"Go back to your room, Nessa," Raith says suddenly, his voice deeper than before, rough like he's fighting for control. "Try to sleep."

"Will you?" I ask, reluctant to leave despite every rational thought screaming at me to run, my traitorous feet refusing to move.

He turns back to the view. "Eventually."

I know a dismissal when I hear one, but I linger a moment longer. It is taking time and effort for the arousal he sparked with those few words to fade—for common sense to wrestle control of my thoughts and body again. "If I have the dream again tomorrow night... will you be here?"

Raith doesn't look at me, but I see his shoulders tense, then relax on an exhale. "I don't make promises."

It's not a yes, but it's not a no either. I'll take it.

"Goodnight, Raith."

As I turn to go, his voice stops me. "What we heard... I wouldn't speak of it to anyone. If the Rector is involved, then the information is extremely dangerous. You don't want to be called into his office for questioning. Trust me." For some reason, his eyes fall to my left hand when he says that—to my disguised mark.

I slip it in my pocket, nodding, a chill running down my spine at his warning.

Trust him. Yeah. That hardly seems like a good idea. And yet... part of me wants to. Part of me already does, whether I like it or not.

He's facing away, his broad silhouette a solitary shape against the vast night sky.

His words follow me all the way back to my room, settling into my mind like heavy stones in the churning current of my thoughts.

When I finally sleep again, the nightmares don't return. Instead, I dream of amber eyes and scars that look like rivers of gold in moonlight—and of strong hands touching places that make me wake with a gasp, my body aching for someone I know I can never have.

But the most dangerous things are always the ones we want the most, aren't they?

8

"The elemental trial will claim some of your lives," Instructor Sestra announces, her voice slicing through the classroom like an executioner's blade.

My stomach twists, sending my breakfast churning in a nauseating swirl. Not because of the "some of you will die" part—that's been hammered into our skulls since day one at Confluence Academy. Death is our constant companion here, trailing us between classes, during training, and hovering at the foot of our beds each night.

No, it's the brand new bit of information. A fucking water trial? Isn't daily life here enough of a damn trial?