17. A Dream

Warmth.

It curled around me like fog, soft and heavy, and the moment I drifted into it, I knew I wasn't in my bed anymore.

I was back at the bonfire.

Except it wasn't loud. There were no students gawking, no dare ringing through the air like a threat. It was just Elias and me. The shadows danced across his sharp jawline as he leaned in, his eyes darker than night and locked on mine.

"You keep looking at me like that," he murmured, voice low, almost wondering, "I might think you want me to do it again."

And I did.

My heart betrayed me before my mind could argue.

He kissed me, slower this time. Softer. There was no dare pushing us, no pressure. Just heat. His hand moved to my waist, fingers curling there like he'd done it a thousand times. Like he belonged there.

The fire behind him flared.

My lips parted under his, my pulse thudding so loud I swore he could feel it. I let my fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, like if I held on, I wouldn't unravel.

He pulled back just enough to whisper, breath hot against my lips, "Why do you feel like mine?"

My eyes snapped open.

I was in bed.

And I couldn't breathe.

"Shit," I muttered, sitting up too fast. My heart felt like it was trying to claw out of my chest.

Freya stirred from the other bed, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. Her hair stuck out in wild angles, and she blinked at me like a confused owl. "You okay? Did you have a bad dream?"

I flopped back against my pillow and groaned. "Worse."

"Worse than a bad dream?"

"I dreamt about kissing Elias again."

She blinked once. Then again. "And?"

"And," I grumbled, covering my face with a pillow, "it was nice. That's the problem."

Freya snorted. "Girl, your subconscious has good taste."

I peeked out from under the pillow. "What day is it?"

She looked at her phone. "Monday. You, by the way, spent almost all of yesterday passed out. I thought you were in a magical coma or trying to avoid facing the aftermath."

"Little bit of both," I said, dragging myself out of bed.

My limbs felt heavy, like I was moving through water. The dream clung to me in pieces, the warmth of his hand, the way my name might've tasted on his lips if he'd said it.

I shook my head hard and made a beeline for the bathroom.

"What do we have first?" I called over the sound of the shower turning on.

Freya's voice came through the door. "Professor Duncan. First thing in the morning, because Moonveil hates us."

I let out the loudest, most painful groan. "Of course it's Duncan."

By the time we left the dorms, the sun was clawing its way over the treetops. The campus was alive, and unfortunately, so were the whispers.

Eyes tracked me. Conversations stopped when I passed. A few second years burst into laughter as we walked by, like they knew some inside joke I didn't.

I forced myself not to flinch.

Freya kept pace beside me, her chin high and expression neutral. But I saw her fingers twitch. She wanted to throw punches.

I didn't blame her.

I wanted to as well.

My phone buzzed in my pocket for the third time.

Mom.

I didn't answer. I couldn't. Not yet.

Not when my stomach still felt like it was filled with wet concrete.

A group of girls waited outside Duncan's class. Their uniforms were perfect. Their nails glossy. And one of them was Valeria Devereaux.

Valeria was elegance wrapped in venom. Her cheekbones could cut glass. Her black hair was twisted into a braid so tight it probably gave her headaches. And when her gaze landed on me, it was like someone had dropped the temperature ten degrees.

She stepped forward, blocking my path with the grace of someone who had trained for it.

"You think kissing an heir makes you one of us?" Her voice was sugar dipped in steel.

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

Her lips curved into a razor-sharp smile. "Don't play dumb, scholarship girl. You touched what's not yours."

Freya tensed beside me. I could feel the storm brewing in her posture, but I wasn't in the mood to let anyone else fight this for me.

"I didn't know anyone here came with a property tag. Or are you his owner now?"

The smile slipped, just for a second.

But before Valeria could say more, the classroom door swung open.

Professor Duncan stepped out, wearing the same patched blazer and fingerless gloves he always wore, like he'd been plucked out of a different century.

"In," he said, his voice gravelly. "Seats. Now."

Valeria gave me one last glare before gliding into the room.

Freya tugged on my sleeve. "Come on. Before I commit a crime."

I followed her in, my jaw clenched, my pulse thudding.

Class was a blur. Duncan droned on and on about ethics.

I couldn't focus.

Not with the stares. Not with the whispers that rippled across the room every time I shifted in my seat. Not with my phone buzzing every few minutes—Mom, a nosy classmate, or someone eager to feed me the latest drama. Each vibration was a reminder that I was a walking headline, the center of some story I never asked to star in.

Halfway through the lecture, Freya slid her phone toward me under the table. A single line blinked on the screen.

Let's jet after this.

I glanced at her. She arched her brows in that expectant way, daring me to say no. I didn't. I nodded once, already craving the relief of air that wasn't thick with judgment.

As soon as Duncan muttered, "Class dismissed," we were on our feet, weaving between desks like fugitives. My bag banged against my hip, and I barely heard the scrape of chairs behind us. Freedom was only ten feet away.

And then I crashed into someone.

The impact jolted me backward, my breath catching. I looked up, already muttering an apology, and froze when I met their eyes.

Rowan.