I want to believe it, because the way my heart softens to think of him worrying and caring about me so much feels dangerous. There’s still so much I don’t know about Raith. And there’s the obvious divide between our affinities. He’s a fire. Even if the first-year fires feel like far less of a threat than my own affinity, I can’t ignore the things students whisper about the fires and earths.

There are always rumors of traitors among them. Students simply biding their time as they wait for commands from red kingdom. Commands to turn on us and sabotage our efforts.

Mostly, I think it’s all paranoia. But I have to admit the doubt lurks inside my own mind, too. And what would be more valuable to Red Kingdom than an unbound tethered to an ancient water dragon? If Raith was a spy for them, he’d likely be rewarded handsomely for delivering me on a silver platter.

But I don’t want to believe any of that. I admire Raith, whether I like it or not. And… I like how it feels when he’s with me.

We sit in companionable silence while I eat. This is how it often is between us—words unnecessary, the quiet somehow comfortable rather than awkward. I've learned more about Raith through his silences than his sparse conversation.

"Rector Voss wants to meet with you. I heard Primal Ryke say it."

I swallow a bite of bread. "Yeah…"

Raith's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "When?"

"Tomorrow at sunset."

He nods slowly, as if confirming something to himself. "I'll be nearby. During your meeting. Make a loud enough noise, and I'll come for you."

I stare. "I'm meeting with the Rector, Raith. What is it you think you'll do if I'm in trouble?"

Raith says nothing, but the fire in his eyes speaks volumes. He'll burn this place down if he has to. If that’s what it takes to keep me safe. And gods, I hate how my stomach flips from the knowledge.

"Someone approaches. The air child," Typhon's head swivels toward the library entrance.

I've grown used to Typhon's peculiar ways of referring to people. The "air child" can only be Bastian. Sure enough, moments later, Bastian's tall form appears between the shelves, moving directly toward us with purpose.

He looks as pristine as ever in his legacy uniform, golden hair pushed away from his broad forehead. But there's tension in his shoulders, a tightness around his eyes I haven't seen before.

"Ah. How convenient," Raith mutters, just loud enough for me to hear. "Your legacy admirer has impeccable timing."

I shoot him a warning look as Bastian reaches our table. The two have maintained an uneasy truce since Confluence Day, bound by their shared knowledge of my secret but clearly distrustful of each other's motives.

"Nessa," Bastian says with a nod. "Hollow." He acknowledges Raith with cool formality.

"Strathmore," Raith responds, equally frigid.