him, even if Riz didn’t — and that realisation sends a flicker of anger through him on her behalf, because Oisin took that trust and broke it behind her back, pretending that everything was fine while breaking boundaries Adaine would have never ordinarily let him cross.

An annoyed sigh. “I fucking hate that you’re right,” Fig grumbles, grimacing from her position up top.

Gorgug shrugs. “I don’t really like it much either,” he admits, pulling back. “I mean, I kinda wish I could just— kill him? Chop his head off. But Adaine probably wouldn’t want that.”

“She’ll probably want to kill him herself once we pull her out of this,” Fabian says, with the barest hint of a grin. And it’s that simple word, that use of once, that suddenly fills Riz with just a bit more of that blooming hope, soft and warm — that they will get Adaine back, break through this madness, pull her back home, where she can be safe and sound. With a snort, Fabian leans over, prodding Gorgug’s arm playfully. “Better start lining up to kill him.”

“I’m cutting,” Fig announces, slamming her hands down. “I want to kill him myself.”

“Ditto,” Kristen mutters, with a wry grin.

The mood relaxes, some of the tension dissolving. Not all of it is gone, and Riz doesn’t think it’ll ever be gone — not until they get Adaine back, and even after then, they have to make sure she’s fine, that she’s herself again, and that Oisin Hakinvar is nowhere near her, no matter what. But Gorgug’s words, wisely spoken, with far more emotional intelligence than any of them can muster right now, stuck in the heat of their anger and worry, eases some of that lingering fear, brings them hope.

“So we’re done dwelling on how we fucked up, right?” Gorgug asks, head darting around at all of them. “We gotta focus on getting Adaine back.”

“Yeah.” Riz scurries back over to the conspiracy board, returning his focus to it. “There’s still more stuff I haven’t talked about—”

Fig’s voice pitches. “What do you mean, there’s still more?!”

“So much shit happened this year!” Riz protests, throwing up his hands as Fig leans dangerously over the side of the bed, eyes blown wide. He drags a hand down his face, suppressing a hiss. “Don’t— don’t lean like that, you’re gonna fall!”

“I can’t see shit!”

“Then come down!”

“But it’s comfy up here!”

Throwing his hands up, Riz throws in the towel. There’s no winning against a hyper-stubborn Fig. “Anyways,” he says, a little too loudly, eager to move along, “do you guys remember the nemesis ward?”

Kristen narrows her eyes. “Oh, for god’s sake—”

“That was him too, wasn’t it?” asks Gorgug. His mild tone does nothing to hide the way his gaze darkens.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Riz’s claw loops around the relevant string, trailing towards the evidence. “I’ll make this quick,” he says, sticking up his finger. “One: There was evidence.”

Fig stares at him incredulously. “And you didn’t tell us?”

“You guys were ganging up on me!” Riz defends furiously, blazing back with a counterpoint. “All of you were like— no, it can’t be Oisin, that’s too weird, he wouldn’t do that.” He flicks his claw against the board as he utters, with just a hint of gleeful satisfaction, “Well guess what? There was evidence!”

He lays it out for them, whatever few clues he managed to find. The lingering trace of a powerful conjuration spell. Items knocked over along the ground, as though accidentally hit by something slithering and long. Scrapes along the edges of her wooden furniture, splinters poking out of the edges. And most damning of all—

“I found a goddamn scale.” Riz holds it up for all of them to see — a tiny, blue scale, sturdy yet small, chipped slightly at the corner. That had been his biggest find, sneaking back into Adaine’s room while the rest of them were preoccupied at breakfast, counting on Fabian to cover for him. He’d snuck around, digging everywhere, and at last, he had found it — blood-flecked, having fallen underneath her desk. How it got there, Riz doesn’t know — but it was fresh. Like the final nail in the coffin, the scale had cemented it; there could be no one else that set off the wards save for one dragonborn.

Fig’s voice grows uneasy, confusion fogging her words. “But why would Oisin try to kill Adaine?”

“He didn’t,” another voice cuts in, answering in Riz’s place. Briefly, Fabian meets Riz’s eye, the two of them sharing a nod before Fabian presses on. “The Ball asked Aelwyn about it. The wards, that is.”

Riz still remembers it well — the conversation he and Fabian had with Aelwyn. They had texted her about the nemesis ward that same day, receiving an incoming call as soon as they mentioned that something had happened with Adaine. The very first thing that came through his crystal as soon as Riz picked up was a hurried, desperate, “Is she okay?”

“She’s not hurt, if that’s what you mean,” Riz answered, switching the call to speaker so Fabian could hear. They were at Riz’s office, heading over after leaving Mordred to discuss Riz’s findings in peace.

A sharp exhale crackled through the receiver. “Oh, thank fucking god.” Aelwyn’s voice had sharpened then, dipping into her trademark frigidity. Even through the call, Riz could practically imagine her narrowing her eyes, her lips pressed thin, as she spoke. “Tell me everything.”

“We have to ask something first,” Riz said, standing his ground.

“Oh?”

“What does the nemesis ward protect against?”

Fabian’s voice carries through the air as he continues to speak, prattling off what Aelwyn had told them all that time ago. “Being, like— physically injured isn’t necessary for the wards to go off,” he explains, shifting uncomfortably. “The nemesis ward could have interpreted… being taken as a form of harm.”

“Which would make sense,” Riz adds, “because remember: Frostyfaire was the day before.”

He doesn’t need to spell it out for them. All of them remember it well — the absolute carnage wrecked across the Thistlespring lawn upon their return from the vulture dimension. Riz remembers the trail of destruction, narrowing his eyes as they investigated around the wreckage of the stage. Miraculously, the strange formation of wires and connectors underneath was intact — yet judging by the seared grass, the Lichtenberg figures spreading across the ground, the debris as the stage collapsed into itself, it was only just barely.

He still remembers the look of pure hatred in Oisin’s eyes as they led Adaine away. It had taken Riz all his willpower not to hurl himself back in there, to scratch Oisin’s eyes out because he didn’t deserve them.

Leaning back against her arms, Kristen’s face twists, a cross between disgust and bewilderment. “Holy shit,” she mutters. She presses a hand against her forehead before saying, drily, “I’m guessing there’s still more?”

“Unfortunately,” Riz admits with a sigh.

But before Riz can get to the rest of the board, to everything else — the acceleration of Adaine’s spiral, the blatant display of possessiveness Oisin put on, hell, even Kalvaxus’ observation of another dragon’s hoard on her, the thing Riz had least expected to hear while in hell—

His ears prick.

The sound of footsteps thumping against the stairs, rounding the spiral staircase up Adaine’s tower. The sound of the doorknob twisting open, hinges squealing as the door swings in.

Whirling around, Riz stares, crouching where he is, at Jawbone, standing in the doorway, one hand still wrapped around the doorknob. His eyes sweep over all of them — he looks tired, Riz realises, with shadows underneath his eyes, and his fur all mussed up — before the corner of his mouth curls up in a weak smile. “Figured I’d find you guys here.”

“Uhh— hey Jawbone.” Raising her hand, Kristen gives Jawbone a halfhearted wave. “It’s totally not what it looks like.”

“I’m not gonna rat you kids out for ditching school,” Jawbone remarks. Immediately, all of them relax. “I’m not s’posed to be here right now, but—” Breaking off, Jawbone exhales, slouching slightly. “Well.”

Riz leans forward, nervous energy prickling underneath his skin. “Well what?”

“I brought these back for you guys.” Reaching into his bag, Jawbone rummages about the satchel before pulling something out — a thin stack of identical papers, grid-lined with the Aguefort logo at the top. Riz’s eyes widen, his breath snagging in his throat as he recognises it for what it is — their report cards. “S’why I was looking for you kids at school,” Jawbone continues, as Riz rises to his feet, scampering forward to grab it from him.

Something about this sits uneasily with him, a nagging sensation of wrongness nipping at his gut. Biting the inside of his cheek, Riz takes the report cards from Jawbone, furrowing his brows at the way Jawbone fixes him with a strange look, one that Riz can’t read. “Thanks,” Riz says quietly, before heading back over to his friends.

“I don’t get it.” Fabian narrows his eye, gaze flicking around the room. “What the fuck does our report cards matter? Adaine’s missing.” The sharp inhale that pierces the air doesn’t go unnoticed by Riz, ears pricked as he hands all the report cards out. Crossing his arms, Fabian leans back with a scoff. “This is, like— the least of our con—”

“No fucking way.”

Everyone stills. Riz stiffens, slowly raising his head in the direction of the sound — towards Kristen. Her fingers clench around her report card, crinkling the paper at the edges; she trembles as she stares at the page, green eyes practically bulging, a look of sheer disbelief crossing her expression.

“What?” Fabian shifts, suddenly sounding a lot more uncertain, a lot more worried. He steps over, brows pressing together. “What happened—”

His eye widens, and a sharp hiss spills past his teeth. “What?!”

“What?” Fig demands, clambering across the bed and scurrying down the stairs. Riz is already on the move, and so is Gorgug, the three of them rushing to join their stricken friends. Dread pools in Riz’s gut as he closes the gap between them, each ticking second stretching out forever. “You guys are scaring me,” Fig complains, a quiver to her words. “What’s happening—”

And then they see it. All three of them see it.

FAILURE, written next to the Cleric track on Kristen’s report card. A note at the bottom, reading a line that stops Riz’s heart:

Student will be expelled.

“Fucking Bobby Dawn!” Fig curses, gritting her teeth as the five of them crowd the hallway after an ill-fated attempt at reasoning with the cleric teacher. A hiss slips loose without Riz realising it, his anger boiling raw in his veins. “This is so not fair,” Fig snaps, a sentiment they all agree with, nodding along. “This is so not fucking fair!”

As soon as they had processed the contents of Kristen’s report card — which only enraged Riz even further, because Kristen wasn’t even doing bad; her work had been described as exemplary, her spellcasting prodigious, and yet she was being expelled on the grounds of her goddess dying, the concessions Yolanda Badgood made being removed — they had all hurried to Aguefort. Jawbone had helped to drive them over, and had come along with them as Riz camped outside Bobby Dawn’s office with Fabian, Fig, and Gorgug while Kristen went inside to reason with the teacher.

It had, predictably, gone nowhere. Not even Kristen’s lies of returning to Helio, of rejoining her former faith, had been enough to sway the bigoted old man in any capacity.

“What the fuck do we even do?” Fabian’s question goes unanswered, hanging around them all. The situation has gone from bad to worse — now, not only is Adaine gone, Kristen’s about to get kicked out of Aguefort too. And while Riz’s mind has been focusing on Adaine as of late, of all the weirdness surrounding her, he still remembers enough of everything else to know what that would mean: The rest of them would be moved to pass/fail, and even worse, Kipperlilly Copperkettle would be handed the election win.

In the end, it is not one of them who speaks up first, but rather Jawbone. “Let’s get to my office,” he says, voice carefully calm. When Riz shoots him a confused glance, Jawbone only tilts his head. “I promise I’ll talk to you kids more then.”

That’s how all five of them find themselves crowding the guidance counsellor’s office — a rather cosy place, all things considered, with comfortable, plush chairs, rugs across the floor, and an assortment of snacks and drinks all to the side. There’s a desk cluttered with files and paperwork, along with a turned-off computer monitor, and as the five of them disperse throughout the room, finding various places to sit, Jawbone leans against his desk, studying the rest of them with an inscrutable look in his eyes.

Eventually, after they’ve all taken a seat somewhere, Jawbone begins to speak. “You guys are probably wondering what’s going on right now. Especially with Kristen’s report card, and all.”

“Is there really no way to fix this?” Kristen leans forward from where sits, perched on the arm of the chair Fig is sprawled out in, the archdevil kicking her legs over the other side of the chair. Her green eyes flash dangerously. “There’s no grounds for this, Jawbone.”

“Yeah!” Fabian’s voice joins in, seated in the other armchair. He leans forward, lips pulled into a frown. “There’s no grounds!”

“There’s no grounds!” Fig yells.

“There’s no grounds, Jawbone!” Riz shouts, a hiss spilling out as a sudden flare of fury bursts within him.

“I know!” Jawbone bursts out, snapping for one brief moment. The sound of that, rare as it is, stuns them all into silence. Pressing a hand against his forehead, Jawbone squeezes his eyes shut. “I know,” he repeats, anger ebbing into a collected calm. “Believe me, I do.” He opens his eyes, gazing wearily across the room. “I was looking into this before I went to get you guys.” A sigh. “I guess I just hoped that challenging the verdict would’ve worked.”

“Well, it didn’t.” Kristen smiles, sardonic and sharp. “Fucking Bobby Dawn. I’m going to key his car.”

“Right there with you,” Fig cheers, reaching out with a fist. Kristen meets it, the two of them bumping their knuckles.

“Please don’t key his car,” Jawbone says, levelling the two girls with a hard stare. “That’s only going to give him more reasons to try and expel you.”

“Only if I get caught,” Kristen says, with a shit-eating smile. But against Jawbone’s stern stare, narrowing his eyes as his ear flicks, Kristen leans back, conceding with a sulk. “Fine,” she mutters, rolling her eyes.

From where he crouches on the ground, hands hugging his knees, Riz watches as Jawbone takes a deep breath, chest rising and falling as he pinches the bridge of his snout. “I was talking with Mazey about everything earlier,” he begins. “Stopped by her office.” He tilts his head at Fabian. “She was trying to get a hold of you, Fabian.”

“Wh—?” Reaching for his pocket, Fabian pulls out his crystal, the light of the screen illuminating his face. He winces. “Oh, shit.”

“Why’d you put your crystal on do not disturb again?” Fig complains, twisting around in her chair to lean forward. It’s a convoluted pose to be in, legs twisted weirdly over the arm of the chair, elbows pressed against the cushion. “I thought you swore off of it after the time your mom called?”

“It’s— I—” Shaking his head, Fabian protests, “I was trying to focus! I didn’t want to— y’know, get distracted?”

“Anyways,” Jawbone says, pressing on, “turns out that Mazey was looking into all your grades. Since they were coming in and getting finalised. S’why I got all that information. Which—” Scratching the back of his head, Jawbone shrugs. “I probably shouldn’t have it, ‘cause these are slated to go out— what, Wednesday? But then again, these are some weird times.”

Riz knows what he means. It’s the unspoken thing hanging in the air, pressing down on all of them, the missing presence of their sixth. Weird times is an understatement for this, frankly — but then again, how else do you begin to describe any of this?

Fucked up times, his mind supplies. Unfair bullshit times. Stupid, possessive, territorial dragons trying to rip away your best friend-times.

“So we ended up talking ‘bout options,” Jawbone continues. “You guys have such good grades that you can definitely take the Last Standard examination.” He pauses, ears pressing against his head as his face scrunches up slightly. “It’s your only real option at this point.”

“In,” Riz and Fabian say at the exact same time.

“Thought so,” Jawbone says, letting loose a sigh. “Not like you kids have much of a choice. It’s just—”

He cuts himself off, glancing to the side. A shadow falls over his eyes, something inscrutable — and yet, Riz knows what it is. There’s only one thing that could elicit this much uncertainty in Jawbone, this much strangeness. His demeanour is off, more tense and stern than he usually is, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why.

The words slip out before he can catch himself. “This is about Adaine, isn’t it?”

A sharp exhale. “Yeah,” Jawbone replies, slumping forward slightly. His fingers tap restlessly on the table behind him, nails drumming along the wood. “It’s a real mess of a situation, if I’m being honest here. Adaine’s missing right now, so if you guys take the Last Stand without her, there’s gonna be an immediate penalty.”

“What?!” Fig’s voice pitches sharply, puncturing the air. She swings her body around, slamming her feet firmly on the ground before her, sitting upright. With a snarl, Fig yells, “That’s so not fair!”

“It’s not,” Jawbone agrees, a flash of frustration flickering across his face briefly. “But,” he adds, crossing his arms, “if you kids don’t take the Last Stand at all, Kristen’s getting expelled.”

“That’s fucked up,” Riz utters, dread pooling deep in his soul.

“Yeah, it is,” Jawbone says, with a terse nod. “I’m with you guys. Frankly, this is all unjust. But I can’t contest your expulsion,” Jawbone says, with a heavy sigh. His mouth pulls taut into a frown, eyes darting off to the side; behind him, his bristling tail is pressed close to his body. “I’m pretty sure they’d consider me biased since— you know.” A shrug. “I am Kristen’s guardian.”

Nearby, Kristen twists her lips.

“In any case,” Jawbone continues, “regardless of what you guys do… it doesn’t really fix the problem at hand.” With another exhale, Jawbone says, “Mazey told me about the form.”

“Yeah, she told us that you know,” Gorgug says. There’s a brief beat, before he asks, “Did you know anything about it?”

“About its existence?” Jawbone shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “It came as much of a shock to me as it probably was to you kids. As I was saying, though…” Leaning back against his arms, Jawbone sighs. “It doesn’t really matter what you guys pick, whether to take the Last Stand or not. Adaine’s withdrawing either way.”

“And you can’t contest it?” It’s a bit of a foolish question to ask, Riz thinks, given Mazey had just told him earlier that day that the only person who could withdraw the form was Adaine herself. But he asks anyways, the question coming forth; he clings to that little flicker of hope, no matter how irrational it may be, how unlikely the chances.

Furrowing his brows, Jawbone shakes his head. “Aguefort’s bylaws are weird,” he says, disbelief seeping into his words. “There’s a clause in there that allows any student to drop out if they want to, regardless of what their parents say. I’m pretty sure it’s there in case anyone’s being forced to do something they don’t wanna, but in this situation?” An exasperated snort. “Yeah, it’s not helping us, that’s for sure.”

In a voice throbbing with frustration, thick and annoyed, Fabian asks, “So what the hell do we do, then?”

Silence.

Jawbone tilts his head at them, eyes gleaming from behind glass spectacles. His gaze softens. “I think,” he says, in a voice much kinder than anything else they’ve heard today, “you kids already know.”

Riz blinks. “Huh?”

“Listen,” Jawbone begins, raising his hands before him defensively, “I’ve got my hands tied over here.” Pressing a hand against his chest, he says, “I’m an adult with a boring old life and a crapton of responsibilities. I can’t go breaking and entering into people’s houses all willy-nilly like you kids.” Dropping his hands to the side, he curls his fingers around the edge of his desk, claws digging into the wood. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you kids no.”

It’s his permission, Riz realises, heart skipping a beat as he processes those words. There’s something fierce burning in Jawbone’s eyes, and his fangs poke out of his mouth as he gazes over all of them in one sweeping glance. It’s a protectiveness, a desire to see someone safe — an innate instinct that Riz understands.

A sigh soon tumbles forth. The fire extinguishes in Jawbone’s dark eyes, replaced by that familiar exhaustion. Guilt flickers in his pupils; Riz recognises it, though he wishes he didn’t, because it’s the same look that constantly sneaks into Fabian’s eye whenever he drifts too far into his thoughts, thinks too long about the spat in the parking lot of Basrar’s, the final straw that set Oisin off.

“I should’ve stepped my foot down ages ago,” Jawbone admits, tiredly. “I knew all that weirdness wasn’t right. I just…” A shrug. “I didn’t want to force Adaine into anything. Especially since she seemed so happy.”

“You did your best, Jawbone.” Kristen’s voice is kind.

“Yeah?” A dry laugh. “Well it wasn’t enough, clearly. But I’ll stop throwing myself a pity party over here,” Jawbone says, pressing on. He gestures at them. “Whatever you kids are up to, I’ll close one eye. If anyone asks me, I don’t know a damn thing. And if you need anything… by all means, ask.”

At the offer, Riz pauses, lowering his eyes in thought. “Actually,” he begins, piping up, “do you have anything on Oisin?”

For one brief moment, Jawbone’s eyes narrow dangerously low at the sound of that name, ears pricking straight up. But it’s gone in the blink of an eye, like it never happened, and if Riz didn’t know any better, didn’t trust his senses as much as he did, he would have thought he’d imagined it. “Hm…” Scratching his chin, Jawbone shakes his head. “Not that I’m aware of, unfortunately. Sorry, kiddo. He’s never stopped by for a chat.”

He deflates, shoulders sagging. “Oh.”

“But…” A spark enters Jawbone’s eyes. “I know Kipperlilly’s talked about him a lot.”

It’s something. It’s not what Riz was looking for, but it’s just as good when they know very little about everything surrounding the dragonborn and his relationship to Adaine, kept sequestered and out of view of the public eye.

“Can you—” The words catch in his throat. With a cough, Riz collects himself. “Can you get us her file?”

Jawbone pauses. “Well, I can’t break patient confidentiality, you see. It might get me fired, and I like my job here. But…” Turning his head to the side, Jawbone stares at the stack of files on his desk — teetering a little bit, tall and unstable enough that it looks like it’s going to fall over at any given time. “I mean,” Jawbone continues, the cadence of his voice innocuous, “if it disappeared for a bit…”

“Got it.” Rising to his feet, Riz gestures at the others. “We should probably head back to Mordred. Plan things, and all that.”

“Yeah?” Jawbone flashes them one last sad smile as they all get up, milling about the room. “Hey, good luck, kiddos. Text me if you need anything.”

It’s the same song and dance as earlier in the morning. While the rest of his friends file out of the room, murmuring amidst themselves, Riz lightens his steps, sneaking around the table. There’s no thrum of anticipation, no lingering anxiety, no fear of getting caught; it’s a necessity, more than anything else, and a loophole for them — Jawbone and Mazey — to help him, help all five of them.

He grabs the pile of files off the desk, swiftly skimming through them until he finds the one labelled ‘Kipperlilly Copperkettle’. Sliding everything back onto the table, Riz scurries off — lithe-footed, tail held high, reaching back to pull the door shut on his way out.

“Guess we’ll have to walk back to Mordred,” Kristen says as they emerge from Aguefort, making their way through the parking lot of the school.

“Yeah, I’m not doing that,” Fabian says drily. “I’m calling the Hangman.”

“What, can’t stand taking a walk with us for a bit?” Fig teases, lips splitting into a shit-eating grin. Turning on her heel, she walks backwards, taunting Fabian all the while. “Or are you out of shape? Can’t take a simple walk with us back to Mordred?”

“Wh— no!” Sputtering, Fabian’s mouth twitches. “It’s just more convenient—”

Somehow, Fig’s smile only widens. “Excuses, excuses—”

“Gorgug?” Whipping around, Fabian stares at Gorgug with wild eyes. “You’re on my side, aren’t you?”

But before Gorgug can reply, a ringing tone pierces the air, slicing right through the banter like the sharp edge of a knife. In that moment, both Fig and Fabian’s mouths snap shut, and as seven pairs of eyes turn in his direction, Riz realises, belatedly, that the ringing is coming from his crystal.

In a flash, he dives his hand into his pocket, pulling out the device. “Who is it?” Kristen asks, leaning in as Riz stares at the screen.

“Yeah,” Fabian adds. “Who is it, the Ball?”

The name plastered across the face of his crystal, brightly-lit and still ringing in his hands, makes Riz freeze. Just as it makes everyone else stiffen, their questions cut off into silence as they crowd around him and recognise the name for who it is.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Riz hits answer, tapping the speaker button as soon as the call connects.

A familiar voice crackles through the receiver, cold, sharp, and eerily calm. “Where are you?”

“Aelwyn?” Riz breathes.

“The one and only,” she answers drily. “I’ll cut straight to the point. Where are you, Gukgak? And the rest of your precious little party too.”

He opens his mouth, the back of his throat drying, but it’s Kristen who cuts in. “We’re at Aguefort,” she says, wringing her hands around her staff. She’s nervous — but Riz’s nervous too; all of them are, he realises, from a cursory glance around.

It’s not that Aelwyn Abernant is inherently scary. Sure, she’s intimidating. She’s fierce, with a sharp tongue that cuts like a sword, and powerful magic thrumming through her veins. She always seems to know more than she lets on, from sources that even Riz knows nothing about — but all the same, Aelwyn is just Aelwyn. They beat the shit out of her in their freshman year. They saw her at her worst, after breaking her and Adaine out of the Court of Stars’ grasp. For however conniving and cutthroat Aelwyn is, none of them are scared of her. Not anymore.

But now?

Now, there is genuine murder in Aelwyn’s voice, thinly veiled by a cold, calculating politeness. Impatience wreaths her every word, her tolerance paper-thin. Riz’s eyes shift, darting around the group, all of them coming to the same conclusion in unison: Aelwyn Abernant is out for blood.

“Aguefort?” Surprise colours Aelwyn’s voice ever so briefly, before it sinks into that frigid civility. “My, that’s a surprise,” Aelwyn muses; Riz winces. “I was informed that I’d find you all cosied up in my dear sister’s tower if I stopped by Mordred. But no,” she continues, every word a biting insult, “I suppose you’re attending school. Education is more important, after all.”

“We’re not!” Fig bursts out, fierce flames against Aelwyn’s biting ice.

“Oh?”

“We had to stop by to deal with something,” Gorgug explains. He shifts slightly on his feet, before he adds, “We’re, uh— heading back right now.”

“Lovely,” Aelwyn purrs. “You best not keep me waiting, hm?”

Her voice darkens, dropping so low that Riz’s heart stutters to a halt.

“It’s the least you could do after none of you told me that Adaine went missing,” Aelwyn hisses, her every word stabbing through Riz like a dozen blades.

With a click, the line goes dark.

He stares at the crystal in his hand numbly. For a while, none of them speak. They simply stand there in the parking lot of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy, clustered around Riz in a weird, disjointed circle. Silent, staring at his screen, reeling from the acerbic bite of Aelwyn’s cutting words.

“We should…” Riz gulps, biting back the flicker of fear that goes through him. “We should probably get to Mordred,” he says weakly, staring at all of his friends.

“Now.”

“Took you long enough,” Aelwyn says, eyeing them with a narrowed gaze as they burst through the door of Adaine’s room together. The elder of the Abernant sisters is perched on Adaine’s chair, kicked back slightly, the epitome of cool casualness, and as all of them crowd into the room together, Riz watches Aelwyn snap the book in her hands shut.

“What are you doing?” he hears Fabian ask.

“Just examining this,” Aelwyn answers nonchalantly, resting a hand against her cheek. She still holds the book in her other hand — the replica of Oisin’s spellbook, Riz realises as he catches his breath. Aelwyn’s lips curl into an icy smile. “Typical of Hakinvar to give her something in Draconic,” she sighs. “Make it inaccessible to everyone else, why don’t you?”

“Yeah, that’s what we don’t get,” Riz says, walking up to Aelwyn as they all disperse about the room. He watches Fig clamber back up into Adaine’s bed, reclaiming her position at the top, and he watches Fabian bend down, grabbing the conspiracy board left out on the ground. Riz wrinkles his face. “Why would he give Adaine something in Draconic?”

Aelwyn stares at him, furrowing her brows. “What?”

“I-I mean,” Riz continues, fumbling slightly under Aelwyn’s cutting gaze, “Adaine knows Comprehend Languages, sure, but like— wouldn’t it be inconvenient to cast it every time she wanted to use a spellbook?”

Aelwyn arches an eyebrow. “Oh,” she utters, realisation dawning upon her words. “You don’t know?”

“Don’t know what?” Kristen asks, poking into the conversation, leaning against her staff.

Blue eyes flick between them, narrowed and sharp. “Adaine knows Draconic,” Aelwyn says, after a beat.

Silence. Riz stares at Aelwyn — all of them do, in fact, momentarily rendered speechless by that three-word admission. His breath catches in his throat, startled by that fact — and as the silence stretches on, none of them uttering a single sound, Aelwyn wrinkles her face, shooting them all a judgemental look. “Did Adaine never tell you?” she asks. “Like, at all?”

“No, wait, uh—” Fabian snaps his fingers, his eye lighting up. “Shit. I think she did mention it once. But only once.”

“When?” Fig asks, voice dripping with incredulity. She pushes herself forward, teetering dangerously over the side of the bed.

Fabian winces, voice uncertain. “Freshman year, I think…?”

“Just to clarify this for all of you so we can be done with it,” Aelwyn cuts in, pursing her lips as she surveys all of them, “Adaine took Draconic when she was still at Hudol, just so she could piss off father and mother dearest.” A wicked smile slips onto her face. “They were on her case about it for years,” Aelwyn crows, pride licking her words. “Complaining about how Draconic was such an archaic language. What purpose would she even have for it? Naturally, she stuck it out.”

A smile creeps onto his face. “That sounds like her,” Riz says, softly.

“Do you know Draconic then?” Fig asks.

“Nope,” Aelwyn says, with a dismissive shrug. “Unlike my dear sister, I took Sylvan. Quite the useful skill to have had while navigating Sylvaire last year, I must say. I suppose I understand why my mother was so insistent I learn it. That being said,” she continues, snapping open the tome in her hand, “I do have Comprehend Languages prepped. Quite a useful spell in day-to-day life, wouldn’t you say?”

Fig’s eyes widen. “Wait, so—”

“You can translate the spells in there, right?” Riz interrupts, staring at Aelwyn. His hands tremble slightly, tail tense. “We— none of us know the spell—”

“Really?” Twisting around, Aelwyn shoots an incredulous look in Fig’s direction. “It’s a first-level spell that Bards can learn, and you have access to a library stocked with spells, and you’re telling me you didn’t go and learn it?”

“It— I—” Throwing her hands up, Fig scowls. “I was busy, okay? We found out Kristen’s getting expelled—”

“I don’t give a shit.” Voice dropping deadly low, Aelwyn whirls around, her eyes like sharp-pointed icicles, bitingly cold and dangerously sharp. “I’m going to level with you,” she utters, face contorting into a monstrous expression — mouth curled into a snarl, anger lines digging grooves into the skin along her face. “I could not care less about useless garbage like the state of your academics when my fucking sister is missing.”

Pulling back, she takes a deep breath, face smoothing into something more composed — callous, but calm. “I’m going to take back Adaine tomorrow,” she states, simply. Her eyes flick across them, before landing on Riz; he shudders, his tail stiff, rooted to the spot under the weight of her icy gaze. “I’d prefer to work with you, seeing as I assume you all are planning to break in too—”

“Obviously,” Fabian cuts in, daring to interject through Aelwyn’s words. “Who do you take us for?”

A smile curls across Aelwyn’s lips. “I’ll forget about your little slip up then,” she says, with a terse nod in Fig’s direction. Fig only scowls. “I’ll cast Comprehend Languages on this, and spare you the hassle of needing to learn the spell. But before we get to that…”

Her gaze flicks to the side, to the conspiracy board — placed on the dresser by Fabian, propped up against the wall, red string strikingly visible from afar. “That’s a rather impressive board you’ve put together,” Aelwyn says, shifting to look at Riz. Her lips twist, her smile sharp. “Mind filling me in on your findings?”

So he does. All of them do — Riz takes the lead, walking Aelwyn through their findings while the rest of the Bad Kids occasionally interject. For however much anger Aelwyn holds within her, her paper-thin patience evident in her cold outburst against Fig, she listens in silence, nodding along. They tell her about the dragon madness, the point where it began; there’s no need to fill her in on the nemesis ward, because she already knows about it, was the second person after Fabian to hear Riz out. They tell her everything new they’ve learnt — show her the withdrawal form, the pens, the fact that all of Adaine’s things are still here — the small details that matter so much more than they seem to.

Every so often, Riz catches Aelwyn narrowing her eyes, a flicker crossing through ice-blue irises, or pursing her lips, pressing a hand against her chin in thought. But there’s no genuine surprise or disbelief, nothing new that catches her completely by surprise. When they finish, she leans back in her chair, folding her arms as she crosses her legs. “I can’t say I’m surprised by all this,” she admits, with a shrug. “Not that I’m happy about any of this, mind you. But I’ve been keeping an eye on Hakinvar for a while, ever since Kipperlilly told me about Adaine getting together with him. And all this seems exactly like something he’d do.”

A beat of silence. Riz stares at Aelwyn, eyes blown wide as he processes her words.

And then the room explodes.

A chorus of voices coalesce together, only dominated by Fig’s high-pitched shriek. “You know Kipperlilly?!”

“Hm?” Blinking at them, Aelwyn glances around, taken by surprise. “Oh, did Adaine not tell you?” Brows dipping together, Aelwyn admits, “I’m surprised. I thought you would have known.”

“Fuck no she didn’t tell us!” Kristen’s voice bristles slightly — whether from indignance or anger, Riz doesn’t know. He understands it, though, feels it in his soul; some pang of betrayal strikes his heart, recoiling at the thought that Adaine sat on this information for so long, and didn’t tell them.

Heaving a sigh, Aelwyn unfolds her arms. “I suppose I’ll have to fill you all in,” she says begrudgingly. Pressing a hand against her chest, her lips curve into a cold smile. “Yes, I worked for Kipperlilly Copperkettle for a while. I was her broker. Emphasis on the was.”

Fabian’s eye twitches. “What the fuck?”

“What did you even do?” Riz asks, at the same time Gorgug asks, “Why?”

“Oh, I procured a whole slew of items for her.” Pulling her hand away, Aelwyn studies her nails, narrowing her eyes as she picks at her chipping polish absentmindedly. “As for why…” She pauses, her gaze flicking up. “You don’t seriously think I could live on the salary of a middle school teacher, did you?”

Gorgug pulls back, reeling from Aelwyn’s hard look. “Yeah, that’s— fair,” he admits, reluctantly.

“In any case,” Aelwyn continues, rolling her eyes as they all continue to stare at her with varying degrees of betrayal and hurt, “don’t get too worked up about it, okay? I was working for her. Again, emphasis on the was. Past tense.” She tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, the perfect epitome of coolness against the hot incredulity burning through Riz’s veins. “It seems like Kipperlilly somehow caught on to the fact that I told Adaine about my job. So she dropped me.” Tilting her head back, Aelwyn lets out a sharp sigh. “It’s probably for the best. She was in such a tizzy about Hakinvar dating my sister. She kept telling me to put a stop to it, did you know that? I told her to man up and do it herself.”

The weight of his briefcase in his hand suddenly feels a lot heavier. Riz swallows nervously, mind flashing back to the file he had nicked from Jawbone’s office, labelled ‘Kipperlilly Copperkettle’. If he reached into his briefcase and pulled it out, opened it up and began to sift through, would he find something that backed up Aelwyn’s claims?

For some reason, all this while, Riz hasn’t thought at all about what Oisin’s party felt about his relationship with Adaine. Did they support it? Were they against it? Was this some devious ploy to pull Adaine out of commission? Or was this the work of Oisin alone, going rogue, much to the displeasure of his control freak of a leader?

“Riz.” The sound of his name yanks him out of his thoughts. Aelwyn studies him closely. “Is that all?” she asks, her voice curt. “I’d like to get started on the spell book, if you will. It’d be wise to know what we’re dealing with before we go in tomorrow.”

“Also, we should probably make a plan,” Gorgug adds.

Words of wisdom, Riz thinks, silently agreeing with him. “You can get started on that Comprehend Languages spell,” he tells Aelwyn, after a brief nod of acknowledgement at Gorgug. “I need to look at something first.”

Aelwyn arches an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Putting his briefcase down, Riz lays it flat, unlatching it with a click. Reaching his hand inside, he finds the file and pulls it out, holding it up to show it to Aelwyn. “I took this from Jawbone’s office earlier,” he explains, as Aelwyn studies it from afar, a dip forming between her brows as she narrows her eyes. “Asked him if he had anything on Oisin, but—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “He didn’t have anything, unfortunately. But he brought this up, and…” Trailing off, Riz hears Aelwyn’s voice echoing in his head, her words from just moments ago: She was in such a tizzy about Hakinvar dating my sister. She kept telling me to put a stop to it, did you know that?

“Maybe this’ll give us something new,” Riz eventually says, after a beat.

Aelwyn’s face smooths out in understanding. She smiles at him, sharp and small, a glint of approval sparking in her eyes.

“Get to it then.”

They break off into two groups — though groups doesn’t feel like an apt enough descriptor. What actually happens is that Aelwyn immediately asks for a pinch of soot and salt, lacking her own components, and Kristen immediately jumps to her feet, heading off to go search for it. “This room is a mess,” Aelwyn observes, the tome resting in her lap as she sweeps her gaze around, all while Kristen rummages through Adaine’s drawers. “What on earth were you guys even looking for?”

“Stuff,” Fig says unhelpfully, with a lackadaisical shrug. “Pretty much just— anything weird, really.” She straightens up, her hands curled over the side of Adaine’s bed frame. “She has so much jewellery. All of it’s got dragon madness too. It feels so fucking weird.”

Curiosity prickles in Aelwyn’s eyes. “Let me see,” she orders.

While Fig clambers down the bed, grumbling as she heads over to the pile of jewellery scattered around Adaine’s set of drawers, Riz lays Kipperlilly’s file flat on the floor. Kneeling before it, with Gorgug and Fabian by his side, he flips it open.

His face scrunches at the sight of a very thick stack of papers — more than he would have expected. “Wow,” he hears Fabian say. “That’s— that’s a lot.”

“It really is,” Gorgug answers. A quick glance at him reveals a wrinkled face, uncertainty flickering through dark eyes.

“We just need to look for any mentions of Oisin or Adaine,” Riz says, straightening out their objective. He undoes the paper clip bundling all the sheets together, doling it out into three sections — with his, of course, being the largest. Which isn’t a slight against Gorgug or Fabian in any capacity; Riz’s simply faster at this, eyes scanning the words on a page at lightning speed, attention honed in on specific keywords while ignoring everything else. “I know there’s probably— a lot of stuff in there,” Riz adds, furrowing his brows slightly as he catches a glimpse of his name while he skims through a random page, “but we need to focus on Adaine first.”

“You don’t need to tell us twice, the Ball.” Fabian flashes him a grin.

After Fig passes some jewellery to Aelwyn to inspect, there’s a sharp hiss. He hears Aelwyn’s voice, wavering slightly. “What the fuck is this?”

“Dragon madness,” Riz answers without even needing to look up; his eyes are trained on the documents before him, the words Jawbone typed up about Kipperlilly. Apparently, she had visited him many, many times; anger issues were rife in her, as he found out, a common trend all throughout the reports.

Aelwyn curses. “God. She was wearing so much fucking jewellery—”

“Yeah, and it’s all cursed,” Fig answers, anger simmering within her words.

“Still,” Aelwyn says, and it’s that uncertain note to her words that causes Riz to raise his head, blinking in curiosity. Aelwyn presses a hand against her cheek, eyes growing distant. “How bad did things get for it to be this potent…?”

Her mutterings fade off into a concentrated silence when Kristen finally finds the components she’s been looking for, interrupting the tension in the air with a triumphant “AH HA!” The last Riz sees of them is Kristen bouncing over to Aelwyn, materials in hand, before he returns his own focus to the file underneath him, only stopping briefly to dole out a couple of papers to Fig when she finally joins them.

It’s all interesting. Extremely interesting. Every so often, one of them punctures the focused silence with something new — Gorgug tapping on Riz’s shoulder to point out Kipperlilly’s brief mention of an incident between her party and Oisin, alluding to something violent, mentioning that Ruben’s garden had gotten destroyed; Fabian calling his attention with “The Ball” before showing him an endless deluge of whining about Oisin’s relationship over the past few months. When Fig slides him something from freshman year in silence, her eyes steely, it takes Riz moments before it clicks for him — there’s a mention of Kipperlilly grouching about being begged by Oisin to dig up information, to look into the rumours surrounding their arrest.

The memory flashes to mind, unbidden: “I got a friend to look into it,” Oisin had said, standing before Adaine’s cell. “And, well— here I am.”

“Shit,” Riz mutters, a chill striking him at the realisation of just how far back this went.

“Right?” Fig replies, wrinkling her brow.

Still, all this reveals one very crucial fact to Riz, something important he failed to consider until today: Kipperlilly Copperkettle does not like Adaine Abernant. She doesn’t hate her as much as she hates Riz — and Riz knows that she hates him now, having finally seen her foul words and violent threats from the past three years recorded here, but she hates Adaine perhaps almost as much as she hates him.

“No wonder Jawbone was so willing to let the file go,” Fabian mutters, when Riz points out Kipperlilly’s bitching about Adaine not knowing her. He shudders. “I can’t fucking imagine how hard it was for him to hold himself together through all this.”

Midway through their investigation, however, there’s a sudden, sharp gasp. In that instant, Riz whips his head up, staring wide-eyed at Aelwyn as some of the magical glow leaves her eyes, watching her jerk her hands away from one of the open pages. “What?” he hears Kristen ask, leaning in; there is no trace of her usual playful banter, only something simultaneously serious and scared. “What did you find?”

The spell that Aelwyn utters makes Riz’s blood run cold.

“Modify Memory.”

Silence floods the room, thick and suffocating. Aelwyn’s hand trembles as she slowly returns it to the paper, her eyes glowing as her skin touches ink-bled parchment. “Fuck,” she curses, pulling her hand against her chest as though she’s been struck. Fury bleeds into her words — and yet, there is a striking vulnerability, an open fear. “He fucked with her mind.”

The sharp pain of his claws digging into his palms grounds him through the tidal wave of rage that sweeps through him, primal and all-encompassing. Riz grits his teeth, presses them together so hard his jaw aches. And yet, in spite of everything, he isn’t surprised — how could he be, when Adaine’s behaviour had changed so dramatically over the past several months? It’s confirmation, more than anything else, but it doesn’t stop the anger from flooding through him, boiling like liquid fire in his veins.

“Fucking hell,” someone curses — who, Riz doesn’t know.

He watches Kristen take a deep breath as she reaches for her staff, tightening her hold on it. “How would you dispel it?” she asks, her words deceptively steady; there is the barest flicker of ire beneath it, and her voice is cold. “With Greater Restoration?”

“That, or Remove Curse,” Aelwyn answers, agitation brimming in her voice.

He sees it — the way Kristen’s eyes darken, her head flicking to the side, in Fig’s direction. Riz stares at them, at the way Fig’s scowl deepens, at the flicker of fear in her eyes. “Kristen—”

“I know,” Kristen cuts in, eerily cold.

“What?” Fabian’s head darts between the two, annoyance flashing across his face, his body restless. “What’s going on?”

A sigh expels from Kristen’s lips. “Guess there’s no point keeping it a secret anymore,” she mutters. Leaning against her staff, her lips twist into a sardonic smile. “Y’know that Friday night where we tried to do something and fucked up?” Tilting her head, red hair swaying with the movement, Kristen mutters, “Yeah, so we may have tried to cast Greater Restoration on Adaine.”

Riz reels back, stunned by that sudden revelation. “What?” he whispers.

“Yeah, we did!” Fig’s voice rises in the air, trembling with anger. “And y’know what she did? She Counterspelled it. Twice!”

“And let me guess,” Aelwyn cuts in, her voice dry, “she saw it as a betrayal? Told you guys to fuck off and keep it to yourself?”

At that, both girls tense. “Yeah,” Kristen mutters. “It— It didn’t go well.”

“She wasn’t there in the morning.” Fig tears her gaze away, staring pointedly at the floor instead. “We thought she was just mad. And that she’d calm down eventually. But then she didn’t come back all weekend, and then Mazey called Fabian today, and there was all that shit with the withdrawal form, and—” Leaning back, she exhales shakily. “Well, either way,” Fig says bitterly, “it’s nice to know that the Greater Restoration would’ve done something.”

“I will say, though.” Turning back to Aelwyn, Riz watches as she skims through all the pages that came before her current one, thumbing through the thick parchment. “It’s interesting that Modify Memory is this far back,” Aelwyn comments, her voice carefully cool. “I’m going to assume that Hakinvar hasn’t switched up spellbooks, and this is an exact replica of his own. If that’s the case, then there’s a good chance the spells in here are ordered based on when he learnt them.”

It clicks. “Then could he have learnt that recently?” Riz asks, slightly desperate.

Aelwyn shrugs, leaning back. “Who’s to say? None of these are dated. But I’m inclined to say yes, given he doesn’t specialise in enchantments, and he’s been fucking with Adaine’s head all year. No reason to learn a whole slew of dubious enchantment spells unless you’re planning to use them.”

She pauses, her voice darkening. “I guess we’re about to find out if he’s done anything else,” Aelwyn says coldly.

None of them return to digging through Kipperlilly’s file. Riz rocks back, hugging his knees as he crouches, all of them waiting with bated breath as Aelwyn presses her hands to the next page, fingertips glowing with magic. Every second ticks pass excruciatingly slow as Aelwyn moves to the next page, and then the next, tracing the Draconic script with an arcane touch, magic radiating off of her in spades.

By the time she finishes going through all the filled pages of the spellbook, the mood in the room is dour. Two more spells have stuck out, Aelwyn practically spitting their names as she translated the text and figured it all out: Dominate Person and Geas.

“Geas is fucked up,” Aelwyn says darkly when Riz expresses confusion at it — he and Fabian and Gorgug, all of them unfamiliar with the spell. Fig had flinched upon hearing it, while Kristen’s grip on her staff tightened even harder, white-knuckled and raw. “It lets you put a magical command on someone. They take psychic damage if they go against it.”

Riz stiffens. “Holy shit,” Fabian breathes, while Gorgug’s lips curl into a grimace.

“Right? And do you know how long it lasts for?” Aelwyn’s voice drops. “Thirty fucking days,” she breathes, her words coated with ire. Her lips curve into a wry smile. “Except if that’s not long enough, you can upcast it to a seventh or eighth level spell and make it last for a year. Cast it with a ninth, and it’ll last forever.”

Pain lashes through his palm, searing and sharp. Hissing, Riz swears as he uncurls his fists, staring at the sight of red blood beading where his claws dug deep enough to cut skin. “But we can fix it, right?” he asks desperately, anger ebbing into fear. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Kristen stepping over, a twilight magic already beginning to swirl around her hand. “It’s not permanent?”

“It’s not, thank god,” Aelwyn says with a sigh, as Kristen heals his wounds. “The only spell that would be irreversible is Wish, but he doesn’t seem to have that. That is,” she adds, narrowing her eyes, “unless he’s learnt it since the time he gave this spellbook to Adaine.”

The prospect of that — of there being a spell Oisin might be using that they don’t know about — makes Riz want to hurl.

He chokes back the bitter bile, swallows it down in favour of nodding weakly at Aelwyn. “Thank you,” Riz says, his voice faint. “For translating that, I mean.”

Aelwyn doesn’t reply. Snapping the book shut, she stares at the gilded cover, an inscrutable expression coming over her face. “At the very least, I’ve got a better idea about what may be in store for us tomorrow,” she says, tearing her gaze away to give them all a sweeping glance. She shrugs. “Magical wards, and all that. I highly doubt Hakinvar will go down without a fight.”

“If it’s a fight he wants,” Fabian says sharply, “then it’s a fight he’ll fucking get.”

It’s hard to return his focus to Kipperlilly’s file after all the newfound revelations, but Riz… does his best. There’s not much left to look at, thankfully, as far as information concerning Adaine or Oisin goes; the most interesting tidbit that Riz spots, in the sea of everything else, is something dated the week after Frostyfaire — Jawbone had written down a complaint from Kipperlilly about one of her teammates nearly destroying an extremely important project. “Remember the weird thing we found under the stage?” Riz asks Fabian, pointing at the printed words, watching his friend scrunch his face in thought.

“You think this could be that?”

“It has to be.” The fixture had been set up so deliberately, a twenty-four pointed star glowing an ominous shade of red. Riz bites his lip, thinking about the way Ruben had stepped in for them, managing to yank Oisin away from Adaine. At the time, he’d silently thanked the gnome, grateful for anything that could separate Adaine from the claws of the beast, but now—

What was it that Ruben said? We have to leave anyway. The words linger in Riz’s mind now, repeating over and over; he’s certain, more than anything, that they left for a reason.

Or rather, for a person.

“So.” At Aelwyn’s voice, Riz glances up. Aelwyn leans back in her chair, legs crossed, eyes trained on him with a piercing inquisitiveness. “What did you find?”

“A whole bunch of things.” He gathers up the papers, tries to put them all back together as he talks, silently apologising to Jawbone for the mess of unsorted papers he’s about to get back. “But I think it all boils down to one thing, really.”

“And that is?”

Riz shifts. The papers suddenly feel heavier in his hands. He takes a deep breath, before he says the only conclusion he can think of, the undeniable truth: “Kipperlilly doesn’t like this entire situation any more than we do.”

The corner of Aelwyn’s lips curve up into a smile. “That much was already obvious, Riz,” she says, her words sharp, sniping straight through his psyche. He flinches, stiffening slightly, except Aelwyn has already moved on. Folding her arms, she presses a hand against her cheek, eyeing him with razor-sharp eyes. “It begs the question, doesn’t it?”

An annoyed hiss. “Can you stop being so fucking cryptic and tell us?” Fig complains.

“I heard about it, you know,” Aelwyn begins, ignoring Fig’s noise. “About their new cleric. Pity about their old one.” She shifts slightly, the wry smile slipping off her face. “I could not begin to tell you what Kipperlilly’s planning, but I do know one thing.”

Taking a deep breath, Aelwyn states, matter-of-factly, “Whatever it is, she needs Hakinvar.” Those ice-blue eyes narrow sharply. “Why else would she endure this, complain so much about it, beg me to break them up, as though I have any jurisdiction over my sister to begin with?”

The answer strikes him like a sudden bolt of lightning, straight to his core. “Because she can’t get rid of Oisin,” Riz whispers, the words spilling free.

And— it makes sense. It makes sense, because if Kipperlilly was willing to slaughter her own cleric in favour of another because of disputes over a forgotten rage goddess, then Kipperlilly would have been willing to find someone else — someone more compliant, agreeable, willing to listen to her instead of butting heads and focusing on a girl — and simply take Oisin out.

Aelwyn grins, baring her teeth. “Exactly. That, and if she didn’t need him, he and Adaine would be gone.”

Gorgug furrows his brows, perplexed. “What do you mean?”

Aelwyn rolls her eyes. “It’s exactly as I said,” she complains, folding her arms. “What part of it do you not get? Hakinvar’s stuck here.” She tilts her chin up, staring down at them all with a challenge burning in her eyes. “Do you really think he’d stay here, in a town filled with people who would kill him for what he’s currently doing, if he had the choice? Do you really think he wouldn’t have just taken her and ran for the Red Wastes instead? Because I fucking guarantee you that nothing would have stopped him, unless he couldn’t go.”

Like a bomb detonated in the midst of the room, Aelwyn’s words burst through the air, striking through like a sudden, explosive epiphany. It all makes sense, all the pieces Riz hadn’t realised were there falling into place.

“Shit,” he hears someone say, only realising belatedly that it’s his voice, a tremulous, stuttering thing. He rakes a hand through his hair, heart beating fast against his chest. “I… I didn’t even realise.”

“We’re kinda lucky then, aren’t we?” He turns towards Kristen at the sound of her voice, observes the sharp glint in her bright green eyes. A smile creeps across her face, smug and self-assured. “He can’t leave,” she says, with a loose gesture of her hands. “So Adaine’s still here.”

The oppressive, suffocating fog of stress that’s been hanging over all of them lifts, slowly dissipating. Something warm and light fills Riz’s soul — hope, he realises, with a sudden jolt of clarity. When was the last time he felt like this? In the thick of a hellish school year, between extracurriculars and classes and mysteries and Adaine’s slow, spiralling isolation, he’s barely had any hope to cling to; he had simply been surviving one day after the other, peppered with kind moments spent with friends in-between.

The Rat Grinders don’t like Oisin’s antics any more than they do. And Oisin’s stuck — stranded in Elmville, forced to stick around.

It’s five versus one — six with Aelwyn. They can do this.

“We’ll get her back,” Riz declares, a grin spreading across his cheeks, mirrored by everyone around him. Fig flashes a wicked smirk, while Kristen nods with steadfast conviction. Gorgug smiles, something like a violent promise glinting in his eyes, while Fabian mirrors the grin on Riz’s face, filled with a confidence that Riz hasn’t seen in so long, authentic and real.

The plan goes like this:

Their group — the Bad Kids plus Aelwyn Abernant, united under one common goal — is split down the middle into two teams. Riz is with Aelwyn and Kristen, the group that will break into Oisin’s house and look for Adaine, while Fabian, Fig, and Gorgug are on Team Lookout/Distraction.

“Boo,” Fig complains, kicking back against the step she’s sitting on while they finalise their assignments. Irritation flickers through her red eyes, lips contorting into a pout. “I was hoping to kill that bitch.”

“Yeah?” Aelwyn replies, voice arid. “Well, unless you want us to attract more attention, you are playing distraction.”

Because their plan isn’t to break in and kill Oisin, in spite of however much they want to. No, after a heated back-and-forth that lasted for hours, hurling the pros and cons of slaughtering one dragonborn boy at each other while Aelwyn sank deeper and deeper into Adaine’s desk chair, pinching the bridge of her nose like she was about to snap and kill them, they had all ultimately decided on the path of stealth.

“We don’t know what state Adaine will be in when we find her,” Riz had argued, slamming his hand against the board he drew up listing all the benefits of his plan. “The goal is to get her out.”

He had taken a deep breath at the stares his outburst accumulated, eyes flicking between Fabian’s cold gaze and Fig’s fiery one, both promising a painful death above all else. Threading his hand through his hair, Riz said, “Like, I get it. I want to kill Oisin too.” And god, did he want to so badly — still does want to, even now. Riz wants nothing more than to dig his claws into that thick, scale-covered throat, rip muscle and sinew apart as he tears his goddamn vocal chords out so Oisin can never say a single word to Adaine ever again.

But at the time, he had choked down his desires, rational thought stamping out that irrational, screeching other. “But if we kill him, and she finds out while still under his influence—”

“She’s going to kill us,” Aelwyn answered, cutting in with a deep sigh. “My dear sister is many things. Murderously vengeful is, unfortunately, one of them.” Her lips had quirked up slightly as she leaned back in her chair, legs crossed, fingers steepled together. “Good for us most of the time. Absolutely horrible when she’s on someone else’s side.”

With their plan finally finalised, the protests and arguments from all around ebbing into reluctant acceptance and a bit of grumbling, all five of them decide to stay overnight at Mordred — just for convenience’s sake. They tell Jawbone as much when he finally gets back home, barely needing to explain the reasoning they’d prepared (so they can spend more time preparing and head out the next day together) before he agrees.

Aelwyn takes a completely different direction, however. As soon as Jawbone cracks open Adaine’s door, her head shoots up, quick as a viper, ice-cold eyes locking on him in that instant. “Jawbone!” Aelwyn greets, practically purring as she rises to her feet, stalking over as Jawbone stiffens in place. “How lovely to see you again. I do appreciate you reaching out to me about Adaine.”

“Well, it just felt right to let you know,” Jawbone replies, scratching the back of his head. Riz stares at them from afar — all of them do, in fact, nine pairs of inquisitive eyes peering in their direction. “You’re her older sister, after all. S’what Adaine would have wanted.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Aelwyn replies smoothly. Her grin grows, a sharp glint entering her eyes. “As a matter of fact, I’m moving back in. I trust there will be no protest against my decision?”

Jawbone only stares in a stunned bewilderment, momentarily taken off guard. “You— want to move back in?”

Aelwyn’s eyes narrow slightly. “Is there a problem with that?”

To Jawbone’s credit, he recovers quickly, surprise melting away and being replaced with relief. “No, not at all!” he assures, a cheeriness breaking out. Riz can hear Fig bark out a sharp laugh at the brief grimace that contorts across Aelwyn’s face as Jawbone places a hand on her shoulder, suddenly in good spirits again. “I’m sure Adaine’ll be happy to have you back. It’ll do her good to have some more family around.”

“Someone’s got to keep an eye on her,” is all Aelwyn says, pulling away from Jawbone’s hand with a shrug. Her lips purse, studying Adaine’s bunk bed — the underside of the bed retrofitted to contain her desk, the previous lower bunk no longer existing. “Though there is the matter of where I’ll sleep… as well as that of my cats,” she adds, “but I digress.” Tossing the concern aside, Aelwyn gives Jawbone a firm nod, crossing her arms. “We’ll get Adaine back first, and then we’ll talk.”

It’s a promise, more than anything else — one that Aelwyn, Riz, and the rest of them all intend to keep.

They spend the rest of the evening dragging spare mattresses and sheets up to Adaine’s room, laying them all out across her floor. It just feels right, in a way — more than splitting up, than Kristen and Fig going to their own rooms, and Fabian, Gorgug, and Riz finding spaces scattered all throughout the manor, or, even worse, one of them taking Adaine’s bunk. In its own weird way, to sleep in Adaine’s room, surrounded by all the things that are hers…

It feels like a reminder of what they’re working for, despite the stress and anxiety that eats at them all.

“You guys should sleep,” Aelwyn tells them, when the clock strikes midnight and all of them are still milling about, restless and muttering to each other, trading what-if’s back and forth like candy. She stands by the door, a pouch of components in hand, gathered up with the help of one Kristen Applebees.

“You’re not our mom,” Fig mutters, rolling her eyes as she pushes herself up. Her fingers tap restless rhythms against the soft, downy surface beneath her. She scrunches her face up, eyeing Aelwyn doubtfully. “What’re you doing, anyway?”

“Painting wards,” Aelwyn replies drily, one hand on her hip. “And I’m saying this to you not as your goddamn mother, but as your ally, and Adaine’s older sister. You should sleep.” Her lips curl, eyes narrowing; “I expect every one of you to be in adequate form tomorrow when we head out,” Aelwyn says sharply, “and if a single one of you fucks up and cost us the plan, I will personally rip your throat out myself.”

Something in her words strikes a chord in him — not fear, like it does to some of the others, Fabian and Gorgug flinching while Fig mutters out an annoyed apology, but something else. Her words simply make sense — and it’s because of that that, when everyone else eventually throws in the towel and decides to get some sleep, Riz… joins them.

“You? Sleeping?” Riz rolls his eyes against Fabian’s incredulous voice, bearing the brunt of his friend’s doubtful stare. “Who are you, and what have you done with the Ball?”

“Yeah, I know,” Riz sighs, as the rest of them crowd around him in a tangle of pillows and limbs. “Laugh it off, why don’t you?”

A short laugh actually sputters forth. “Sorry,” Kristen says unapologetically when Riz turns to her, some amount of embarrassment soaking through him at the wicked grin on her face. “It’s just— honestly, I was expecting you to stay up all night planning.”

“Yeah, me too,” Gorgug chips in, unhelpfully.

And the thing is— if Riz is being entirely honest, he was kind of expecting himself to do that too. Some part of him had foreseen a night spent wide awake, sneaking down into the kitchen and making himself coffee while fussing over every little detail of their slipshod plan. He doesn’t like how unprepared they are, because they scarcely know a thing about the details of Oisin’s house, save for the generic house plan of those mansions in Clearbrook that Gorgug dug up online with Riz’s help, and even that doesn’t help, because there are too many rooms and thus, too many places where Adaine could be.

But something in Aelwyn’s words struck him deep. There had been something about the look in her eyes — the same blue as Adaine’s own, her hair the same shade of blonde, the two of them sharing the same propensity for blunt but true words.

For one brief moment, it felt a little like Adaine was lecturing him again.

“I’ll sleep tonight,” is all Riz says, breaking out into a sigh as his friends grin at him. “Dunno what’s gonna happen tomorrow,” he admits, blinking his eyes as a sudden wave of exhaustion hits him, like that simple admission had been enough to unload the deluge of his sleep debt upon him, “but I think I’d like to be prepared for it.”

“Don’t we all?” Kristen sighs. “C’mere, you.”

Riz wakes up the next morning tangled in everyone’s limbs, his tail accidentally stuck underneath Fabian’s body, his arms and legs cramped in weird positions. The dawning sun streaks through the window, the tranquil silence of the room permeated by Fig’s light snoring and Fabian’s mumbling, and as Riz untangles his body, pushing himself to his feet, he catches sight of a bundle of blankets curled up on Adaine’s bed. The shock of blonde hair makes his heart skip a beat before he realises, with a pang of embarrassment, that it’s just Aelwyn.

Jolted wide awake by that brief, fleeting moment, all Riz does is take a moment to sit in the quiet, in the strange, foreboding peace — of the calm before the storm.

They’ll get Adaine back today, no matter what.

“Ready?”

That one, singular word hangs over them all, crammed as tightly as they are into the rental car Aelwyn got to avoid suspicion. The elder of the Abernant sisters has turned around in the driver’s seat, fixing them all with a hard stare, her question suspended between all of them — are they ready?

It’s a loaded question. Somehow, for however many adventures they’ve undertaken, in spite of all the gods and monsters they’ve killed, Riz can think of very few other instances where his body has been so thoroughly wracked by anxiety, a constant, thrumming panic in his veins like a second heartbeat. The only comparison that comes to mind right now is when Adaine got kidnapped during their spring break quest — but even then, Adaine had been Adaine; fierce and strong, struggling against the elves who tried to take her captive when they were fighting at the Row and the Ruction. She hadn’t been whittled down to a shell of her former self, unlike now.

“We’re ready,” Riz eventually says, after a cursory glance at everyone else, sharing nods.

“Good.” Aelwyn’s gaze flicks across all of them. “We all know what to do, yes?”

“Keep an eye out for Oisin,” Gorgug says, the handle of his axe resting between his thighs, crammed into the car as he is. He bares his teeth as he mutters, “Can’t kill him though.”

“Or Adaine will kill you,” Aelwyn reminds, voice sharp.

“Don’t forget to let us in, though,” Fabian adds, his eye darting between Riz, Kristen, and Aelwyn. “I’ll be in there. Just— in case he comes back.”

“I’ve got Sending all stocked up,” Fig says with a grin. Her red irises burn with fire, threatening to wreak havoc.

“Just remember,” Riz says, twisting around to give them all a firm look, “lookout and distraction. All you need to do is buy us time.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Fig says cheerfully, kicking back against her seat with a wide grin. “I’ve got a contingency plan. Just in case.”

“And what’s the plan?” Kristen asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Don’t worry about it.”

A snap of fingers. “Alright, that’s enough,” Aelwyn cuts in, her voice sharp. And yet, the slight waver to her words doesn’t escape Riz’s notice — she’s just as nervous as they are, that lingering, slight fear that something could go horribly wrong. “Everyone, out.”

Stumbling out of the car, Riz raises his hand to the sky, squinting against the afternoon sun. They had waited until they were sure Oisin had left before making a move, a plan only made possible with the help of the Hangman. And when Riz turns to the side, sure enough, he sees the motorcycle making a circle around Fabian, rumbling as Fabian rubs his flaming skull and praises him for a job well done.

They had spent hours waiting at Mordred, crammed together for the signal from Fabian. The tension had been tangible in the air, any halfhearted attempts to alleviate it going awry in moments flat. It hadn’t been until a good hour after lunch — barely touched and merely nibbled upon despite Jawbone’s best efforts to encourage them to keep their strength up — where Fabian had finally tensed up, eyes widening as the message came through.

“It’s time,” he’d said urgently, immediately leaping off the couch and rushing for the door. “C’mon, we gotta go now.”

Right now, Fabian pats the Hangman one more time on the head. “Stay out of sight,” he instructs him, the Hangman letting out a low rumble in response. “We’ll need you to come in if anything goes horribly wrong.”

There’s another low rumble in what Riz assumes is an affirmative. “Good,” Fabian says, pulling back with a satisfied smile. “And— oh yeah, Hangman? Good job on the lookout.”

The sensation of a slender finger tapping against his shoulder pulls his focus away from the scene. “Stop getting distracted,” Aelwyn hisses, narrowing her eyes. “We have to go. Now.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Riz protests, cheeks slightly warm at how easily he’d been distracted.

Hurrying after Aelwyn, the two of them join Kristen, standing in the middle of the sidewalk with her staff in her hands. Her gaze flicks up at them, emerald eyes glinting. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Riz answers, voice low. “Let’s do this.”

Of their trio, those tasked with the job of actually going in and rescuing Adaine, Kristen seems like the anomaly, the odd one out; there is not a single stealthy bone in her body, and Riz knows that as a fact. And yet, she was also the most obvious choice, if only for one thing: The twilight magic that curls from her fingers, shimmering from her staff; Greater Restoration in a pinch, if they need it at any point at all.

“After all,” Aelwyn said yesterday, while they were still deciding how to split into teams, still wrangling together a coherent plan, “if Adaine really is incoherent, we’re gonna need that. Last thing we want is for her to refuse to come with us. Or to fight back.”

Still, the bulk of the rescue fell on him and Aelwyn — Riz, because of his stealth, his keen senses, sussing out traps and wards and anything that seemed remotely off; Aelwyn, because of her arsenal of spells, her specialisation in abjuration, making up for whatever Riz lacked in his budding arcane skills. It’s a lot of pressure, a lot of stress — but Riz thrives under those conditions, so for however much anxiety he has right now, however many what-if scenarios playing in his head, he feels at home.

They head off together — the three of them, making their way down the sidewalk. Aelwyn had deliberately parked a couple of blocks down from Oisin’s manor, if only to avoid any suspicion; avoiding scrutiny was the whole reason why she had rented a car to begin with instead of using her own. “I don’t want to take any risks,” she said, when pressed upon why she’d called up a rental instead of using her own vehicle. “Hakinvar’s seen my car before. Last thing I want is for him to spot it, somehow, and immediately catch on.”

“You’re really meticulous, you know that?” Kristen said, raising an eyebrow as they all looked at the car.

“Yes, well—” With a snort, Aelwyn narrowed her eyes. “I kind of have to be, given I’d quite like my sister back in one piece.”

As the manor comes further into view, looming over them, Riz can feel the shift in his body, slipping into that keen, inquisitive investigation mode. His ears prick, alert for even the slightest whisper of sound; his steps are lithe, light as air, with nary a rustle as he skulks through the grass. He’s circling around the house, scurrying over fences and across the lawn and garden; his tail remains pricked, raised high in the air, a subtle sign of his intense concentration.

They’re slipping in through the back door. They’re much less likely to arouse suspicion that way, sneaking in through the back rather than lockpicking the front. Riz leads the way — it just makes sense for him to do so, given how heightened his senses are, and how good he is at picking out right from wrong. His skills as a rogue have been honed, razor-sharp, to a fine point; in the thick of his focus, if there’s even the slightest prick of arcane energy in the air, the faintest creak of a loose wooden board, the quiet beep of a camera, Riz will know.

He listens to the sound of footsteps from behind him as the other two follow, struggling to stay stealthy. Still, it’s fine for now; there’s no one around, and Riz can’t sense anything abnormal, nor can he sense another person’s presence.

A palpable tension hangs heavy over them as he pulls out his tools, beginning to pick the back door’s lock. His ears are pricked, on hyper-alert; he can hear the sharp breathing coming from behind him, each ticking second stretching out to last an eternity.

He bites his lip, narrowing his eyes in concentration to keep his hands steady. Riz can taste his heart in his throat, beating so hard he feels like it’s about to burst.

Click!

A shaky breath spills through his teeth.

Pocketing his tools, Riz twists around, giving one last cursory glance over his shoulder. He surveys their faces — Aelwyn’s inscrutable, save for the permanent dip of her brows, her lips pressed thin; a serious grimace on Kristen’s, the gravest Riz has seen her in a long time.

He nods at them, near imperceptible. And then he turns back, twists the doorknob, and pushes in.

The hinges creak as the door swings open, pushed inward to reveal a spacious kitchen. The lights are switched off, gentle shadows covering the large expanse of empty space, the only light in the room being that of the sunlight streaking through the windows and the glass pane of the back door. Dust particles dance about in the streaks of light that pour through glass, disrupted as Riz takes a cautious step inside, and then another, casting his shadow across the floor.

The kitchen is quiet, empty. There is no one here except the three of them.

“God,” he hears Kristen mutter; in the quiet of the room, her voice rings louder than it actually is. He turns, seeing her shift uncomfortably, wringing her staff in her hands. “It’s like Fabian’s house,” she says, shifting her glance around. The comparison isn’t wrong; there’s a striking resemblance to Fabian’s own kitchen, too big for one person to use. The only difference is that Fabian’s is a permanent mess, while Oisin’s is clean and empty.

Shaking off the distraction, Riz steadies himself. Focus, he reminds himself mentally, forcing his brain back into investigation mode. “Sense anything?” he hears Aelwyn ask, her voice low as she steps close to him.

He twists his necktie, activating the Detect Magic effect. It comes up empty. “Nothing yet,” he replies, stealing a nod at Aelwyn, who only twists her lips, eyes flashing with something Riz can’t pinpoint. They decided, in the thick of planning, that it would be better to make use of Riz’s equipment for simple things like Detect Magic and Detect Good and Evil; Aelwyn only had so many spell slots, after all, and it was better to conserve as many of them as possible, low-level or high.

His gaze flicks upwards, surveying the different corners of the room. “There’s a camera,” Riz murmurs, eyeing the device with suspicion.

“We don’t need to worry about that.” With a sharp exhale, Aelwyn’s eyes dart in the same direction, narrowing at the sight of the security camera. “If he wants to hold it against us for breaking in,” she continues, keeping her voice quiet enough, “he’ll have to explain what we were breaking in for.”

“So he’d have to admit he kidnapped Adaine,” Kristen infers, stepping closer to join them. Her eyes spark, a small grin overcoming her expression. “Which he won’t.”

“Nobody in their right mind’s going to admit to kidnapping someone,” Aelwyn mutters, eyes darkening; Riz bites his lip, reminded briefly, for one moment, of what she did in freshman year. Taking a deep breath, the elder Abernant nods at them both, arching an eyebrow. “Shall we head on then?”

There are no magic spells cast over the rest of the first floor as they creep their way through the kitchen, into its adjoining dining room, then through into the hallway. Which should be good, in theory, but in actuality, it only serves to make more discomfort slither under Riz’s skin, sinking deep and festering in his bones. Oisin is a wizard — this, Riz knows well. What if his wards are too good to detect? some part of his mind whispers. What if you don’t notice at all until it’s too late?

“I need to get the door,” Riz says, abruptly, as they cross through the entrance foyer, his attention briefly stolen by the wide double-door out front. He’d promised Fabian and the others he’d unlock it from the inside and take care of any traps that might be in the way. Not that there are any, Riz thinks begrudgingly as he begins to creep forward. He can’t sense or see anything beyond the presence of security cameras, and, as Aelwyn had said, those aren’t important enough to bother disabling right now.

From behind, he hears Kristen’s faint voice. “Why do we need to unlock the door again?”

“Distraction,” Aelwyn answers flatly. “In case Hakinvar returns before we find Adaine.”

“We know he can teleport,” Riz adds, with a brief glance over his shoulder as he undoes the lock and the chain bolt latch on the door. “Best to have some of them inside, just in case.”

The chain bolt swings from side to side, pulled down by gravity. Twisting the doorknob, Riz pulls it open just a crack, slowly enough to avoid eliciting a single sound. He pokes his head through, peering around until his eyes catch on red ones — Fig’s own, peeking out from a nearby bush. Come on, he mouths, pulling back as he watches Fig stumble out of the foliage, wincing at the crunching of leaves and snapping of branches that tarnishes the air.

“Gorgug’s staying outside,” Fig informs him breathlessly as she hurries in; shortly behind her is Fabian, following along, covered in less leafy debris than Fig. Plucking a couple of leaves out of her hair, and reaching up to yank a branch that had gotten stuck behind both her horns, Fig grumbles to herself. “God, this is so annoying.”

“Nobody told you to hide in the bush,” Fabian hisses as he gets close; behind him, Riz shuts the door after one firm nod in Gorgug’s direction, crouching in the shadows of a faraway tree, the Hangman waiting by his side. “You insisted on doing it—”

“Are you guys done?” Both their mouths snap shut at Aelwyn’s sharp voice. Pulling away from the door, Riz brushes past Fig and Fabian to rejoin Aelwyn and Kristen as the former stares them down with her piercing glare. “We’re going upstairs,” Aelwyn finally says, after a long, uncomfortable pause. “Doesn’t seem like there are any wards on the first floor, so make yourself at home, and don’t fuck this up.”

“You’ve got your Sending components, right?” Kristen calls out as Aelwyn turns around, looking left and right for the stairs.

“Yeah.” Fig pats the satchel strapped to her waist, mustering up a grin. “All set in case anything happens, and all that.”

Riz’s gaze flicks towards her, a brief worry overtaking him. “Just remember to—”

“Distract him, yeah.” Interrupting him, Fig waves him off with her hand, all but shooing Riz away. “We’ve got this,” Fig stresses, flashing him a smile, pulling Fabian in along with her. “We’ll do our part; you go do yours. Got it?”

Swallowing down his fear, Riz nods. “Got it,” he echoes. With a deep breath, he turns back to Aelwyn and Kristen — the former already heading off, the latter hurrying behind her.

Together, they slip down the hallway. Riz sneaks past Kristen and Aelwyn to be in the lead, forcing himself to sink back into that alert state of mind, senses pricked for anything at all that seems awry. Nothing seems out of place, though; the house is just a house, its furnishing normal, no hidden wards or glyphs or magic anywhere, every usage of Detect Magic with his necktie coming up blank.

That is, until they ascend the stairs.

It happens quickly, so much so that Riz scarcely has time to process it. One moment, he’s sneaking up the stairs, each step carefully light, not making a single wink of sound; the next, there’s something sticky tangling around him, sucking him in before he can even blink. “Shit!” he curses, movements growing frantic as he tries to jerk his limbs towards him; his necktie is going off, beeping at him, the Detect Magic spell finally pulling through. Abjuration magic, it tells him, as he struggles to break free.

He hears Aelwyn swear, Kristen sucking in a deep breath. “Don’t move!” Kristen calls, bounding up the stairs before either of them can stop her, can tell her to slow down. Not that Riz is in any state to do so, panic engulfing him, his body already high-strung from the thick tension that has been smothering them all. He just has enough willpower to force himself to still, squeezing his eyes shut as the stairs creak under Kristen’s heavy footsteps, before—

Thwack!

Eyes flying open, Riz stares at Kristen, her hands around her staff, stuck in the midst of the sticky, white webbing that snared him in its hold. The same spell has snared her, the thick cobwebs sticking to her staff and her wrists. “Uh,” Kristen says, jerking her shoulders backwards frantically. With a yelp, she pulls her hands free, staring at the webbing coating her fingers, before her gaze flicks to her staff, still ensnared in the trap’s hold. She winces. “Oh.”

An irritated sigh. “What the hell did you expect?” Aelwyn snaps, stalking up the stairs. From her pocket, she pulls a knife; instinctively, Riz tenses. “Relax,” Aelwyn mutters, narrowing her eyes as she leans forward, beginning to slice the sticky webbing away from the staff, grasping it until it's freed, and passing it back into Kristen’s hold. “It’s just a Web spell.”

Riz holds himself deathly still as Aelwyn studies him briefly before plunging the knife down, cutting through the cobwebs with swift precision. “I realised too late,” he admits, with no small amount of shame. “My necktie went off late. Told me it was abjuration magic.”

The knife halts. “Abjuration magic?” Aelwyn repeats, scrunching her face as she pulls back. “Are you sure?”

Hesitantly, Riz nods. Half his body is still tangled in the webs, and he still can’t move his tail. He’d really like to get free sooner than later. “Can’t you use Dispel Magic on this?”

“...It’s easier to just cut you free first,” Aelwyn answers after a brief pause, returning to slashing him free with surprising speed. She grabs his wrist, yanking him forward as soon as she cuts the last of the webbing off; Riz stumbles down the step, narrowly catching himself on the nearby bannister before he can tumble down to the foot of the stairs. Shaking off his dizziness, he spins around, trying to dust off the sticky webbing to no avail, and watching as Aelwyn stares at the cobweb-covered stairway before them, strangely silent.

“Is there something wrong with it?” he asks, calling out. “I mean, apart from— you know. The presence of webs at all.”

“You said it was abjuration magic, right?” Turning around, Aelwyn narrows her eyes at him. Riz only nods. “Crap,” Aelwyn mutters, turning away.

“What?” Kristen calls out, scrunching her brows. “It’s just Web. Adaine’s used it before.”

“This isn’t just Web.” Tapping her foot against the step, Aelwyn lets loose a frustrated sigh. “Web’s a conjuration spell, not abjuration.”

Riz pauses, confusion settling in. “So,” he begins, slightly hesitant, “what does that mean, then?”

Aelwyn hm’s. “If I had to make an educated guess,” she begins, raising her knife, “I would assume this is Guards and Wards.”

Riz blinks. He glances to the side, sharing a befuddled look with Kristen. “Guards and what?” Kristen asks, slightly bewildered. “Isn’t that just what you do?”

“It’s a spell,” Aelwyn utters, voice barbed and acerbic, the idiot going unsaid. “A rather strong one, all things considered.” Swinging her arms, she begins to hack at the sticky cobwebs, strands of white falling to the wayside, covering the steps.

Reaching for his sword, Riz steps forward, beginning to join her in hacking a path through. Even so, a question persists. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just—” Slash, another slash; he grimaces as a wad of white smacks him in the chest. “To just dispel it?” he finally finishes, with a brief glance at Aelwyn.

Aelwyn snorts. “Unless you’d like me to blast through my only sixth-level spell before we even get to the tricky part, no. And before you ask,” she adds, twisting around to shoot a glare at Kristen, whose mouth hangs open, as though about to ask something, “dispelling it would only get rid of this effect.”

Riz stiffens. “There’s more?”

“It’s called Guards and Wards, dipshit,” Aelwyn snaps, anger getting the better of her. “Plural. Multiple guards. Multiple wards. Okay?”

With steady effort, they hack a path up the stairs, taking it step by arduous step until they finally arrive at the top of the stairwell. All throughout, multiple things keep buzzing through Riz’s mind, tail tense with anxiety — the speed at which they’re going is too slow, they need to find Adaine faster; the plurality of Guards and Wards makes him nervous, and he regrets not reading up on spells in preparation; the sticky webbing is making him feel weird all over, the wood creaking underneath him as his shoes stick to the wood, causing him to be suddenly struck by the lingering fear that he won’t be able to maintain his stealth.

He gets an answer to the second concern as they finally reach the top, however. Aelwyn narrows her eyes as thick swathes of fog suddenly cloak the hallway, shielding their surroundings in white mist. Raising his hand, Riz tries to swat some of it away; he can make out barebones details of what’s around them, the thin outline of doors along the hallway, but little else. “Tch,” Aelwyn mutters, her movement coming to a halt as she surveys the mist. “Seems like it is Guards and Wards.”

“And this is all one spell?” Riz protests, voice wavering with disbelief, tail lashing behind him.

“Yep,” Aelwyn replies, with a halfhearted shrug. “And I’m willing to bet I already know why he casted it.”

Before Riz can press her on that, ask her with no small amount of confusion what she means by that — and he’s really, really regretting not reading up on spells, his arcane knowledge woefully lacking outside of a handful of basic spells — Aelwyn stalks forward, moving on. “Kristen,” she calls, as Riz hurries after her, Kristen following as well, “you wouldn’t happen to know Dispel Magic, would you?”

“Yeah,” she replies, cursing as she stumbles over her foot, nearly careening forward if not for Riz shooting out and grabbing her arm. She nearly pulls him down with her but manages to catch herself, one hand flying out to press against the wall. Shooting him a grateful smile, slightly congealed by the fog, Kristen turns back forward, clarifying, “Well, I have it with my staff. But—” She tilts her head. “Aelwyn, you said… sixth-level?”

Aelwyn sighs. “Yeah. Unfortunately, it’s a sixth-level spell. Quite the pain in the ass when you’re attempting to dispel it, given you have to dismiss all the effects individually, except all of it came from the same bloody spell, so it’s practically impossible to get rid of.”

A frown crosses Kristen’s face. “I can dispel one effect,” she says slowly, “but—” Cutting off, she bites her lower lip, uncertainty flickering across her face. “I’d need the material component for Greater Restoration then, if I’m gonna cast it on Adaine. My staff only has ten charges.”

“Which is?”

“A hundred gold’s worth of diamond dust,” Kristen answers with a shrug. “I think I have some, but it’s, like— back home. Somewhere in my room.”

Aelwyn glances at her. “We’ll figure it out,” is all she says before she turns back to stare down the hallway. “Anyways,” she continues, her voice growing curt, irritation flickering through her words. “Remember when I said I know why he chose to cast this?” A wry smile grows across her lips, cutting and sharp. “Well,” Aelwyn utters, flicking her wrist at the hallway before them, “behold. An entire arsenal of arcanely locked doors.”

Riz squints against the fog, darting forward until he sees it. He can just about make out the outlines of doors along the wall, their surfaces rippling with magic. Stepping forward, he runs a hand against the door, shuddering as static prickles up his hand, dredging up uncomfortable memories of brief spats against a stormy dragon, the rancid stank of ozone that permeated the air.

Choking down his uneasiness, he turns back to the others. “I can pick the locks,” he says, reaching for his watch. He presses a hidden button, a couple of magical tools popping out — things to aid him in lockpicking magical locks, specifically.

But Aelwyn only shakes her head. “Don’t bother,” she dismisses, stepping past him. “Dispelling just one door should get rid of all the others.”

“Do you want me to get rid of the fog, then?” Kristen calls, lifting her staff in her hands.

“Nah,” Aelwyn replies, waving off Kristen’s question. “There could be another effect hiding somewhere. It’d be good to save your dispel for that.”

Pressing her palm against the door, Aelwyn shuts her eyes. Riz takes a step back as magic crackles through the air, brief and fleeting — frigid and biting, like the sharp edge of ice, jolting his senses with a piercing cold clarity. In a flash, Aelwyn casts the spell; the magic humming all over the walls, like rippling, translucent waves, dissipates, gone in that instant.

“There.” Pulling back her hand, Aelwyn raises her chin at the two of them. “I’ll take this side,” she says, jerking her thumb at the door before her. “You guys search the other one.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to split up?” Kristen asks, furrowing her brows as she grasps her staff. “Like— all of us, individually?”

“Oh, it sounds like a good idea,” Aelwyn says sardonically, “until you trip over something and make too much noise, or Riz gets caught in a trap without Sending to call for help, or— whatever” Gesturing at them, Aelwyn snips, “But if you want to split up, be my guest.”

“Ooookay, not splitting up then,” Kristen says, taking a cautious step closer to Riz. They look at each other briefly as the sound of a door swinging open cuts through the air, Aelwyn already off and at it. With a light bow, Kristen gestures at the row of doors along the other wall, a spark glinting in her green eyes as she flashes him a light grin. “The floor is yours, o’mighty Gukgak,” she teases; even Riz is unable to bite back a weak smile as he steps ahead, taking the lead. “God knows I’m gonna trip and fall before I even find anything.”

They lapse into silence as they creep along the hallway. The first few doors they look into, twisting open doorknobs and slipping inside, reveal rooms that seem largely unused — a basic guest room with furniture coated in a thin layer of dust; a study with wall-length bookshelves teeming with dusty old tomes; a room that’s just a bunch of storage boxes, stacked up haphazardly in teetering piles. They find a bathroom, at one point, clean and well-stocked but nothing notable.

But the next door they reach, however…

Claws grasping the doorknob, Riz twists it, only to be met with resistance. “Huh,” he utters, staring at the metal handle, shiny and reflecting the light. “Door’s locked.”

“There’s a sign there too,” Kristen observes, pointing a finger up. Sure enough, there’s a small, wooden sign etched with Draconic lettering, only tangibly visible in the engulfing fog. It’s the only thing that separates it from the other rooms thus far, everything else otherwise the same — and yet, as Riz puts it together, connecting the potential purpose of the sign with the need for a locked door, his heart leaps into his throat.

“This might be Oisin’s room.”

His words hang between them for one brief beat, the implications heavy. This might be Oisin’s room, and Adaine might be inside. A lock seems like a weak layer of defence — but then again, Riz reminds himself, there had been a whole slew of Arcane Locks activated; had Aelwyn not dispelled it, they would have definitely been slowed down.

Still, he can never be too sure. He gulps as he reaches for his necktie, twisting the back of it to cast Detect Magic. A moment passes, brief and quick; “Doesn’t seem like there’s any other spell there,” Riz says slowly, narrowing his eyes at the door.

“There might still be another trap though,” Kristen murmurs as Riz whips out his tools, beginning to pick the lock. Her voice is hushed, carefully low, as though speaking too loud would draw attention, somehow pulling the beast right to them. Tension wraps around them in swathes as thick as the engulfing fog; all Riz can do is scrunch his face in concentration, each passing second stretching out to an eternity.

Finally, there’s a sharp click. “Done,” Riz says, pocketing the tools. As he reaches out his hand, claws wrapping around the doorknob, a lump suddenly wedges itself in his throat, a sharp fear stabbing through his chest. What will they find inside? He doesn’t know which is worse — the prospect of finally finding Adaine after everything that has happened, thick under the throes of dragon madness, or the prospect of not finding her at all.

Because if Adaine isn’t here, where else could she be?

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, the oxygen entering his lungs, Riz calms himself down, steadying his nerves. “Let’s go,” he whispers, taking the plunge as he steadies his grasp on the doorknob and twists.

Creeeaaak!

The door pushes inwards, little by little, revealing a bedroom. Light spills in through a window, the curtains only half-drawn, the other half of the glass panes letting streaks of sunlight shine through. As Riz steps inside, some of the fog from the hallway wafting in with him, he instinctively reaches up to fiddle with his necktie, his heart thumping hard against his chest as his own paranoia seizes him once more. Turning his head from side to side, he drinks in all the details he can sight.

The room is furnished like any other bedroom — a large bed, the sheets a rumpled mess, the pillows haphazardly tossed to the side; a bookshelf, stocked to the brim with a wide arsenal of tomes and novels; a desk, cluttered haphazardly with sheets of papers, stationary, books, scrolls, sets of drawers built into the table frame; a closet, a dresser, shelves — the standard fair.

No matter where he looks, though, Riz can’t see Adaine anywhere.

Above him, the light flicks on. Glancing over his shoulder, Riz spots Kristen fiddling with the switch. “Might wanna keep it off,” he says, his voice low. “Just in case he comes back.”

“Oh, right.” With another click, the light switches back off. There’s enough daylight to work with, and Riz’s darkvision is just about decent enough that he can make out the things casted in shadows, so with another deep breath to steady his nerves, he dives in.

The room is, devastatingly enough, devoid of any obsessions. If Riz didn’t know any better, he wouldn’t have guessed this was Oisin’s room; there is very little here to clue him in on the existence of Adaine and Oisin’s relationship. Then again, it’s not like Riz is privy to their friendship; for all he knows, the trinkets lining Oisin’s shelves, the books neatly aligned on his bookshelf, could have been gifts from Adaine, long ago.

Still, he persists. He doesn’t let go of his necktie as he cautiously looks around, golden eyes darting left and right in search of any trace of magic at all. His heart beats against his chest, loud and unsteady, his uneasiness growing worse when Detect Magic comes up short yet again. Some part of him had held out hope that perhaps Adaine could have still been here — invisible, unseen, a spell clueing him in on her mysterious presence — but unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case. The bed is, when Riz inspects it, running his claws along the rumpled sheets, empty; there is no hidden body lying around, no Adaine lurking in wait.

“She’s not here,” Riz eventually says, face falling as he turns to glance at Kristen. A flicker of uneasiness crosses her face at his words, the confirmation neither of them wanted to hear. “There’s no magic in here at all.”

Kristen bites her lip, eyes darting to the side — around the room, once again, at the shelves, the desk, the drawers attached to them. “Think it’s worth taking a look around anyways?” she asks, uncertainly.

Riz pauses, mulling it over. “It might be,” he eventually decides, taking a deep breath as his brain locks into investigation mode, digging for clues, for any pieces of evidence. Turning to stare down Oisin’s desk — the most cluttered part of his room, the locked drawers drawing Riz’s eye — he adds, “Every bit of evidence always helps.”

Some of the drawers attached to Oisin’s desk are locked, Riz realises, as he creeps closer, bending a little to get a proper look. While Kristen messes with the junk scattered across Oisin’s table, the sound of clattering occasionally clunking through the air, Riz picks the locks. The first drawer is useless, filled with an assortment of papers written in Draconic. He swipes what he can anyways, slamming the drawer shut before picking the second, and yanking it open to reveal—

His breathing hitches.

“Fuck.”

“What?” He hears Kristen’s voice through the shock that jolts his systems, heartbeat speeding up as he reaches into the drawer with a trembling hand. “What is it—”

He hears it — Kristen’s own voice cutting off, sucking in a sharp inhale as she, too, recognises the device held within Riz’s grasp. The case is familiar, the charms dangling off of it swinging slightly, hanging over the side of Riz’s hand — Adaine’s crystal.

“He took it,” Kristen breathes. When Riz’s eyes darts up, he sees Kristen staring at the crystal, emerald eyes wide, her body quivering slightly. “He actually fucking took it.” Raking a hand through the air, a shaky laugh spills past her lips. “She told us she lost it. Obviously, that’s not what happened. Obviously.”

He clicks the power button, only for the device to remain off. “It must be dead,” Riz mutters, deciding to pocket it for now. “We can charge it once we get back.”

“Yeah, that—” Kristen sighs. “That sounds like a plan, yeah. Mind looking at this, meanwhile?”

He peers up, catching sight of the pen held in Kristen’s hand. Riz’s eyes widen. “Oh, that’s—”

“Yeah.” Kristen nods at him. “Wanna give it a go?”

“Does he have… paper somewhere?” Riz scrunches his face. “Wait, no. He might notice if there’s just— a random scribble.”

“I got this, don’t worry.” Flashing him a smile, Riz watches as Kristen clicks the end of the pen, the nib jutting out. Pressing the nib against her skin, he watches with furrowed brows as Kristen attempts to scribble against her own freckled flesh. It’s hardly the most effective method of testing, but sure enough, the ink comes out thick and smudged.

“He’s got a couple of pens like this,” Kristen points out, clicking it shut as she gestures at a pen holder on his desk. “Wanna take one with us?”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

But just as Kristen presses the pen into Riz’s hand, just as he shoves it into his pocket, where Adaine’s crystal is—

It all happens so fast.

For one, flickering second, scarcely enough time for Riz to properly process it, something strange engulfs the air. His necktie beeps, drawing his attention as something crackles through the room.

It’s all the warning he gets before magic pierces the air, like lightning striking down.

In the blink of an eye, in the flash of a second, something teleports into the room. Riz jerks back, eyes bulging as panic chokes his throat, catching himself on the edge of the desk in the nick of time. Because standing before him, his back to Riz and Kristen, gathering his bearings as the vestiges of whatever conjuration spell he used dissipate into the air, is Oisin Hakinvar.

It’s too soon, Riz thinks, heart hammering against his ribcage frantically, so loud that it rattles through his body, all the way to his ears. It’s too soon—

Strong arms scoop around him, heaving him up into the air. He bites his lip, logic kicking in and stopping him from letting out a startled scream, and in a flash, as arcane words whisper through the air, a cool, velveteen magic curls around him, wrapping all over his body, engulfing his skin.

He sees Kristen’s eyes, blown wide; sees her lips mouth the words: Don’t speak.

(The seconds begin to tick by — one, two, three.)

Magic rolls over Kristen’s skin. She looks weird, Riz realises, grasping her appearance; her skin is glossy and shimmery, almost impossible to perceive unless he focuses. Greater invisibility, she mouths. One minute.

(Four, five, six.)

Before them, Oisin stills. Riz watches with bated breath as the dragonborn tilts his head around, glancing from side to side. He chokes down the lump in his throat, tail held stiffly, as still as death itself in Kristen’s arms, as those fierce, amber eyes land on him.

(Seven, eight, nine.)

But just as quickly as they lock eyes, Oisin pulls away. Riz swallows back the urge to let out a sigh of relief, terrified of eliciting even the slightest sound. He watches, instead, as Oisin’s head turns towards the door — left slightly ajar.

Shit.

(Ten, eleven, twelve.)

A hand reaches past him. With a sudden jolt, Riz glances at Kristen, watching as she tries to shift Riz over in her arms, tries to move her staff so it’s held firmly in the crook of her elbow.

He watches as her hand struggles to reach for her satchel.

(Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.)

The Sending components, Riz realises, eyes widening as it hits him. Because they had planned for Oisin coming through the front door, or teleporting somewhere on the lower floor. They hadn’t planned for him teleporting into one of the rooms they were searching — a stupid, stupid mishap on their part, a horrible, gross oversight; why had Riz decided to sleep last night? Maybe he could have foreseen this if he’d just stayed awake.

His hand reaches out, grasping the handle of her staff. Holding it in place, allowing Kristen more freedom of movement.

(Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen.)

Their eyes lock for one brief moment. She dips her head at him, near imperceptible, a silent thank you.

Fumbling with her satchel, Kristen finally gets a grasp on it—

(Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one.)

Except the pouch lets out a sharp snap as it flips open.

(Twenty-two.)

They freeze.

(Twenty-three.)

Oisin’s head jerks up, whipping around in their direction.

(Twenty-four.)

Tensing as tightly as he can, holding his breath until his lungs are about to burst, Riz waits.

(The seconds tick by, again — twenty-five, twenty-six; twenty-seven, twenty-eight.)

Footsteps thud against the wooden floorboards. A shadow falls over them, amber eyes narrowing into dangerous slits as Oisin steps closer, drawing near. Perspiration beads along Riz’s forehead, and, as Oisin steps past him, skulking about his desk area, Riz can feel sweat trickling down the curve of his face, down the back of his neck.

(Twenty-nine, thirty.)

He sees the way Oisin’s mouth is pulled into the makings of a snarl, the edges pulled taut, baring his fangs as his head whips around, searching closely. Too close, Riz thinks; his chest aches, lungs straining for fresh air against his attempt to hold it all in, to not make even the slightest hint of sound. Fuck.

(Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three.)

Behind him, he feels Kristen’s hand shift, digging through her components pouch slowly. Her arm trembles, and it’s all Riz can do to hold himself still while she searches silently, to hold her staff so it doesn’t tip out of the dip at her elbow and clatter to the floor.

And yet, Oisin is still far too close. They’re running out of time.

(Thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six.)

A single idea pops into his mind, bursting through the haze of terror. It’s stupid, reckless — and yet, with less than a minute left on the clock before Kristen’s invisibility drops, with Adaine still missing, with Oisin hot on their heels, recklessness is all they have.

He digs his free hand into his pocket, claws closing around something long, pointed to a blunted tip.

(Thirty-seven, thirty-eight.)

With bile licking at the back of his throat, Riz yanks the pen they’d nicked from Oisin’s table, throwing it out across the ground when the dragonborn’s back is turned.

(Thirty-nine.)

It hits the floor with a clatter, one that echoes through the air, shattering the strained silence.

(Forty.)

Immediately, Oisin whirls around, head snapping up as he turns in the direction of the sound. Riz can’t see his face from here, not at this angle, but he hears his voice, a low growl that sounds more befuddled than anything. “What the hell?” Oisin whispers, tail lashing to the side as he takes those steps over, thoroughly distracted.

(Forty-one, forty-two, forty-three.)

Behind him, Kristen wrenches her hand free. Riz dares to exhale, to suck in a shaky sliver of oxygen at the sight of the fine copper wire in her hand, slender and sharp, cut into a short section. He holds his breath again as she holds it up, his hand still holding her staff in place; her lips wrap around the words, Cassandra’s cool, nighttime magic curling around her as she casts.

(The seconds stretch on, long yet short, a paradoxical mess — forty-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine—)

The copper wire dissipates in Kristen’s hand, her magic expelling through the air. Except with Sending cast, Kristen’s twilight magic firing away in search of its recipient, the conjuration of a spell lingers in the air, an alien, prickling sensation that rubs against Riz’s skin.

With a cold, skin-curling dread, Riz watches as Oisin tense, straightening up as he twists his head around and looks directly at them.

(Fifty seconds — ten left.)

Amber eyes narrow, pupils contracting into sharp slits.

(Fifty-one.)

Kristen’s grip around Riz tightens, pulling him closer against her chest.

(Fifty-two.)

A footstep thudding against the floor as a step is taken in their direction, and then another.

(Fifty-three.)

Riz pressing himself together, curling as closely into a ball as he can — an instinct, more than anything else, to hide.

(Fifty-four.)

A clawed hand reaches out towards them, where they stand, pressed up against the wall and unable to move for fear of eliciting a single sound. Warm air exhales through a nostril, a grimace curled across sharp teeth, magic crackling at the edge of claw tips.

(Fifty-five.)

A faint shriek suddenly pierces through the air — distant, far-away, but still audible. Riz watches Oisin startle, whirling around and staring at the door, left ajar, and it is only by some narrow miracle that his tail narrowly misses smacking against Kristen’s legs, whipping so dangerously close that Riz’s teeth bite too hard into the inside of his cheek, iron spilling onto his tongue.

“OI, HAKINVAR!” a familiar voice yells, barely audible, yet definitely recognisable. Fig, Riz recognises, his eyes widening; behind him, he hears Kristen let loose a shaky exhale of relief, her warm breath brushing against his ear. Riz pricks his ears, straining as much as he can as he hears Fig shout again, faint yet powerful. “WE KNOW YOU HAVE ADAINE!”

A guttural snarl shreds the air. Tail lashing against the floor one last time, Oisin slams the door open, charging outside — falling for the distraction, just as they had planned.

And with his exit, the last five seconds of the Greater Invisibility spell tick to completion. Just as he disappears through the door, the last Riz spots of him being his long, winding tail, barely visible in the fog, the twilight magic that wrapped around him and Kristen both dispels, extinguishing in a flash, leaving them standing there.

Leaping down from Kristen’s arms, Riz stumbles, catching himself on the edge of Oisin’s desk. He sucks in a deep, heady breath of oxygen, filling the aching lungs in his chest. “Fuck,” he gasps, curling over slightly, his head spinning and aching, bile scouring the back of his throat. “That was way too close.”

He hears Kristen let loose a sharp breath, spilling through her teeth. “Yeah,” she whispers, voice cracking. He raises his head, meeting her gaze, those stark, green irises filled with urgency. “We have to find her. Now.”

As they scurry out of the room, Riz stoops down to scoop up the pen — abandoned on the floor, having served its purpose as a distraction well. As they skid out of Oisin’s bedroom together, hurtling down the fog-filled hall—

Something grabs his shoulder, tight and hard.

Riz startles, mouth opening to let out a scream, only for another hand to clamp over his mouth. “Don’t scream,” he hears a familiar voice hiss — Aelwyn, he recognises, mind spinning as he processes that sharp cadence, that icy tone of voice. Magic flickers through the air; like a shimmering veil thrown aside, Aelwyn appears. Even through the fog that curls around them, Riz can still see her ice-blue eyes, narrowing sharply as she stares at him, before her gaze flicks towards Kristen. “I was invisible,” she states, by way of a rapid explanation. Her lips curl; “I heard Fig screaming from downstairs, and I had to—”

“Did you see him?” Kristen asks, breathless, gripping her staff tight against her chest.

Aelwyn flinches. “God,” she mutters, letting out a shaky exhale. “He just ran past me.”

“He teleported into his room,” Riz blurts out.

“I grabbed Riz,” Kristen adds, her voice overlapping with his. “Greater Invisibility. Didn’t know if that would work, but—” She breaks off, shaking her head. “Thank fucking god it did.”

Aelwyn reels back, a flicker of surprise cutting through her eyes. “You don’t have regular invisibility?”

“Nope.”

Her gaze relaxes slightly, expression twisting into something that startles Riz. Aelwyn looks genuinely impressed. “That was smart,” she praises, a smile curling across her lips.

Kristen blinks, bewildered. “I— huh? Thank you?”

“Moving on.” Expression darkening, Aelwyn gestures at the other side of the hall, the set of doors she claimed. “Didn’t find anything at my side,” she says, lips pressing into a frown.

Riz and Kristen glance at each other. He feels his brows press together. “We haven’t finished yet,” Riz explains, as Aelwyn surveys them closely. If he pricks his ears, concentrates hard enough, he can hear the faint sounds of carnage from downstairs — an incomprehensible bundle of yelling, screaming, snarling; something crashing, something thudding. “We were in the middle of searching his room when he showed up. We—” He digs his hand into his pocket, fishing out the device they found. “We found Adaine’s crystal.”

“And one of his pens,” Kristen adds. She raises her arm, gesturing at the spot where she dragged the pen across her skin, the ink thick and blotchy. “Seems like a perfect match.”

Aelwyn’s gaze grows even darker, somehow — like a shadow shrouding her face, eyebrows dipped down, her lips pressed so thin, stretched so taut. “C’mon,” she eventually says, turning on her heel. “We need to find her, now.”

The next door they find is nothing special — Riz yanks it open to reveal nothing but a small, cramped closet space filled with linens and sheets, cleaning supplies and the like. There’s only one last door after that, tucked away at the very end of the hallway — nondescript, unassuming, the same wooden facade as every other door they’ve stumbled upon so far.

The only difference is that this door is locked.

Aelwyn’s eyes narrow as Riz picks the lock. In the distance, Riz can still hear the sound of a scuffle, of a battle — for however faint the sounds are, the fact that he can hear them at all causes hair to prickle along his skin, and a shudder to run down his spine. “If this is nothing,” Aelwyn mutters, pressing a hand against the wooden surface of the door, “then—”

“We’re fucked?” Kristen offers helpfully, though the strained edge to her words doesn’t slip by Riz’s notice.

A frown stains Aelwyn’s face, lips twisting downwards. “There’s still a floor upstairs, but—” A hiss spills out. “Fucking hell,” Aelwyn curses, rubbing her fingers against her forehead. “Hakinvar is here. I don’t know if we’re gonna make it up there.”

His hands tremble, and he nearly drops one of his tools. “Can we not think about that?” Riz begs. His voice pitches as the desperate plea escapes his lips, but Riz can’t help it — the prospect of ending in a failure terrifies him. “Please?”

“Then you better hurry up and get us in there,” Aelwyn retorts — and yet, for all her fierceness, she shares the same quiver to her voice that Riz has, that Kristen has, all of them terrified for the worst: that no matter how hard they try, they don’t get Adaine back.

Each ticking second is like an eternity, the stress only building with the sounds of battle from afar. But finally — finally! — there’s a sharp, resounding click.

Without waiting for anything, Riz shoves the door open, stepping inside, and—

He freezes.

You should leave, something whispers, the words brushing against his mind. A low rasp, nearly a croon; There’s nothing here.

He staggers backwards, staring at the doorway with wide eyes. I should leave, Riz thinks, the thought sinking in. Something curdles deep inside him, a horrible, sinking realisation; There’s nothing here, is there? She’s not here.

“Riz?”

He takes another step back.

“Hey— Riz!”

Hands clamp around his shoulders, forcing him in place. Startled, Riz jerks his head up, staring into Kristen’s wide, green eyes. His hands tremble, legs shaking, as she leans in, studying him closely. “What’s going on?” she asks, furrowing her brows. “Why are you—”

“W-We should get out of here,” he says quickly, shakily; his tail lashes from side to side, agitated and unsettled. Everything feels too much, all of a sudden. With a quick glance at the open doorway, Riz bites his lower lip, choking back the urge to keel over and throw up. “There’s nothing there.”

“Yes there is,” Kristen refutes, face scrunching even harder. “There’s a whole treasure room in there, what are you talking about?”

There is? He pulls a face, confusion flickering through him. And yet, those words linger, the compulsion to leave festering with each passing moment. With another attempt to break free failing, Riz begins to thrash. “Kristen, we have to go—”

SLAP!

He blinks, stunned. Slowly, steadily, pain begins to bloom along his left cheek, the throbbing ache growing exponentially with each ticking second. Fingers dig into his shoulders, Kristen’s voice pitching into a sharp yell: “Get a grip, Riz! Are you even hearing yourself?”

Staring at her in bewilderment, mind spinning as he tries to comprehend what just happened, all Riz can stutter out is “Wha—?”

“Suggestion spell,” another voice calls out, ringing through the air. He whips his head around to see Aelwyn glaring at the doorway. “Good thinking on slapping him, by the way,” she adds, as Kristen loosens her grip on Riz’s shoulders, causing him to stumble a little as she lets him go. “Pain snaps you out of it.”

Rubbing a hand against his cheek, Riz sheepishly mumbles a “Thanks.”

“I’ll get rid of it.” Raising her staff, Kristen’s eyes begin to glow slightly as twilight magic whirls around its head, rippling with all the constellations of the night sky. In a flash, the spell bursts towards the doorway before fizzling into nothingness, and though Riz can’t see a tangible change, he knows one must have just taken place.

“The fact that he put a Suggestion effect here…” Aelwyn muses, scratching her chin. “Riz, what did it tell you?”

“To leave.” He shifts uncomfortably at the memory, the voice that had snuck into his mind, crooning the suggestion like it was nothing at all. “That there was nothing here.”

“Oh?” Arching an eyebrow, Aelwyn actually smiles. “Well then,” she breathes, peering through the doorway once more as Riz moves to join them, “it seems like we may have found where she is.”

Any of the words that come to Riz’s mind dies before he can even utter them, his eyes bulging as he peers past Kristen and Aelwyn, and into the room inside. His thoughts stutter to a screeching halt, all logical thought stamped out by the illogical before him. “What,” he breathes, shaking slightly as he takes a step through the doorway, and then another. “What… the fuck is this?”

A whistle. “I knew dragons had hoards,” Aelwyn comments, something impressed entering her voice, “but this truly is something else.”

Because inside the room is an honest-to-god cavern — stalagmites stretching up from the rocky ground, stalactites sweeping down from an endless ceiling that seems to go on forever, impossibly high and shrouded in shadows. The soles of his shoes scrape against a rough surface, no longer the polished wood of the hallway they had just been standing in before, and if he pricks his ears, Riz swears he can hear the faint plink-plink-plink of water droplets splashing against something metallic, the sound so much louder in the thick, musty silence of this yawning cave.

But it isn’t the cavern that makes Riz feel ill. It’s not the fact that the door connects someplace else entirely; Mordred holds a direct door to Leviathan, after all. What causes bile to rise in his throat, his stomach to churn until it hurts, something sick wrapping around his chest and squeezing hard, is the endless mounds of treasure everywhere.

His tail stiffens as he forces himself to look around, wrenching his gaze from side to side to take it all in, if only to get a proper gauge of his surroundings. Treasure, treasure, so much treasure; an impossible deluge of riches, gold and silver and bronze, glittering jewels, precious artefacts, all things rich, fill every inch of this massive cave. Riz knew that dragons were rich — the twenty-thousand gold pieces they all individually received from killing Kalvaxus is proof enough of that matter — but to see it is truly something else.

How was she supposed to resist it? he realises, a sickening epiphany dawning upon him. Dragon madness, exposure to a hoard, being gifted cursed treasure; how was Adaine to stand her ground against all this?

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

Those words snap him out of his thoughts. Turning around, Riz stares at Aelwyn, taking in the sight of her hand outstretched, that cold, sharp clarity of her magic, frigid and biting, filling the air. Her face contorts into a horrific scowl, desperation seeping into her words. “There’s too much shit in here,” she hisses, pulling her hand back against her chest, balling it into a white-knuckled fist. “I can’t figure out where she is.”

“What?” Recoiling, Riz’s hand instinctively reaches for his necktie, pulling it twice, only to flinch as an absolute deluge of magic smashes into him, nearly rocking him off his feet. Catching his balance, he stumbles back slightly, scrunching his face as he scrutinises everything.

He understands now what Aelwyn meant. No matter where he looks, there’s a constant litany of magic detected from every single school, all concentrated in every area of the hoard. “It’s all the artefacts,” Kristen says, stepping forward, brows dipping in concerned confusion. “It has to be.”

“Yeah, no shit!” Aelwyn snaps, voice quivering as she grits her teeth. “What the hell do we even do?”

“We just have to search,” Riz says, a sinking realisation pressing down on his shoulders, suddenly aware of the absolutely gargantuan task before them. He swallows nervously, his throat suddenly dry. “It’s all we can do,” Riz rasps, stepping forward, “before he comes back.”

Aelwyn squeezes her eyes shut, something pained overcoming her expression for one fleeting moment. “Fuck,” she curses, raking a hand through her hair.

They split off to search, going their separate ways. The hoard cave is massive; splitting up is risky, sure, if only because there’s no contingency plan in place if Oisin comes back. For however skilled a rogue Riz is, he doesn’t want to go one on one against a powerful wizard, especially in said wizard’s own domain. Their goal is to get Adaine out, above all else; a fight would just hinder that plan, and then where would they be?

He scampers up the tallest pile he can find, jewels and coins plinking free as he climbs to the top. From there, crouched at the top, Riz swivels around, eyes sharp as his gaze sweeps over the sprawling cavern of treasures. In the dim light that illuminates the cave, coming from the soft-glowing lanterns that hang everywhere, Riz can’t see Adaine — there is not a single trace of her dewy skin in the thick of glittering treasure, and the light reflecting off the shining surfaces do nothing to help Riz’s focus, beaming sharp little stabs of light into his eyes. The only people he can spot are Aelwyn and Kristen, both roaming around, searching to the best of their abilities with an air of frantic urgency.

As he turns once more, however, his vision snags on something different.

Narrowing his eyes, Riz hops down the side of the pile, skidding down before clambering across the hoard. His heart skips a beat, suddenly pulsing faster and faster; he digs his claws into the side of a pile of wealth, golden coins skittering free as he drags himself up and over the edge, sliding down into the oddity he noticed from afar. His foot hits something jutting out; with a yelp, Riz hurtles through the air slightly, ankle blooming with pain, before colliding against—

Something soft.

Huh, he thinks, laying on his back, briefly dazed. His arms stretch out, pressed against a downy surface, so unlike the cold, hard edges and rough surfaces of the rest of the cavern. Pushing himself upright, he winces as he presses weight down on his ankle, biting the sore inside of his cheek as he stomachs the pain. You’ve suffered much worse, Riz reminds himself sharply. This is nothing.

He brushes a hand against the soft surface beneath him, taking in the sight around him. A dip down in the thick of a pile of treasure, sloped in a semicircle. Like a nest, Riz thinks, the comparison suddenly coming to mind — wasn’t that what dragons did? And yet, as he rises to his feet, surveying the mounds of blankets and mattresses and pillows around him, all Riz can think is, If I were Oisin, where would I put Adaine?

Here, his mind supplies, the answer coming to him like a sudden jolt of lightning.

His breathing hitches. He tweaks his necktie again, pulling up Detect Magic. Riz takes a tentative step around, and then another, chest rising and falling shallowly as his heart hammers against his ribs. Are you here, Adaine? he thinks, desperation slowly seeping in as he reaches blindly through the air, as though his hand would land against an invisible body, the soft material of a shirt, the smooth surface of skin. He circles around, once, twice; that desperation grows, creeping further through his veins, festering underneath his skin.

Where are you? Where are you?

A sudden piercing yell — Kristen.

“HE’S COMING BACK!”

Those three words are all it takes to snap Riz out of his reverie, that state of mind where the logical collapsed, and something distressed and hopeless broke through instead. He jumps into action, hissing as he clambers over the top of the walls surrounding the strange, comfortable nest; crouched at the edge, all Riz sees is Kristen in the distance as Aelwyn sprints towards her, those green eyes blown wide with terror — the fear of getting caught.

Riz has but a second before Aelwyn collides with Kristen, the two of them vanishing in a flash. He has but a second before he hears it — faint and far-off, barely audible at all. His ears prick up, gooseflesh rippling across his skin — something guttural and low, dangerous and raw, a snarl that causes ice to sink through his veins, blood curdling with a sudden, frenetic fear.

In a flash, he dives forward, sinking into the depths of his time-polished instincts, wrangling the urge to curl somewhere and hide. He circles around a towering pile of treasure, finds a dip between it and another pile, narrow and small enough for him to wedge himself inside.

Sucking in a deep breath, Riz waits.

Silence stretches through the air, thick and tense. He hears Oisin enter, rather than sees him — faint footsteps thump against the cavern ground, one by one. Something skitters, something plinks — Treasure, Riz realises, one ear flicking as he pinpoints the familiarity of that noise, eerily familiar after the past several minutes of climbing up and sliding down heaps of riches.

He holds his tail perfectly still, wraps it around his body so it doesn’t accidentally lash to the side, an instinctive swipe that could arouse suspicion. With slow, careful movements, lungs straining as he holds his breath, Riz curls his claws over the top of the wall of treasure covering him from view, muscles aching as he struggles to lift himself just enough that he can peer over the edge. Dread pumps through his heart, rendering his head a spinning mess, lightheadedness slowly sinking its claws into him; still, Riz persists, pulling himself up just enough that he can see him.

He exhales — slowly, carefully, chest contracting with strained effort so as to not elicit any attention. Drawing another deep breath, feeling his lungs ache as they fill with the thick, humid air of the cave, Riz narrows his eyes at the sight of Oisin weaving around his own hoard, as though following an invisible path to something.

Or rather, his mind supplies, to someone.

A long, blue-scaled tail lashes from side to side with agitation. Spines prick along the expanse of his body, the frills and fins along the edge of his face pricking up into the air. He’s terrified, Riz realises, recognising it in the thick of the agitation — the faint trail of smoke that curls from his nostrils, the way he seems to speed up little by little, clambering over his own treasure as he makes his way to a destination unknown to Riz. His body is bruised and battered with cuts, blood oozing from a nasty wound along his arm; his clothes are singed, soot staining patches of his scales.

Riz watches, while taking slow, shaking breaths, as Oisin climbs over one particular pile. He watches, while his heartbeat hammers against his sternum frantically like it’s about to burst, as Oisin crouches down, knees digging into the rocky surface of the treasure underneath. It’s another narrow dip, much like the one Riz is hiding in, and as he watches Oisin reach out his arms, his body semi-blocked from this angle, Riz’s mind whirls, working overtime, and it clicks.

The angle of Oisin’s arms, the way he leans down before making to stand up—

He’s lifting something, Riz realises with a sharp jolt. He’s lifting Adaine.

Because that’s the only thing it could be, right? That’s the only thing Oisin could be keeping here. He’s obsessive, possessive, fiercely territorial of the girl he deems as his; Riz can think of nothing else save for Adaine herself that would elicit such careful, tender actions in the thick of a frantic urgency spurned by a break-in and scuffle with half the Bad Kids.

His words from earlier return to him: We know he can teleport. A question digs its way into Riz’s mind, bursting through with frantic urgency — Does he have a second Teleport? Spells aren’t Riz’s forte; hiding in the shadows, stealth and secrecy, solving mysteries — all of that is what he’s good at, the skills he’s polished over time. He’s only just started to dip into spellcasting over the summer, but his are basic, nothing like the practised power of the Abernant sisters, the crackling magic of Oisin Hakinvar. Does he have a second Teleport? his mind yells again, desperate for an answer, and—

Riz doesn’t know.

But the possibility that Oisin is panicking, that he could be pulling Adaine out, here and now, lodges itself in Riz’s mind, a risk he can’t ignore. If Oisin vanishes from here with an invisible Adaine in his arms, will they see her again? No longer at Aguefort, at Mordred; will she even be in Elmville at all?

Hakinvar’s stuck here, Aelwyn said. He can’t leave, Kristen said. Both statements had rung true at the time — but in light of their rescue attempt, would Adaine still be here? They wouldn’t know where she’d be. They wouldn’t be able to find her at all.

He watches Oisin rise to his feet, adjusting the invisible weight in his arms. With steady movements, Riz reaches for his belt, the holster of his gun. He pulls his arquebus out as silently as he can. His heartbeat echoes in his ears, stomping hard; sweat drips down the back of his neck, and it takes him all his strength to keep his tail close around him, fearful of swiping it against a pile and accidentally making a sound.

Resting the length of his arquebus against the edge of the treasure, using the packed mound of riches as a steadying force, Riz narrows his eyes. With his breath in his throat, he aims the gun carefully, curling his claw around the trigger—

And he fires.

BANG!

A howling shriek of pain pierces the air. In the blink of an eye, Oisin has curled into himself, one hand clasped desperately against the wound in his shoulder. Blood trickles free from between his claws, the oozing red liquid strikingly sharp against blue scales. Something loud thuds through the air, like a weight crashing against a solid pile — but Riz can’t bring himself to focus on that right now, his body flinging itself into autopilot as he hurtles himself over the wall he’s been hiding behind, charging forward with all the fury and speed he can muster.

He screeches as he slams his body into Oisin with all his might. Somehow, it works; maybe Riz catches him off guard, or maybe he’s already just unsteady from the sudden, sharp pain racking his body, but whatever the reason, Oisin goes down. Claws dig into scales, sinking in deep; a guttural roar pierces the air as those amber eyes narrow into thin slits, scleras flecked with specks of a deep, crimson red.

“YOU!” Oisin snarls, jerking against Riz’s body, against the grip of his claws; red blood beads from where his claws have sunken in, trickling free and soaking into the fabric of his shirt. Fangs snapping, tail lashing, Oisin growls. “You ruin everything—”

“YOU KIDNAPPED MY BEST FRIEND!” Like a dam bursting free, all of it comes crashing out. Rage seizes him, that primal desire to dig his claws and fangs deep and tear that bastard apart finally bursting through the surface, breaking away from lock and key. Something sharp digs into his own shoulder, and a shriek bursts from his mouth as he’s suddenly flung around, all the breath knocked out of his chest as his back slams hard against the jagged, uneven edges of hoarded treasure.

He sucks in a shaky breath. Gritting his teeth so hard he swears his molars are cracking, Riz writhes under Oisin’s hold, pinned down by one strong, muscular arm. All remnants of the plan have been flung from his mind. To hell with sparing you, Riz thinks, guttural fury seizing him like a possession. I’m going to fucking kill you.

“You fucked with her mind,” he hisses, as claws dig in sharp, as something long winds around his legs, pinning them together. “You stole her from us—”

“I HAD TO!” He jerks his head back at the howling screech, nearly incomprehensible, more beast than man. Chest heaving, smoke curling from his nostrils and the edges of his jaw, Oisin stares down at him, pupils contracted to needle-sharp slits. “She’s mine,” he rasps, equal parts reverent and rageful, possessive and claiming in a way that makes Riz’s skin crawl, stomach churning with acid until he swears he’s going to be sick. “She’s my treasure, my oracle—”

Wrenching his hand free, Riz lashes out, pure instinct taking hold. In one ferocious swipe, he tears his claws across Oisin’s face, across his eye, taking advantage of his lack of spectacles, knocked off sometime in the midst of their tussle. A howling shriek of pain shreds through the air as something warm and sticky splatters against Riz’s hand, staining his claws. Sanguine oozes down the side of Oisin’s face, his eye wedged tightly shut, and yet, as Riz pulls his hand back, escaping from Oisin’s grasp in the thick of pain and confusion, the only thought that hisses through his mind is It’s not enough.

“RIZ!”

He jerks around at the sharp cry of his name, head snapping up. His eyes lock with green ones — Kristen, he recognises, in the thick of his feral instincts, crouching against something with her gaze blown wide. His eyes flick to the side, meeting a piercing blue gaze, and recognising Aelwyn’s cold stare as she dips her head at him, a silent beckon for him to come here. And when he darts his eyes once more, to the thing between them—

Like being dunked into glacial waters, the frigidity jolting him back to his senses and chasing those raging instincts away, Riz sees Adaine.

She lays sprawled between Aelwyn and Kristen, both their arms wrapped around her, propping her up slightly from the ground. Her eyes are pressed shut, lips slightly parted, and her blonde hair sways around her, a few strands plastered against her forehead and brushing against her cheeks. But it isn’t that that sends a chill down Riz’s spine, causing dread to soak through his systems; for all he knows, Adaine is asleep, trancing, blissfully unconscious and oblivious to the carnage raging around her.

It’s the jewellery that makes him feel sick, all the way to the core of his body. Everywhere he looks, there’s treasure — delicate necklaces dripping with jewels hang from her neck, a choker that reminds him too much of a collar wrapped snugly around her throat; winding bracelets curl around her arm, bangles clinking against that first bracelet, the one chained to a ring. Earrings hang from her ears, anklets rest against the heel of her feet; a delicate circlet curls around her head, as though crowned by someone else’s hand.

It’s beautiful and reverent, all at once, and it makes Riz’s stomach churn like he’s about to collapse to his knees and throw up.

The sound of Aelwyn’s voice, sharp and commanding, snaps him out of it. “We have to go, now!”

Forcing a nod, Riz darts forward, tries to join them, except—

CRACK!

A stabbing pain floods his systems, bursting out of nowhere like a bolt of lightning. He doesn’t even realise the way his mouth has parted, a pained yell breaking forth, doesn’t realise the clawed hand that has clamped around his tail until it’s yanking him backwards. The soles of his shoes kick against the floor beneath him, coins skittering free; tears well at the corner of his eyes, his balance shattered and rendered askew, his systems absolutely ravaged with sheer agony.

A hiss brushes past his ears, sparks flying through the air. “You’re not going anywhere,” Oisin growls, something metallic tinging his breath, ozone singeing the air.

In the thick of the pain, it’s almost impossible to think. It’s perhaps one of the worst pain Riz has ever experienced, clouding his mind with a haze of agony, shrouding his thoughts so barely anything can pierce through. And yet, as he bites down hard on his lower lip, dredging up one last thought from the trenches of his mind—

His hand, shaking uncontrollably, slips to the hilt of his sword, sheathed at his waist. Fingers curling around it, Riz musters up the energy to do the one thing he’s been saving all along.

Misty Step.

In a flash, he’s stumbling forward, balance knocked askew. He crashes into strong, freckled arms that wrap around him, holding tight. “Shit,” Kristen whispers; when Riz looks up, her face is gaunt, horror piercing her pupils. Following the direction of her gaze, Riz twists his head just enough that he can see—

Oh.

His tail, jutting out at an awkward angle that just looks wrong. Broken, throbbing with pain, snapped at one clear point that causes bile to rise in his throat.

But before he can muse on it any longer, before he can give his tail an impulsive, experimental twitch, he sees Kristen’s arm latch out, grabbing on tight to Aelwyn nearby. Magic pierces the air, sharp and cold, that familiar frigidity that brushes against Riz’s skin, cooling down the heat that’s been burning through his veins thus far.

Raising his head, the last Riz sees of Oisin is nothing but pure rage, his one good eye flecked with red, blood dripping down the other half of his face. Sparks hiss from his mouth as he charges forward, jaw opened wide, something crackling and building at the back of his throat—

And then they’re whirling through magic, through the thick of a Teleport spell, and Riz squeezes his eyes shut as something bitter and acidic hits the back of his throat, stomach rebelling against him with vicious fury—

And then it stops.

He sucks in a shaky breath, lungs expanding as fresh air floods his chest, no longer the thick, humid heat of the hoard room before. Slowly opening his eyes, Riz stares up with blurring vision at the blue stretching above him, at the light of the afternoon sun as it dips towards the horizon, at the fluffy white clouds wafting lazily across the sky. Slowly moving his head, he takes in the sight of a thick field of grass, of gravestones to one side, a familiar, gothic-style manor to the other. Of the leafy trees and wildflowers blooming across the field, of the wind that rustles against his face, brushing against his cheeks.

“—iz? Riz?”

Someone’s talking, he realises, distantly. Twisting around, he tilts his head back just enough to see Kristen staring down at him in horror, her eyes blown wide. “Fuck,” she whispers, reaching out to brush her hand against his tail, causing Riz to hiss as a jolt of pain stabs through him. “Sorry!” she blurts out. “Sorry. I— fuck.”

Wriggling slightly in Kristen’s arms, worry floods him for one brief moment. “Is—” His words catch in his throat, raspy and sore. He coughs, before he tries again. “Is Adaine…?”

Those green eyes soften. The words that spill forth cause him to relax, relief flooding him so deeply that he just about collapses, slack-limbed. “We got her,” Kristen says softly. She reaches out, helping to manoeuvre Riz around as she speaks. “See?”

The last thing Riz sees as pain and exhaustion sweep over him, the adrenaline of the rescue — of shooting Oisin, of leaping forward and wrestling him in a desperate bid to stop him from stealing his best friend away again — finally dissipating from his veins, is a pair of blue eyes, slowly blinking open.

Adaine stares at him, her eyes dazed, brows dipping down in a tired confusion as Aelwyn holds her in her arms.

“Hi,” Riz croaks out, smiling awkwardly as their eyes meet.

It’s the last thing he says before he finally collapses into unconsciousness, passing out unceremoniously in Kristen’s arms on the lawn of Mordred Manor.

Chapter Text

Despite their best efforts, they have to retreat.

None of them want to. Retreating means letting Oisin Hakinvar go, allowing him to scurry off upstairs — where Aelwyn, Kristen, and Riz are searching, looking everywhere for Adaine. It means that they have failed as a distraction, that they couldn’t buy the others enough time — and in a situation like this one, every second stolen from Oisin could mean the difference between finding Adaine or not at all.

And yet, they don’t really have a choice.

Gorgug watches as Fig yanks a short piece of fine, copper wire out from the satchel strapped to her waist, face contorted with equal parts frustration and fury. “Fuck,” she curses, as she grips the wire hard in her hand; it’s a sentiment that resonates with Gorgug down to the core of his soul, his rage still pulsing through his body like a second heartbeat, adrenaline racing through and making him feel unbearably, soul-crushingly alive.

A thin voice croaks through the air. “Sorry,” Fabian rasps. Gorgug can feel him shift, holding him in his arms. “Didn’t mean to— fuck this up so badly for us.”

Because that was what happened, kind of. Gorgug isn’t sure he’d call it fucking up though, not when Fabian didn’t really stand a chance at fending off a furious dragonborn launching straight at him with claws outstretched, foregoing magic for raw, physical brutality. He still isn’t fully sure what happened himself; all Gorgug remembers is waiting outside, hearing the rumbling of the Hangman vibrating at his side, his senses alert for any sign of Oisin’s return.

One moment, he had been crouching underneath the shade of the tree, gaze flicking from side to side; the next, the Hangman had sped off, shouting something about his master being in danger, and how they needed to get in there now. Just hearing those words had sent Gorgug’s heart plummeting, dread seizing him in its vice grip, and it had only been on instinct alone, honed from far too many battles to count, too many instances of flying into a rage, that he had sprinted after the Hangman, slamming the door open and racing inside.

As soon as his eyes landed on Oisin absolutely tearing into Fabian, forcing his friend further and further into a corner while Fig tried to pelt the dragonborn with magic, Gorgug had flown into a rage. That familiar battle-wrought anger had flooded his systems, driving him to jump in with a roar and slash his axe across Oisin’s arm, forcing the dragon to stagger back.

Don’t kill him, something in his mind yelled, a reminder he couldn’t forget. Adaine’ll be pissed, and that would be bad.

In the end, they had to back off. Fabian had taken too many hits, gotten far too wounded; it simply wasn’t viable to keep fighting anymore, not when the only healer they had around was Fig, who wouldn’t be able to do as much as Kristen. If this had been a proper fight, if they had been able to unleash their full might upon Oisin, then all this would have been another story; Gorgug knows, for a fact, that he would have eagerly chopped that dragon’s head off if given the chance.

Oisin hadn’t taken chase at all as they retreated, hurrying towards the open front door. He had simply snarled at them one last time, a dangerous threat burning in his eyes, before taking off back upstairs. As though they weren’t even worth going after.

Now, Gorgug watches as the wire in Fig’s hand disintegrates in a burst of searing magic, a Sending spell sent off to warn the others of Oisin’s imminent arrival. “It’s not your fault,” he tells Fabian, shifting his arms slightly so he can pull Fabian a bit closer. “He was really going in on you.” It didn’t take a scientist to figure that out; Gorgug knew, as soon as he had rushed in, and based on the panicked way the Hangman had taken off, that Fabian was in a dire spot.

A hiss of pain. “I goaded him—”

“He targeted you.” Fig’s voice is barbed with anger, frustration vexing her words. Gorgug watches as her lips pull into a snarl, in what he’s come to recognise, over the months, as her German Shepherd mode — protective and fierce. “He went straight for you as soon as he came in. That wasn’t fair at all.”

“Guess we shouldn’t be surprised.”

It’s— maybe it’s a little blunt of him to say that, and Gorgug somewhat regrets it when he feels Fabian tense in his arms, but he’s not wrong. His mind wanders to that day, a few months ago — of watching a confrontation go down in the parking lot of Basrar’s, as Fabian spit the words that Gorgug has been trying not to think too hard about, admitting what’s been on all their minds.

The thing is, Gorgug’s not stupid. He’s always kept an eye on Adaine ever since she entered a relationship with Oisin, from the moment they all found her and the dragonborn sleeping together in a room in Fabian’s house. But all the same, he’d wanted to trust her. This was her life, after all. All he really wanted to do was support her and what made her happy.

But it wasn’t healthy. That was obvious, even early on. It wasn’t healthy, and no amount of sweetness, of Adaine gushing about the gifts she got and the time they spent together, could detract Gorgug’s mind from everything else. The blatant hostility, the downright feral behaviour—

But he’d still clung to the hope that maybe Adaine knew what she was doing. It was why he kept pulling Fabian back whenever he got too violent, why he asked Riz to calm down a little bit.

In hindsight, it was a stupid thing to do. But he didn't know then.

A heavy sigh spills out, weariness settling in as he slowly comes out of his rage. There’s no reason to cling to it anymore, not when they’re out of battle. “We should go,” Gorgug admits, the words bitter on his tongue.

“And just leave them in there?!” Fabian’s voice pitches, outraged. “We have to go back—”

“You are literally about to die, Fabian,” Gorgug says flatly. Fabian’s mouth clamps shut. Frustration settles into his chest, tangling around his ribs like a ball of twine — annoying, prickling, infuriatingly there. “I don’t like this any more than you do,” Gorgug adds, glancing down to level Fabian with a hard stare, “but Riz told us to retreat if anything got bad. And this was bad.”

To his side, he hears the Hangman rumble. Gorgug doesn’t know what he’s saying, the motorcycle retreating back to his private, one-on-one telepathic conversation with Fabian, but based on the way Fabian slumps in his arms, defeated, Gorgug thinks he knows whose side the motorcycle is on.

“I still have that contingency plan, y’know?” Gorgug’s head snaps up, eyes widening as Fig grins at him, her smile sharp, no trace of mercy in her eyes. She raises her hand, wreathed in fire. “I can still burn his house down,” she crows.

“No!” Both his and Fabian’s voices overlap at once, a tidal wave of refusal sweeping over Fig. “Fig, they’re still inside,” Gorgug protests.

“They can get out!” Fig argues, eyes flashing. “I’ll warn them! Also, like—” With a sweeping arm, Fig gestures at the manor beside them — a tall, multi-storeyed thing, nothing like the small tree Gorgug and his parents have made their home in. “This shit’s huge!” Fig points out, shaking her hand like she’s trying to prove her point. “The fire isn’t gonna spread that quickly.”

“...I think you’re kinda underestimating how quickly fire spreads,” Gorgug eventually says. “No fire.”

Fig slouches, dissatisfaction coming over her. “Boo.”

They make their way off together, a party of three accompanied by a sentient, hellhound-possessed vehicle. By the time they reach Aelwyn’s rental car, Fabian’s eyes are fluttering shut. “Can you help me?” Gorgug asks Fig, beckoning over. “Keys,” he says, tilting his head downwards. “In my pocket.”

“Got ‘em.” With a little digging, Fig yoinks out the car keys, jangling in the air. Together, the two of them get the car unlocked and the back door opened, Gorgug leaning in to quickly put Fabian down along the back seat. “I didn’t realise you had these,” Fig remarks.

“Aelwyn tossed them at me,” Gorgug says, slamming the door shut before circling around to get into the driver’s seat. Earlier, as they had all piled out of the rental car, after Aelwyn locked it shut, she had thrown Gorgug the keys. Just in case, she’d said, her eyes glinting knowingly. Which made sense, all things considered; none of them knew Teleport, and though the Hangman was available as a get-away vehicle, it would be hard trying to cram all three of them on his back.

As Gorgug starts up the car, however, the engine purring as it comes to life…

“Do you think they found her?”

It’s strange to hear Fig sounding vulnerable. Gorgug isn’t sure he’ll ever get used to it, no matter how many battles they fight, no matter how many years they’ve spent knowing each other. Fig wears her heart on her sleeve, sure, but all the same, she’s also fiercely protective of herself, constantly putting on one act or another, cackling like a maniac instead of giving in to what she’s actually feeling.

But now, as he turns to look at her, he’s struck by the sight of her staring vacantly out the window. He can see her reflection in the glass; any of the excitement, the frenzy, the fire-starting furor that was there just moments earlier is gone now, replaced with a lingering exhaustion. Her gaze is distant, staring through the window at nothing in particular, and her hands, resting on her lap, twitch restlessly.

It’s a loaded question to answer. He bites his lip as he pulls onto the road, getting started on the trip back to Mordred. Outside, he can hear the faint rumble of the Hangman as the motorcycle follows.

“They had to have found her,” he finally says, as the car rumbles down the road. It’s all he can really say, all he can really feel right now — he has faith in Aelwyn and Kristen and Riz, and the only alternative apart from believing in them is to not, and Gorgug isn’t sure he can handle that right now.

His fingers itch, continuing to tap against the wheel, over and over. They hit a bump and he hears a groan from behind. “Sorry,” Gorgug calls out instinctively, a sheepish heat coming over him as Fabian goes back to laying in pained silence.

The ride back to Mordred is quiet. Time stretches out, so much so that it feels infinite and endless; that uneasy, fidgety energy doesn’t leave Gorgug, no matter how hard he tries to distract himself. He reaches for the radio at one point before thinking better of it, because it feels too awkward to be listening to Top 40 hits when your friend’s bleeding out in the back of the car, and your other friends are rescuing your kidnapped friend, and you don’t know if they even succeeded.

“Oh, shit.” The words slip out quick as something dawns upon him.

He feels Fig’s eyes on him. “What?”

“Nothing, just—” As they pull to a stop at the traffic light, Gorgug twists his head around, trying to peer into the back. “Is there blood on the seats? Isn’t this, like, a rental?”

For a moment, neither of them speak.

Gorgug watches as Fig twists around, turning to peer as well. He watches as she opens her mouth, about to reply with… something, he doesn’t know what, only to suddenly go rigid. He doesn’t feel it happen, isn’t as good at picking up magic the way the others are, despite his title of ‘The Greatest Wizard of this Age’ and despite the fact that he sealed away the Night Yorb, but Gorgug knows what’s going on, if only because of the gasp of relief that spills past Fig’s lips.

Immediately, he’s asking, “Is it—?”

“Yeah.” Slumping against the back of the chair, Fig turns her head, grinning at him with such deep relief.

“They got her.”

“Need any help, kiddo?”

Kristen blinks, jerking her head up to see Jawbone leaning against the doorway of her room. “How long have you been standing there?” she blurts out, the words coming before she can stop herself.

“Not long,” Jawbone answers with a shrug. Still, Kristen can see the way his ears twitch, his tail flicking restlessly. “Just wanted to pop in and see how things are going.”

“Well, they’re going, alright.” She returns to the box before her as she speaks, digging through her haphazard storage of— well, everything. She’s not Adaine. She doesn’t have all her components stored in dedicated sections of her drawers, tucking away select portions in her ingredients pouch. Kristen throws everything into a few boxes in her room and calls that good enough, except now, her inability to keep things properly is really biting her in the ass.

Where the fuck is it? Kristen wonders, brows pressing together as she yanks out a hefty tome from— she doesn’t even remember when she got it, let alone from where or from who, something about world philosophy that she can barely remember reading. It’s certainly not what she’s looking for right now, nowhere near resembling the hundred gold’s worth of diamond dust she needs to cast Greater Restoration.

It’s only in moments like this where Kristen bemoans how reliant she’s gotten on her staff. That thing’s useful; the cost of casting spells like Greater Restoration is so goddamn expensive, but she doesn’t need to scrounge up the diamond dust at all if she just uses her staff. Which is fine and all, except she spent more than half her charges on Dispel Magic (which she doesn’t regret, not really, considering how panicked Riz was about leaving as soon as that Suggestion effect hit him), so now she’s just trying to find her ingredients.

She’s midway through pulling out a jacket she doesn’t remember wearing, wrinkling her nose at it, when she hears a cough from behind. “If there’s really nothing,” Jawbone begins, “then I’ll just leave you to— er, whatever you have to do—”

“Nonono, wait, uh—” Twisting around, Kristen’s arm flies out to press against the ground as she nearly tumbles over, her sense of balance always horrible no matter what she does to try and fix it. “Sorry,” Kristen says, a little breathlessly, meeting Jawbone’s wide eyes, blinking at her from behind his glasses. “I was just searching.” She grins at him, slightly weak. “Uhh, could you, like, make me a cup of coffee? Y’know, the way I like it? I could really use a pick me up right now.”

It’s not a lie. It’s technically the truth. Exhaustion has begun to seep in, soaking through her bones, some invisible weight dragging her down now that the adrenaline and anxiety of their little rescue mission has started ebbing away. Kristen was fine at first — hefting Riz’s unconscious body up in her arms as Aelwyn carried Adaine, the two of them entering Mordred and bringing them up to Adaine’s room. Some of that electric energy still throbbed through her veins as she attended to Riz, stabilising his tail and bleeding wounds with her healing magic, but as she left the room to go search for the components for Greater Restoration, forced to dig through her godawful storage system, Kristen had started growing… tired.

Damn her past self. If she knew shit was gonna get this bad someday, she would have invested in better storage.

“Coffee?” Jawbone echoes, blinking at her a little dumbly before something clicks. “Oh, yeah sure! Right. Cup of coffee coming right up.”

“Thanks,” Kristen calls out as Jawbone turns around, making to leave. “I’ll stop by the kitchen later. Grab it on my way up.”

“Nearly found what you’re looking for?”

“Kinda, yeah.” Or at least, she hopes she’s nearly found it. The last thing Kristen wants is for Aelwyn to throttle her if she returns to Adaine’s room empty-handed.

Just before Jawbone leaves, though, he turns back towards her. “Oh, and one more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Not to put more pressure on you,” Jawbone says, eyebrows furrowing as he speaks, “but, er— it seems like things are getting pretty antsy. I’m not really filled in on everything yet, but… well, Sandra Lynn told me she could hear some shouting from upstairs?”

Oh, shit, Kristen thinks to herself, pressing a hand against her forehead as her entire body tenses. “Right, right,” she says, returning to her storage box and tearing through it with newfound urgency. “Thanks, Jawbone.”

She doesn’t really pay attention as he leaves, not keeping an ear out for the sound of the door slamming shut, or the sound of footsteps scuffing against the chapel floor. All Kristen does is dig through her belongings with renewed urgency, biting the inside of her cheek as she tosses a scarf — gift from Tracker, long ago — to the left, and throws a fraying piece of rope — used for quite a number of salacious activities, nice — to the right. She briefly stops to look closely at a folder filled with essays — written by Adaine, so that’s where they went! — but ultimately forces herself to place it aside. Not now, Kristen reminds herself, narrowing her eyes. You can look at it later. Maybe show it to Adaine so she can yell at you for not submitting any of them, ever.

Eventually, she finds it. A small, nondescript pouch not in her storage boxes, but just thrown in the drawer of her bedside table. “Finally,” Kristen mutters as she pulls open the strings to see fine, glittering dust inside, diamonds grinded down into powder. “Found you, you bastard.”

She’s way overdue to return back to Adaine’s room. When Kristen had left, Adaine was beginning to stir properly. Not that she wasn’t awake before that, because she was, but throughout that entire period of wakefulness, she hadn’t really been all that responsive. Her eyes were open but dazed, and she didn’t really speak, nor did she protest too much when Aelwyn hefted her up the stairs and dumped her on the pile of mattresses on the floor, blankets and pillows still strewn about from last night.

God, I hope she’s not dead, Kristen thinks to herself, swinging the pouch from her hand as she gets back up, the muscles in her legs aching from crouching for far too long. It’s fine. It should be. Aelwyn’s there, and Kristen knows, first-hand, how Aelwyn would rather slaughter a bitch than let Adaine leave her sight again, so that’s reassuring, in and of itself.

Jawbone’s mention of Sandra Lynn hearing shouting from upstairs does make her a little nervous, though. But it’s fine.

She stops by the kitchen on her way up to find her promised mug of steaming coffee sitting out on the counter. “Thaaank you, Jawbone,” Kristen says under her breath, a grin slipping onto her face as she takes a sip, only to wince as a scalding heat sears her tongue. Fuck, she curses, gagging as she recoils back. Maybe I’ll just— let this cool a bit, or something.

She still has to cast Greater Restoration. She can take her coffee later.

The shouting creeps in as she approaches the staircase winding up to Adaine’s room, growing louder and louder with each step taken upwards. Blowing on her mug of coffee, Kristen reaches for the doorknob as she finally reaches the top, bracing herself for whatever scene she would find as she steps inside.

The doorknob clicks, and the hinges squeak as they swing wide open.

“Huh,” Kristen utters, blinking at the sight before her. “Kinda thought things would be more chaotic here.”

“Took you long enough,” Aelwyn says drily, digging her fingers into her forehead as she leans back against Adaine’s desk chair with her legs crossed. She’s a dishevelled mess, her hair and clothes rumpled. But Aelwyn’s hardly the focal point of interest in the room, not when there’s a glowing circle of magical energy in the midst of the mattress pile, hued a sharp shade of tangerine that hurts Kristen’s eyes.

Sitting within the circle, legs criss-crossed and arms folded as she scowls angrily, is Adaine. Decidedly awake, a sight that makes some small semblance of relief soak through Kristen’s chest, and decidedly angry, a sight that makes her feel a little less assured. Cold, blue eyes flick in Kristen’s direction as she enters, kicking the door shut with her foot, but Adaine doesn’t utter a word. All she does is curl tighter into herself, the light of the magic circle reflecting off the innumerable pieces of jewellery decorating her form — the bracelets and anklets, rings and necklaces; the dangling earrings; the circlet around her head.

“What the hell happened here?” Kristen asks as she steps inside, swinging the pouch of dust from her fingers absentmindedly.

“Adaine happened.” Her gaze flicks over to a raspy voice. Kristen watches as Riz sits up, arms curled around his legs, a slight wince of pain coming over his face as his tail, freshly healed, flicks a little. “She kept trying to cast spells, so, uh—” A clawed hand, still stained with dried blood, gestures in the direction of the glowing circle. “Aelwyn casted something.”

“Magic Circle,” Aelwyn says, by way of explanation. “Modified slightly to fit my darling sister inside, instead of creatures.” Her lips press thin, curling at the edges in a way that makes Kristen’s heart skip a beat, suddenly uneasy. “It must have been really nice taking your own sweet time searching for that diamond dust, hm?”

“Look, it’s not like I wanted to take that long,” Kristen protests, raising her hands defensively. Some of the coffee sloshes around in the mug, a few drops spilling out, though thankfully not over her skin.

Riz suddenly perks up, eyes honing in on Kristen. “Is that coffee?”

Aelwyn arches an eyebrow. “So you found the time to stop for a coffee break? But what was it you said? It’s not like you wanted to take that long, right?”

“Oh, shut up.” Rolling her eyes, Kristen rests a hand on her hip, the pouch hanging from her fingers. “Jawbone offered, and y’know how he is right now. So I took pity on him. Gave him something to do.” Her eyes flick to the side, where Riz is still staring at her, having crept closer. She reaches the mug out towards him. “Want some?”

“Yeah.” He scurries forward, grabbing the mug and gulping down a mouthful of scalding hot coffee. Kristen wrinkles her nose at him. “Thanks,” he says, slightly breathless, pressing the mug back into her hand.

“So.” Stepping forward, Kristen bends down, crouching before Adaine. She bears the brunt of Adaine’s glare as those eyes narrow at her, not a single hint of care in her blue irises. Raising her head, Kristen glances over at Aelwyn. “Tell me what happened while I was gone.”

An irritated sigh. “Well, if you simply must know… my dear sister over here—” She gestures over at Adaine with a flick of her wrist, “—tried to Misty Step out the window.”

“Because you’re not letting me leave.”

Kristen jolts at the sound of that familiar voice, a slight rasp to it, as though her throat were way too dry. Adaine grits her teeth, a scowl contorting her features, and Kristen won’t deny the way her heart twists under the weight of Adaine’s glare and cold words, a deep loathing burning in everything she says and does.

She thinks, again, of yesterday — when Aelwyn translated the spells in Oisin’s spellbook, of Modify Memory and Dominate Person and Geas. She’s not herself right now, Kristen reminds herself, her grip on the mug of coffee tightening slightly. That’s fine. This is fine.

Aelwyn’s talking, Kristen realises belatedly, blinking dazedly as she comes back to herself. “For good reason,” Aelwyn says, her words sharp and acerbic. She’s inspecting her nails, Kristen notices, as her eyes dart back over to the elder of the Abernant sisters — as though everything happening right now is nothing more than a minor annoyance, than an irritation that just has to be fixed; as though Aelwyn hadn’t threatened bloody murder on them multiple times for slacking off while preparing to rescue Adaine.

“Either way,” Aelwyn continues, “those wards I put up yesterday came in handy. A spell of my own invention if you will.” A smug smile spreads across her lips, all while Adaine’s scowl deepens and she curls tighter into herself, tearing her gaze away to stare pointedly off to the side. “No magic can get in, and none can get out,” Aelwyn says, pride lining her words. “More to keep Hakinvar out than anything else, but I suppose it came in handy in more ways than just that.”

“Except Adaine still tried to, uh—” Riz bites his lip, dejection falling over his face. “Attack us.”

“Yeah,” Adaine snaps, “because you guys aren’t letting me leave.”

A slam echoes through the air as Aelwyn stomps the heel of her shoe against the ground. She scoffs, face twisted with frustration. “We went through all that trouble rescuing you—”

“I never asked you to!” Adaine screeches, a snarl distorting her face like nothing Kristen’s seen before. She charges forward, shoving herself on her knees to slam her fists against the other side of the magic circle, hands trembling where they rest against the cylinder wall of humming magic. “I— I just—” She squeezes her eyes shut, and Kristen stares in a dawning horror as pain seems to twist across Adaine’s expression, lines etched into her skin, her knuckles turning white from the force of her grip. “I need to go back,” she eventually says, anger melting into a desperate plea. “You don’t understand.”

Oh, Adaine. Pity twists Kristen’s heart, raw and rough, as she gazes at her friend — at her distraught face, at the way her body slumps as she falls back, hugging herself, exhaustion wrecking her form.

At what point had it all gone wrong? Kristen isn’t sure. Maybe it’s been wrong the entire time, all the way from the start. But she had wanted to keep her faith in Adaine, that her friend knew what she was doing — she was Adaine fucking Abernant after all, and if anyone wouldn’t take any shit from a would-be lover, it was her.

Except Kristen had watched with an uneasiness sinking into her bones as Oisin took, over and over and over, unrelenting and greedy in every inch of Adaine he stole. Except Kristen couldn’t stand to stand back and watch anymore, to trust that Adaine knew what she was doing, because it was becoming more and more obvious that Adaine didn’t think any of this was what it actually was — horrifically unhealthy and destructively toxic. Except Oisin had snapped in the parking lot of Basrar’s and lashed out in a way Kristen couldn’t ignore anymore, all her suspicions bubbling up at once with the sinking, curdling feeling that all this time, Riz and Fabian had been right.

But you knew all along, didn’t you? some part of Kristen whispers, causing her to ache. There was a reason she commented on how strange it was that Oisin was so hostile towards them despite having months to get used to them — Adaine’s party, her best friends, her family, their presence non-negotiable in her life.

Maybe she should have held less conviction in her friend. Maybe she should have clung to her doubt, that part of her that whispered this isn’t right because it had been correct. She is the Saint of Mystery and Doubt, after all.

And yet, what good would it have done her to have anything less than the utmost faith in her friend?

It’s Riz who speaks first, breaking the tense silence that has sunken in around them. “Adaine,” he says softly, scampering forward, tail dragging across the ground, “he kidnapped you—”

“He didn’t kidnap me!” Adaine spits, whirling around to set Riz alight with the fiercest of glares. And yet, she trembles still, body quivering uncontrollably, hands digging into the soft sheets underneath her and clenching hard. “I went there! I went to his place—”

“And he kept you under a fucking Sequester spell for four days,” Aelwyn snaps, “and would’ve kept you under it longer if we hadn’t found you, so what do you call that then?” Leaning forward, Aelwyn snaps her fingers, her angry, expectant eyes boring holes into Adaine’s skin. “Hm?”

Adaine opens her mouth before it snaps shut, lips pressing together into a thin line. There, hugging herself in the middle of the Magic Circle, her shoulders raised defensively, she bristles with indignation. Like a wounded animal, Kristen thinks, the comparison somehow coming to mind. A memory from her childhood surfaces, unbidden, back when she hadn’t yet stepped out of the bubble of safe conformity of the Church of Sol: Finding a stray dog hiding around the back of the church, trying to approach it with her brothers behind her as it backed itself up against the building wall, snarling out of agitation and fear.

She leans forward, kneeling before Adaine. Her knees dip into the downy mattress beneath, resting against comfort rather than the rigid hardness of the wooden floor. “Hey, Adaine,” Kristen says softly, carefully placing the mug of coffee down, adjusting it so it doesn’t tip over against the uneven surface of the soft mattresses.

Adaine glowers at her, her gaze wary. “What do you want?”

“To help you.”

Her brows dip down, something hostile twisting her lips. “Well,” Adaine says, her words cold, “you can do that by letting me go.”

A sigh. “I don’t know why you keep insisting on that like we’ll magically change our minds,” Aelwyn complains, rubbing her fingers against her temple, like Adaine is genuinely giving her a headache. Maybe she is, Kristen thinks as she stares at Aelwyn, before her gaze drifts back to Adaine, who has started to seethe upon hearing her sister’s voice. “You really should know better by now, Adaine.”

“Yeah, well—” Slumping back, Adaine scowls, gesturing at the magical walls rippling around her. “There’s really no reason for you to be keeping me in here.”

“Again,” Aelwyn says, leaning forward with her fingers steepled together, eyes flashing with annoyance, “he kidnapped you—”

“And he tried to pull you out of Aguefort,” Riz adds, chipping in with a grimace of his own.

“God!” Throwing her head back, Adaine drags her hands down her face. “I told you,” she bites out, “I don’t know anything about that goddamn form! I didn’t sign it! Though it sure as hell sounds like a fantastic idea now, seeing how you all refuse to let me go.”

Reeling back from the growl in Adaine’s voice, the burning hatred in her eyes, Kristen laughs nervously. “Ooookay, that’s enough of that.” She glances over at Aelwyn. “Mind giving me a hand? Last time I did this, it didn’t go over too well.”

Aelwyn sighs. “Yeah, sure,” she mutters. “Might as well get this over with.”

Wiggling her finger into the middle of the drawstring pouch, Kristen pulls it open. She peers inside, eyeing the glittering diamond dust, each tiny speck reflecting the light shining from the bulb above.

“Wait—” A voice, warbling slightly. “Wait. What the fuck are you doing?”

She turns the pouch over, dumping the contents into her hand before clenching it shut. “Saving you, obviously,” Kristen replies, eyes flicking up to meet Adaine’s blue ones. The fear that flickers through her eyes does not go unnoticed; it is eerily like that tiny nugget of terror that had hidden in her blue irises the night that she and Fig tried to do this, nearly unnoticeable behind layers of betrayal and rage. Kristen smiles. “What else does it look like?”

Jerking back, Adaine presses herself backwards, scrabbling until she’s up against the walls of the Magic Circle, pushing herself against that faintly glowing surface. “I don’t—” She hunches into herself, shoulders raised, some emotion seeming to seize hold. “I don’t need to be saved,” Adaine protests, desperation seeping in. “Kristen—”

“I dunno, girlie,” Kristen interrupts, reaching for her coffee with her other hand. She rises from the ground, causing some of the diamond dust to trickle out from her closed fist, but it’s fine; Kristen isn’t sure how much was in that pouch, but it’s definitely more than a hundred gold’s worth. She’ll have to stock up again in the future, but she’ll just wring Aelwyn’s wallet for that. Raising her eyebrow, she says, “Seems like you’re under a whole lot of magical influences right now.”

Her face contorting into a snarl, more bestial than person, Adaine’s voice pitches. “I’m fine—”

“No you’re not,” Kristen says, as she takes a sip of coffee, before she steps in.

A few things happen all at once, milliseconds stretching out into an eternity. As the bitter taste of the hot coffee hits the back of Kristen’s mouth, causing her to contort her face slightly as she chokes it down, she reaches out her hand, balled up in a white-knuckled fist, little specks of diamond dust falling out with the movement. In one fell swoop, Kristen raises her hand, dumping the powder over Adaine’s head before bringing her hand, cascading with a twilit magic, down.

Except as soon as she makes contact with Adaine’s head, a fierce, sharp surge of magic barrels up against her, shoving her back — a Counterspell, rejecting her attempt, repelling her magic. But this time is different, nothing like the failure of last Friday. This time, another Counterspell shatters through, breaking Adaine’s attempt at warding off Kristen’s spell — Aelwyn’s magic, cold and piercing, and when Kristen glances over at her, she sees sparks dancing off her fingers, blue eyes glinting with steely determination.

And with Adaine’s Counterspell rejected, shoved to the wayside, Kristen’s Greater Restoration goes through.

Kristen can feel it — the twilight magic that pulses through her veins, flowing through her touch, seeping into Adaine’s body; the way Cassandra’s magic hums as it soaks through Adaine’s skin, working to clear her mind of any other influences — of the horrid spells Aelwyn had dug up in that replica spellbook, the stormy magic that worked to muddle and mess with Adaine over… over what, months?

How long has it been, actually? Kristen doesn’t know, and she realises, with a sudden jolt, that she doesn’t want to know.

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t, because the spell works. She’s successfully casted Greater Restoration and, as she takes a step back, bringing the mug to her lips to take another bitter, energising sip of coffee, Kristen can already see the way the spell works through Adaine’s system. Not literally, obviously, but, well— it really doesn’t take a scientist to see the way Adaine reacts to it.

A heavy silence falls over Adaine, thick and suffocating. Where previously she was stubborn, fierce, desperate, her voice pitching into shrieks and deepening into growls in her frenetic attempts to shove all of them away, now, Adaine is just quiet. She raises her head, staring at Kristen with wide, blue eyes, before her gaze darts to the side — flicking to Aelwyn, then to Riz.

Kristen takes another drink of coffee, downing the last, scalding, bitter sip.

A sharp inhale pierces the air. “Fuck,” Adaine whispers, a hand scrabbling against her chest as her eyes grow distant, staring off at nothing. And yet, her gaze is so deeply haunted, so much so that Kristen nearly drops the empty mug as she meets Adaine’s eyes. Her other hand flies up, cupping over her mouth as she curls into herself; her body begins to tremble, shaking violently, her breathing growing faster as she begins to hyperventilate. “Fuck.”

Something seizes Kristen then, soft and longing — the urge to stumble back into the circle, to crash to her knees and sweep Adaine into a fierce hug. Older sister instinct, she thinks as she concedes to the desire, placing the empty mug to the wayside before crossing into the humming circle once more, that sorrowful sympathy grasping her one last time. It’s never really left her despite leaving her family; her mind keeps wandering to her brothers more often than she lets on, her chest constantly permeated by a lingering, ever-present worry about them.

It’s not something that’ll ever really leave her, Kristen thinks.

So she wraps her arms around Adaine, pulling her into a tender embrace. Adaine doesn’t speak; all she does is let Kristen move her like so, collapsing into her arms as her body shakes, her mind warring with something that Kristen doesn’t know anything about.

That’s fine. This is fine. They got the Greater Restoration on her. Kristen knows that probably won’t get rid of the dragon madness, which is really the main issue here, but it’s a start. She wrinkles her brows at the sight of the jewellery still wrapped around Adaine’s skin, dangling from her ears, nestles between blonde locks of hair, but she doesn’t bring herself to touch it. Not now anyways.

“It’s okay,” she says, soothingly, stroking the back of Adaine’s head as she buries her face in Kristen’s chest, a quivering, timid thing. “Take your time.”

Another pair of arms wrap around them both, and then another. By the time the other Bad Kids stumble in — Fig bursting into the room, while Gorgug follows, carrying a scarcely-conscious Fabian in his arms, this is the sight that they’re greeted with: Kristen, Aelwyn, and Riz wrapped tightly around a shaking Adaine, the silence in the air a tenuous, trembling thing where they crowd together on the mattresses.

They’ll be fine, in the end. Kristen is sure of it.

“C’mon. In you go.”

It’s weird, Aelwyn observes, to see Adaine like this. Quiet, meek, a frail, delicate thing. Fragile is not a word Aelwyn would have ever used to describe Adaine. Fierce? Headstrong? Those were all things that made up who her sister was, unrelentingly stubborn and ferociously savage.

She killed their father, after all. You don’t usually call someone who commits brutal patricide, punching him so hard he immediately dies, fragile.

But it’s the only word that fits her right now. Adaine only nods timidly as Aelwyn helps her into the bathtub. The steaming water sloshes slightly as Adaine sits down, and the tight knot that’s been wound around Aelwyn’s chest loosens slightly at the faint sound of a sigh, at the sight of some of the timid tension loosing from Adaine’s tense shoulders.

Glancing to the side, Aelwyn picks up one of the bottles Kristen shoved at her earlier, narrowing her eyes as she reads the labels. It’s some cheap, no-name brand of shampoo, claiming to have the scent of the ocean, but whatever smell there is, it’s weak. “This is what Adaine uses,” Kristen had said as she barreled into the bathroom, where Aelwyn had been adjusting the tap, dragging her hand through the water to check the temperature. At the time, Aelwyn hadn’t been able to do much else than haphazardly catch the bottles Kristen chucked at her, but now…

She stifles a sigh. Seriously, Adaine? she grouches as puts the bottle to the side, reaching for the shower head instead. Use some better products. What the hell is this shit?

For now, though, she bites back the snide remark. Adaine doesn’t need that right now. “Tilt your head back,” she tells her, keeping her voice low, the barbed edges out of her words. She isn’t sure whether she likes or hates the fact that Adaine obeys easily, closing her eyes as she leans back without kicking up a fuss.

She turns on the shower head. The scent of eucalyptus and mint lingers in the air as Aelwyn drags the nozzle over Adaine’s head, wetting her tousled hair. It’s not too overpowering a smell, a fresh enough scent that it clears Aelwyn’s mind, allowing her to think. Earlier, while she had been discussing the possibility of getting Adaine a bath, unable to take her gaze off of her sister, tense and quiet and so unusually nervous, Fig had disappeared briefly, reappearing shortly after with a bottle of bath salts. “It’s from my mom,” she explained as she shoved it into Aelwyn’s hand. “She’s always using these when she’s really stressed out — which is kind of always,” Fig added, with a shrug.

Aelwyn had shrugged after giving it a once-over. “Can’t hurt to use it,” she eventually said. Anything to help Adaine relax a little bit, to release some of that anxiety permeating her body, the stress that lingered in her tense form.

Somehow, she had been the one to end up doing this. Which is fine, really — not that Aelwyn would admit that to anyone else. She just—

She just really wants her sister back. A stupid sentiment, but one that holds true — Aelwyn Abernant spent too little time with her sister since their reconciliation, and she’s not about to lose a second more.

She switches off the nozzle, placing the shower head to the side. Reaching for the bottle of shampoo, Aelwyn squirts some into her palm before reaching out to work it through Adaine’s hair.

She’s never done this before. Growing up, the two of them had been pitted against each other like hounds snarling in a fighting ring, made to seek their parents’ approval over anything else. Regrettably, Aelwyn had fallen for it; it was why she constantly curled her lip at Adaine as her younger sister spat hot, cutting words with the intent to hurt, casting spells to fuck Aelwyn over in any way possible. Childish, foolish—

And so much stronger than Aelwyn could have ever been.

They never shared tender moments like this — not until a year ago. Not until Aelwyn chose Adaine in the depths of a dark, dangerous forest, trees melding together with the shadows, the air thick with the magic of a corrupted beast. Not until Aelwyn looked at Adaine and made her choice, and Adaine punched their father to death for his retaliation against her. But even then, the tender moments they shared were far and few between; they were, ultimately, both too old. They were grown up now, able to handle themselves; neither of them had to rely on each other for something as basic as bathing.

And yet, Aelwyn can’t deny that it feels nice. It feels nice to run her hands through Adaine’s hair, letting the soapy suds of shampoo lather through wet locks. It feels nice to murmur to Adaine in a voice free of venom, asking her gently to lean back again so Aelwyn can run warm water through it and wash it all off. The act of caring, so intimate and personal — it’s not something Aelwyn’s ever gotten the chance to experience, and truthfully, she isn’t sure if she’ll ever get it again. Her hands have been used to hurt more than help, after all.

Aelwyn loves her sister — truly, she does. But it is that same love that lets her back off. Adaine doesn’t need to be coddled. She’s fierce and strong, with a stubborn streak as unbreakable as a brick wall. Adaine does not need to be coddled — this, Aelwyn knows as a fact.

But right now, Adaine is lost. There’s a vacant look haunting her eyes, one that slipped in as soon as Kristen casted Greater Restoration and hasn’t left since. She curls her arms around her knees, hugging them close, and Aelwyn bites back snide words at the sight of the warm, soapy bath water washing over the jewellery still binding around her arms. They’d tried to convince her to take the pieces off earlier — all of them, the Bad Kids plus Aelwyn, trying to wean her off the dragon madness as soon as possible — but they’d only managed to get off the circlet.

She’s still stubborn now, though. Those little pieces of Adaine still shine through in the way she had snapped at them, whacking Fig in the face as the archdevil tried to steal something off Adaine’s wrist. The difference is, this new stubbornness feels hollow.

The fact that she’s letting Aelwyn work with little protest, the silence of the bathroom creeping under Aelwyn’s skin uncomfortably as she switches off the shower head and reaches for the bottle of cheap conditioner, is proof enough that Adaine is lost.

So right now, what else can Aelwyn do but take care of Adaine in the way she never could?

“...Why are you being so nice to me?”

Aelwyn stills, midway through squirting some conditioner into the palm of her hand. “Well that’s a stupid question,” she eventually says, careful to keep her words cool, to avoid letting that sharp edge slip in the way it always does. Cruel, cutting words are, and have always been, her specialty; kindness and care, not so much.

“It’s not.” Adaine sounds a little sulky, and that— that warms Aelwyn’s heart.

She sighs. “Because I’m your sister, you idiot,” she chides, rubbing her hands together before reaching out to rub the conditioner into Adaine’s hair, carefully massaging it through the ends of her wet, blonde locks. “I’m kind of obligated to care about you here.”

Adaine grows silent again. Aelwyn wishes she didn’t.

She washes her hands off when she’s done, leaving the conditioner to absorb into Adaine’s hair for a few minutes. As Aelwyn reaches for a towel, though, to dry off her hands…

Adaine’s voice quivers. “This… this has to be a misunderstanding.”

“It’s not.” Leaning against the tub, Aelwyn folds her arms across the edge. “It’s not a misunderstanding, Adaine,” Aelwyn says, when she’s taken a deep enough breath that she’s certain her words won’t come out acerbic, cutting, sharp, jagged edges that would make her sister flinch. “He kidnapped you.”

“He said he’d keep me safe.”

She arches her brow. “Why are you relying on him for that?”

Adaine doesn’t answer. Aelwyn knows, as she reaches for the shower head, water running over her palm as she turns it on once more, it’s because Adaine doesn’t know how.

“Tilt your head back.”

Adaine concedes to her words once more, tipping her head back, the strands of conditioner-clumped hair swaying slightly with the movement. Soap suds rinse from her hair as warm water washes through her locks, splashing into the bath water below. Running her fingers through Adaine’s hair, Aelwyn works meticulously, washing every last drop of conditioner out.

The nozzle switches off. “You can handle cleaning yourself, right?” Aelwyn asks as she reaches for the bottle of shower gel. Adaine blinks at her, raising her head, her eyes dazed. Aelwyn’s brows press together. “Like— I’m not helping to wash you down there, Adaine.”

“Oh,” she says, blinking again, a slow realisation dawning over her. “Oh, yeah— yeah I can do that.” Reaching out, she grabs the bottle from Aelwyn, and Aelwyn can’t help but bite the inside of her cheek at the tremble in Adaine’s hand, still so uncertain and uneasy.

She pauses, something occuring to her. “Do you need me to give you some privacy?”

Adaine stills. “...It’s fine,” she dismisses, with a halfhearted shrug. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. You’ve probably seen me naked when I was a baby, or something.”

Aelwyn probably did, now that she thinks about it. Not that she remembers such a thing. Some of her earlier childhood memories are muddled and murky, obscured by time and the dulling numbness of a pain better left forgotten. But if Adaine doesn’t mind her staying, then she will. Not just here in the bathroom, in this single, solitary moment, but in general, for the rest of time.

They’re sisters, after all. They have many more years to make up for all the ones they’ve lost, and Aelwyn will ensure that nobody, no one at all, will interfere with that ever again.

Her eyes narrow dangerously sharp as her mind drifts elsewhere — to the memory of that godforsaken hoard room, of hearing the bang of a gun go off before Riz flung himself onto Oisin Hakinvar, that sack of utter shit. Aelwyn knows she should have been mad that Riz had abandoned the plan, taking his claws to Hakinvar’s face and tearing a nasty set of gashes through his eye.

And yet, when she reminisces on the memory, of watching the goblin tussle with the dragonborn while she and Kristen hurried over to attend to Adaine, all Aelwyn feels is a searing, smug sense of satisfaction, a mimicry of the glee and vindication that rose through her at the howl of utter pain that ripped the air as claws slashed across half a face.

Your days are numbered, Hakinvar, Aelwyn thinks darkly, leaning her head against the warmed wall of the bathroom, turning her gaze away from the bath. There was a reason why she spent all of last night painting wards — glyphs of her own creation, guarding against the intrusion of magic from outside. No spells can get into Mordred, and no spells can get out — no Sending, no Dominate Person, no Teleportation, none of it.

If you want my fucking sister, Aelwyn thinks, curling her lips into a wry smile, you’re going to have to get through me first.

“Hey, Jawbone.”

He raises his head in time to see Gorgug approaching, hands stuffed in the pocket of his hoodie. “Hey, kiddo,” Jawbone greets, putting down the book in his hands — something on unhealthy relationships, which he’s been finding to be quite insightful in light of… well, everything. “How’re things going up there?”

“Better,” Gorgug answers with a shrug. Still, Jawbone senses that he’s being genuine about it; there’s been a constant air of stress hanging around all of the Bad Kids ever since yesterday, from the moment he returned home with their report cards, all the way to their return from their break-in just hours ago. But now, there seems to be something lighter about Gorgug, something more hopeful — and he’s not the only one. The kids have been coming and going throughout the house, chattering to each other, and some of that tension has definitely dissolved, even if some of it is still there.

“Adaine’s done bathing,” Gorgug says, after a pause. “Think we can head down for dinner soon?”

Jawbone leans back in his chair. “Yeah, it should be ready soon. Lydia’s been cooking up a storm.”

Gorgug smiles. “Cool. Thanks.”

Just as Gorgug makes to leave, though…

“How is she?” Jawbone asks, the simple question ringing out in the kitchen. Immediately, he bites back a wince. This isn’t exactly the kind of question he wants to burden any of them with, but all the same…

He’s been worried, fretting non-stop since they headed out earlier that day in the afternoon to break into Oisin Hakinvar’s house and get Adaine back. And Jawbone knows the Bad Kids are capable — god, does he know that; they’ve done so much in the less-than-three years they’ve been attending Aguefort and adventuring together — but all the same, watching them head out had been no less nerve-wracking.

That’s not even to mention the state they all returned in. Jawbone had bolted for the front door as soon as he heard it slam open, unable to wait restlessly any longer, only to freeze as he watched Aelwyn and Kristen stumble inside. The sight of a bloodied Riz in Kristen’s arms had nearly given him a heart attack, unable to tear his eyes away from his tail, hanging at an angle so fucked up it made Jawbone recoil, his own tail pressing against his back out of shared pity. The sight of Adaine, dazed and incoherent and struggling to make sense of her surroundings as Aelwyn carried her in, hadn’t helped matters any further.

Jawbone knew a little about dragonborn culture, enough that the sight of her ladened in so many jewels made him feel sick.

In the end, he left them to their own devices. The last thing any of them needed was for him to crowd around and get in their way despite being severely out of his depth. He’s never really been an adventurer — a bit of a traveller, sure, but not an adventurer. He dealt with emotions and mental health, talking people out of unhealthy coping mechanisms, and offering a listening ear to any troubles they may have had. But the matter of bleeding wounds and magical madness — what was it they called it? Dragon madness? — were all out of his depth.

At least he’d been able to make Kristen coffee, though. That was something.

Gorgug exhales. “Could be better,” he admits, with another shrug. “But she’s stopped trying to kill us, at least. She’s just—” He reaches up to rub the back of his head, furrowing his brows in thought. “She’s just really quiet,” Gorgug eventually says. “But like— in a not-Adaine way. Y’know?”

He thinks of that Friday night, the clock ticking towards midnight. Of waking up to the sound of screaming from downstairs, a raucous commotion. Of knocking on Adaine’s door and trying to coax her to talk about things, heart uneasy after what everyone had blurted out. The way Adaine had sounded back then hadn’t sat well with Jawbone at all; her voice had been far too frail, steeped with exhaustion, as though she’d break if he pressed too hard and crossed too far past her limits.

Jawbone had backed off back then. Tomorrow, then, he’d said, keeping his voice kind, a silent way of reassuring her that, whatever this was, they’d work it out. Get some rest, kiddo. Love you.

He’d woken up later that morning to another racket crashing about the house, coming out of his room to find Fig and Kristen, desperate and guilt-ridden. Adaine’s gone, Fig had said miserably, and Jawbone’s heart had just about collapsed.

“I know,” he eventually says to Gorgug. Reaching for the mug on the table — chamomile tea, long since gone cold — Jawbone brings it to his mouth, taking a sip. “But I’m glad she’s doing better,” he adds, after a pause, as he places the cup back down. He meets Gorgug’s eyes — white pupils against black scleras, wrinkled at the corner in care and concern — and ends up asking, “How are the rest of you kids holding up?”

Gorgug’s eyes widen slightly. “Uh,” he says, gaze darting to the side. “We… We’ll be fine.”

“Well, if you need anything at all,” Jawbone says, with a reassuring smile, “you know where to find me. But I won’t keep you here any longer,” he adds. “You may as well call everyone down for dinner now. Can’t imagine how hungry you guys must be after what you did today.”

Dinners at Mordred Manor are very rarely a formal affair. There’s no need to put out the tablemats and cutlery, or to sit around the dining table together the so-called proper way. To each his own, as Jawbone likes to think of it; for as long as they’ve all lived here, mealtimes have mainly consisted of everyone wandering in and out at their own leisure, loading up a plate and mug with food and drink before heading off to help themselves. It’s chaotic and lively, and sure, maybe things get a bit messy sometimes, but that’s just what living in Mordred is like.

As Jawbone puts a plate of chicken parms out on the dining table, helping Lydia to lay out the massive spread of food she’s cooked — enough for everyone staying under the roof, whether permanently or temporarily; there’s even some ghostly food laid out for Zayn Darkshadow — his ears prick. He pauses, straining to catch that inkling of sound — footsteps, several of them, growing louder and louder as they thump against the wooden floorboards of the house.

He turns just in time to see the Bad Kids entering the kitchen — all six of them, the others all crowding around Adaine.

He hasn’t seen her since she got back. The only glimpse he caught was Aelwyn carrying her through the house. But even with the amount of time he’s had to prepare himself, to remind himself that Adaine isn’t fine, that she’s still uneasy and riled up and in a weird, confused place, Jawbone still feels his chest ache at the sight of her — hugging herself closely, her blue eyes half-lidded as she glances around the kitchen. Frail and small, so unlike the headstrong, independent teenager he knows.

Jawbone forces himself to put the plate down, before turning properly to face her. Their eyes meet, and he gives her a reassuring smile, raising his hand in a half-wave. “Hey, kiddo— oof.”

A sudden weight barrels into him, knocking the breath from his lungs.

Jawbone blinks, taking one short moment to come back to himself. Glancing down, his chest pangs at the realisation that, sometime while he was speaking, while he was greeting Adaine, she had stumbled forward and closed the gap between them, wrapping her arms around him in a tight, trembling hug.

Slowly, he wraps his arms around her, pulling her close.

Hugs are a strange thing when it comes to Adaine. Jawbone knows teenagers can be rather… affection-averse, Adaine even more so considering her abusive upbringing, the frigid nature by which her birth parents raised her. So for her to step close, to wrap her arms around him, clinging tight—

Well. If someone asked him right then and there if he was going to cry, Jawbone would be a liar if he said no.

“Sorry.” Her voice comes out as a whisper, quiet and soft. Adaine pulls back, averting her gaze, hugging herself again as she stares off to the side. “I just…” She hesitates, before she says, “I haven’t done that in a while.”

All Jawbone does is smile at her, reaching out to rest a hand against her shoulder, patting comfortingly. “Whatever makes you comfortable, kiddo,” he says, affection brimming in his every word. “I’m just glad you’re safe now.”

The rest of the Bad Kids crowd around her, pulling her towards the table. As Adaine turns to blink at him with wide, bewildered eyes, uncertainty flickering in them, all Jawbone does is dip his head at her. “Go eat with your friends,” he calls, nodding encouragingly.

Several minutes later, with plates piled high with home cooked food and an arsenal of various drinks, the Bad Kids disappear into the living room, followed behind by Aelwyn, who seems hard-pressed to stay away from her younger sister. As Jawbone helps himself to his own plate of food, sitting at the table as he scarfes it down, he can hear laughter spilling in from afar, the lighthearted chatter of the rest of Adaine’s friends as they talk amidst themselves.

They’re good kids, Jawbone thinks, as he takes another bite of chicken parm. He knows they are, has known for a long while, ever since they helped him get off his feet, tipping him off about the open spot at Aguefort that would set him on the path to stability. They’re ride-or-die for each other in a way so few parties rarely are; this, Jawbone knows well, having to frequently play mediator to tirades of inter-party conflicts, and give advice to upset students agonising over one argument or another.

He doesn’t have to hover over Adaine non-stop, even if a part of him wants to get up and check in on her. He knows she’s in good hands with the rest of them.

A shadow falls over his side. “Are you gonna speak to Adaine about it soon?” Sandra Lynn asks, leaning against the table, arching an eyebrow at him. It, Jawbone knows, refers to the elephant in the room — the fact that Adaine got as entangled as she did in such a toxic relationship, protesting against anyone who dared tell her something was up with that dragonborn boy. The two of them had heard all of it earlier — shouting had erupted from Adaine’s room, a constant back-and-forth of Adaine trying to convince Aelwyn and Riz to let her leave.

It had eventually subsided after Kristen hurried upstairs with the components she was looking for. Still, just the memory of Adaine’s faint voice, filled with so much hatred and malice, sends a chill down Jawbone’s spine.

“Eventually, yeah,” Jawbone answers, finishing up the last of his meal.

“You’ve been really antsy ‘bout it all day,” Lydia calls from behind; when Jawbone turns, he can see her attending to the pile of cookware at the sink, scrubbing away with ease from where she sits in her wheelchair. “Seems like it might be better to get to it now than later.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jawbone sighs. He feels a hand come to rest on his shoulder and turns his head to give Sandra Lynn a grateful smile. “Of course I want to talk to her about it,” he continues. “But not now. Not while they’re eating dinner.”

A sharp peel of laughter pierces the air, trickling in from the living room as though to punctuate his point.

A restless energy hums through his veins, all of a sudden. “Need some help there, Lydia?” Jawbone calls, grabbing his plate and making his way over to the sink.

It’s a good distraction, helping Lydia to wash up. Cooking portions as large as she does means there’s a lot of cleaning to be done after cooking, and it’s a distraction from thinking too hard about all the different ways he wound up… well, failing Adaine. There’s no better way to put it, really, when Jawbone thinks about it — Adaine is his daughter, under his care, and he ultimately failed her in not stepping in too much or too quickly, leading to… all of this.

What does he even call this situation? It’s not like Jawbone’s a stranger to unhealthy relationships. Aguefort is rife with them, home to hundreds of teenagers with raging hormones and inter-party conflicts. He’s had to do couple’s counselling several times. He’s had to dole out advice to crying kids or raging ones, about what to do next in a less-than-stellar relationship.

But if Jawbone’s being entirely honest with himself, thinking back over it all… maybe he simply hadn’t expected something like this to happen. His interactions with Oisin have been sparse; the dragonborn always kept his head down and didn’t speak much whenever Adaine brought him over, and it’s not like he’s ever stopped by Jawbone’s office for a little chat. The most they ever spoke to each other was last year, when waiting for the Bad Kids to return from their spring break quest, and if Jawbone’s being completely honest, based on the kid he’d met that day, he’d never have expected things to collapse into such a mess. Oisin had been polite, a bit quiet, but otherwise very respectful — just what had happened between then and now?

He doesn’t know. He’s a bit out of his depth with this one. Kidnapping, dragon madness, magical enchantments — all of that just went a step too far. Jawbone knew to expect some amount of territorialness; he’s not completely clueless about dragonborns, after all. But all of this—

It was just way too much.

He’s nearly done with washing everything up when something slips into the air. His ears prick and he stills, straining to catch more of it. It’s not the idle, happy chatter of before that constantly spilled in throughout dinnertime. No, this is harsher, sharper. More hostile.

Oh, crud.

Reaching for a dishcloth, Jawbone quickly scrubs the wet fur of his arms, wincing as he glances over at Lydia. “Sorry,” he says hastily, “I just— should probably go defuse that.”

“Hey, go do what you have to do.” Lydia grins at him, tusks poking out of her mouth. “‘Sides, you helped a lot. I can handle the rest.”

“Right,” Jawbone says, a little awkwardly. And then there’s another yell — Fig, he recognises, her piercing voice shouting something along the lines of “Are you insane?!” — and he’s off, hurrying into the living room with quick steps.

Tension permeates the air, thick and tangible, as he steps inside. “What’s going on?” Jawbone calls as he enters, the heavy thud of his footsteps drawing everyone’s attention to him. He bites back a wince at the scene before him — Adaine being pressed against the couch by Fig, gripping her shoulders as she stands over her; the rest of the Bad Kids crowding around, all in various states of disarray. Even Aelwyn seems tense, her lips pressed thinly as her sharp eyes flick over to Jawbone; she lounges across an armchair, legs draped over one of its sides, but the air about her is anything but relaxed.

“Oh,” someone says, cutting through the sudden silence. Jawbone turns his head to see Fabian, shifting a bit uncomfortably, his brows furrowed where he sits beside Adaine. “Hey, Jawbone. Everything’s fine—”

“Says who?” Fig shoves off of Adaine, anger lines contorting her features. And yet, there’s a tremulous edge about her that catches Jawbone’s eyes, revealing what’s really inside. It’s not like Fig has ever been one to hide her true emotions, no matter how much she seemed to believe otherwise, and now, the quiver to her arms and shoulders reveals the terror and fear lurking within. She turns her red eyes on Jawbone, a muscle at the corner of her lip twitching. “Adaine wants to leave.”

Jawbone tenses, tail stiffening at those words.

An exasperated noise. “Fig!”

“What?” Whirling back around, Fig narrows her eyes at Riz, who meets her gaze head-on, the two briefly locked in a battle of wills. “If she’s not gonna listen to us, maybe she’ll fucking listen to Jawbone.” Turning her head, Fig glares at Adaine. “How about that, huh?”

Adaine merely presses her lips together, holding herself tightly. “I don’t see what’s the big deal.”

“The big deal is that he kidnapped you,” Kristen interjects flatly from where she’s sitting on the floor. Jawbone can see the others agreeing — Gorgug and Fabian nodding along, while Aelwyn dips her head in a cold assent, eyes sharp as she watches from afar.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Adaine rubs a hand against her temple. “It wasn’t a kidnapping,” she argues, insistent, which— Jawbone raises an eyebrow at that. Opening her eyes, Adaine bites her lip, before she says, “This is— it’s just a misunderstanding—”

“It’s not,” Aelwyn cuts in, like the swift slice of a knife. “I told you already. It’s not a misunderstanding. He kidnapped you.”

“But I went to him.” Adaine’s voice is miserable.

Aelwyn narrows her eyes. “Voluntarily?”

The ensuing silence says it all. Adaine opens her mouth before snapping it shut, an exasperated hiss spilling through her teeth as she tears her gaze away from Aelwyn. “I-In any case,” she eventually says, voice wavering slightly, “I told you guys, I can handle myself.”

Can you, though? Jawbone thinks, brows pressing together. It’s not a comment he would let slip verbally, the words just a bit too harsh, but it’s certainly something he thinks about. He isn’t too well-versed in the specifics of this entire mess, but he knows just enough — Adaine isn’t quite herself right now under the weight of everything that’s been tossed around, magical madness and whatnot.

He can’t just keep standing by the wayside anymore. He has to say something.

“Adaine, can I—” He cuts himself off, thinking twice of the way he was about to phrase his words — like a request that could ultimately be rejected. It was a courtesy he always offered Adaine, and one he still wants to offer her, but with everything going on right now…

The situation calls for something firmer.

Taking a deep breath, Jawbone tries again. “I need to speak with you for a moment,” he says instead. Not a question, but a statement, one with no room for protest… or so Jawbone hopes.

He sees Adaine still before she turns to look at him. There’s a weariness to her gaze, mixed in with something equal parts confused and desperate, and it tugs at his heart in a way that makes him want to sweep her up in a hug and tell her things will be fine. But she doesn’t protest, doesn’t say no, and Jawbone—

Well, he’ll take what he can get.

He finds an unoccupied stool to the side of the room and picks it up, bringing it over. It’s probably better not to stand before Adaine, towering over her; there’s something about the physical disparity in that that wouldn’t feel right, like a power imbalance of sorts. Settling in, Jawbone leans forward, chewing the inside of his cheek as he searches for the right words. Adaine’s gaze rests on his skin, her eyes half-lidded, waiting expectantly; all around her, everyone leans in.

There’s no real way to dance around this, not if Jawbone wants to get his point across. Sucking in a deep breath, he steadies himself, before he opens his mouth, and speaks.

“I’ll be blunt, Adaine,” Jawbone says, keeping the cadence of his voice carefully firm. “I don’t want you interacting with Oisin anymore.”

All around him, he hears exhales of relief, sees nodding out of the corner of his eyes. But the only thing Jawbone’s attention is caught on is Adaine’s reaction — her body tensing, going rigid, eyes widening slightly. “But—”

“But what?” Jawbone interrupts. He scratches the back of his head, letting loose a sigh. “To be honest, this is kinda on me too. I should’ve put my foot down way earlier about all this.” Shrugging that off — now’s not the time for a pity party — Jawbone turns his focus back to Adaine. “Listen, kiddo.” Clasping his hands together, elbows resting on his thighs, Jawbone leans in. “I know you don’t like to think of it this way, but there’s no denying the fact that Oisin manipulated you.”

Adaine jerks back, as though she’s been slapped. “He—”

“Used Modify Memory on you? Geas? Dominate Person?” Another voice cuts in — Aelwyn, Jawbone recognises, the only one here who would mercilessly swoop in without hesitation. Arching her brow, Aelwyn leans over, pressing a hand against her cheek. “That’s a rather nasty slew of enchantments there. And let’s not forget the way he Sequestered you.” A sardonic smile dances across her lips. “Still feel like insisting that he didn’t do anything?”

Flinching backwards, Adaine trembles slightly. When she speaks, her voice has a defensive edge to it. “He didn’t use Dominate Person on me at all—”

“Does that matter, Adaine?” Aelwyn interrupts, her voice sharp. Rolling her eyes, she bites out a sigh. “Sure, maybe he didn’t use Dominate Person. That doesn’t negate the fact that he did fuck with your mind. Deliberately separating you from the rest of us.” Eyebrows dipping down sharply, she snips, “Unless you have an explanation for all those missing memories of yours?”

Aelwyn’s words are harsh, crueller than how Jawbone would have phrased them. And yet, there’s an undeniable truth to what she says, one that even Adaine can’t reject. All she does is close her eyes, hugging herself tightly. “I… I don’t. B-But—” Eyes flying open, her gaze flicks around, teetering on desperate. “He— he didn’t do anything,” she insists.

Taking another deep breath, Jawbone swallows down the frustration that threatens to swell within him. “Adaine,” he says, patiently but firmly, “he kidnapped you. I know you don’t like it, but that’s what he did.”

“Yes, but—” A sharp inhale. “He didn’t hurt me,” Adaine says weakly. “That’s— that’s what I mean.”

There’s a soft noise from the floor where Kristen sits, and Jawbone watches as Gorgug leans in, patting her on the shoulder sympathetically. The bar is truly in hell, Jawbone thinks to himself, stifling yet another sigh as he watches Fabian shuffle closer in comfort.

“There’s more ways to harm someone than physical,” Jawbone says, after a moment of pause. “You know that as well as I do, Adaine. Didn’t Oisin force you to withdraw from Aguefort? Unless you actually wanted to leave—”

“No!” Adaine bursts out, the word pushing through her lips with such unexpected force. Staring wide-eyed, a frantic edge to her expression, she shakes her head furiously. “N-No, I didn’t— I don’t, I just—”

Her hands fall to her lap, balling into fists. Hanging her head, Adaine lets out a low whine, something that makes Jawbone’s chest ache with pity. “I…” Adaine sucks in a breath. “I just want to know why,” she finally says, slowly, softly. “Why he— did all that.”