His lips curve in a rare half-smile that transforms his face. "Not your call, Saltcrest. I'll be there."

The simple words send warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with elemental magic. Before I can respond, he stands and collects his things.

"Tomorrow at sunset, then," he says.

I nod, suddenly unable to find words.

As we part ways at the library door, I glance back to see him watching me go, his expression impossible to read in the shadows. Something has shifted between us tonight—something subtle but undeniable. And as I make my way back to my room, I can still feel the phantom heat of his fingers against my skin, like a promise or a warning.

17

I know the Rector himself isn't likely about to murder me as soon as I step into his office. The knowledge doesn’t stop dread from coiling around my spine like a serpent, tightening with every step I take toward the meeting.

"If he is a fool, he can try to harm you. I will simply eat him,” Typhon notes as he glides through the air beside me in his ridiculous fish form, butterfly-like wings flapping rapidly. He didn't even make me beg him to take the form this time, and I'm grateful for it, even if I know he's hiding himself from others.

The Rector's office lies atop a winding spiral staircase in a seldom used section of the castle. As I climb, I notice the paintings lining the stairwell—frame after frame depicting former Rectors of Confluence, I assume. They're all sitting in the same office, even if the furniture changes from painting to painting.

By the time I reach the top of the stairs, my heart is pounding, and it's not from exertion. Daily training here has me fit enough to jog up these stairs without losing my breath.

I drum a nervous pattern on my thighs as I walk the simple hallway lined with stained glass windows. A single door waits. The door to his office, just where I was told I’d find it.

No guards. No staff. No sign of Raith, either, even though I know that doesn't mean he isn't close. For such a large man, he can draw less notice than a shadow when he wants.

Somewhere nearby, he'll be watching. Waiting. I haven't caught so much as a glimpse of him since I left my room, but the thought of him standing vigil calms my racing heart. It’s a whispered promise from the darkness I shouldn’t need or want, but it’s there all the same.

The stone hallway feels too narrow, the air too thin, and every step brings me closer to what I'm starting to think might be a death sentence.