I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "What brings you to the library this late, Bastian?"

"I was looking for you, actually." He glances at Raith, then back to me. "I heard you've been selected for private instruction with Rector Voss."

"News travels fast," I say.

Bastian shifts, uncharacteristically hesitant. "May I speak with you? Privately?"

Raith doesn't move, his eyes fixed on Bastian with quiet challenge.

"Anything you have to say to her can be said in front of me," Raith states, voice deadly calm.

"Is that because you're too dense to comprehend it, or because you fancy yourself as some sort of guard dog?"

"Maybe come closer. Find out if I bite."

An unseen breeze drifts through the library, subtle but the threat is clear enough to make goosebumps rise on my arms. Bastian’s eyes seem to go whiter, unseeing as he stares at Raith.

The air around Raith shimmers and turns blurry with heat. His eyes darken, the gold catching with flecks of red as if they’re growing hotter.

"It's fine," I interject before they can go further than aggressively glaring. "Raith knows everything anyway."

Bastian's pale eyes widen slightly, then narrow. "Everything?"

"Enough," I confirm.

The choice of words earns a sharpening of the eyes from Raith, but he doesn't comment.

Bastian hesitates, then sits beside me, creating a triangle between us. His voice drops to barely above a whisper. "Very well. Then I suppose it won’t hurt if he knows my father has been making inquiries about Voss. The Council is... concerned."

Raith's expression darkens. "About?"

"Disappearances. The number of deaths are closely monitored and reported at the academy, despite how it may have seemed when you were offerings. Deaths of aspirants and legacies are not something the academy or Empire takes lightly. Training accidents have to be explained. Consequences exist if too many are lost."

"And?" Raith presses.

Bastian carefully avoids looking at Raith, as if he's just speaking to me. "And there have been an unusual amount of deaths among students this year. Deaths of aspirants. Deaths of a few legacies. Older students. And the Rector has been… uncooperative when it comes to reporting the circumstances. Details aren't adding up."

Raith's eyes meet mine, and I know what he's thinking without him needing to say a word. Months ago, we overheard instructors talking about strange deaths. Deaths that had them talking about siphons, which seemed like pure fantasy to me at the time.

The bread in my stomach feels like lead. "And you're telling me this because...?"

"Because my father doesn't trust Voss. And neither should you." Bastian's eyes drop to the swirling patterns of my mark. "Especially you."

"He threatens us," Typhon growls, smoke curling from his nostrils. "Say the word, and I will remove this threat."

"No one is removing anyone," I respond silently. "Bastian is trying to warn us to be careful. He's looking out for us."