A week passed, and I had nearly forgotten the strange encounter with the assistant. But clearly, he hadn’t forgotten me.

  After one of our lectures, the dean asked me to head down to the practical lab and help Vir Dymov collect equipment.

  The Winter Ball was just two weeks away, and everyone was in a frenzy preparing for it. The lab, in particular, was complete chaos after class.

  But I wasn’t in any rush. Last year’s ball had been more than enough for a lifetime. This time, I planned to lock myself in my room and stay inside my warding circle for a full twenty-four hours.

  Chester was making brooms dance when I entered. He tapped his toe to a whistled tune, and four brooms moved in sync, sweeping debris from the floor.

  “Vir Dymov?” I called, freezing at the doorway.

  “Come in, Aurora,” he said without turning around. “I need you to clean the south rack. Be careful, though—there’s pollen scattered on it. Don’t inhale too much.”

  Still facing away from me, he continued to whistle, foot tapping, as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

  I shrugged and walked over to the workbench, where everything short of an actual dragon seemed to be strewn about. It looked as though someone had gone out of their way to make a mess.

  Once the table was spotless, a familiar male voice spoke near my ear again, freezing me in place.

  “Well done. That was quick,” Chester whispered, leaning in.

  The moment his hand brushed my hair, I whispered the incantation again.

  A tear slid down my cheek as my body refused to move. My spell clashed with his ward—he’d anticipated my reaction and provoked it on purpose.

  The lab door slammed shut, and I heard the bolt slide into place. The young mage’s hand moved gently from my face down to my neck. That was when I couldn’t hold back the sob.

  “I understand, Aurora. Don’t be afraid,” he said, stepping back a few paces and leaning against the table, arms crossed.

  “You’re dangerous to the other students in this state. The dean knows what happened to you, I’m sure of it—but he won’t speak of it. I won’t demand an explanation from you. It’s obvious. But why didn’t you ask for help? In the Empire, acts like that are punishable. A healer should’ve been assigned to you.”

  His tone was firm—scolding, almost.

  I lowered my gaze and counted my breaths. That usually helped calm me. But the locked door and the heavy silence wouldn’t let me relax.

  “Please… let me go,” I whispered once Vir Dymov finished listing my rights and how a healer could’ve helped me.

  “I can’t, Aurora,” he said sternly. “I’m obligated to report this kind of assault to the Inquisition. They’ll investigate the students and faculty.”

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  “They’ll find nothing,” I said more steadily now.

  He arched a brow.

  “They won’t find anything, Vir Dymov. But I’ll still be punished. And so will my family. I don’t know what you’ve assumed or which rumours you’ve heard—but going to the Inquisition will only make things worse.”

  Anger at his self-righteous certainty snapped me out of my paralysis. I stepped toward him and looked him straight in the eye, fury flashing in mine.

  “You don’t want the one who did this to you to be punished?” he asked, stepping closer. “I don’t know how far that man went, but he must be held accountable.”

  “He won’t be,” I hissed, my voice low and bitter. “Of that I’m certain. And my family will pay the price.”

  Chester narrowed his eyes.

  “Dragon,” he spat, and I flinched as those black eyes flashed before me again.

  I had to look down and take several deep breaths to banish the vision. Slowly regaining control, I reached up with a trembling hand to fix my hair, then lifted my gaze back to him.

  Apparently, he wasn’t as foolish as I’d first assumed. He caught on quickly—realized no one would ever punish a dragon—and slipped the crystal back into his pocket.

  “The fact that you have to keep quiet, Aurora, doesn’t change the fact that you’re dangerous,” he said. “Last time, my protective charm saved me. If you react like that to some clumsy flirtation from your fellow students, you’ll end up on the chopping block. You won’t forgive yourself if you seriously hurt someone.”

  “You sound so sure of yourself, vir—as if you know me well,” I growled. “Someone truly afraid of harming others wouldn’t use combat spells.”

  For some reason, the pity in his eyes was worse than anger or indifference. He looked at me the same way the dean had that night—with sympathy, regret, and a complete lack of action.

  It took me months to finally understand what lay behind Vir Brom’s strange behaviour.

  He had seen it. Heard it. And done nothing.

  The guilt was eating him alive. Maybe, like I did later, he believed that if he’d just made his presence known, he could’ve stopped the dragon. Maybe Vir Ventus would have backed down. Maybe none of it would have happened.

  “But you didn’t use a combat spell, girl,” the young mage said calmly. “You tried to push me back. You just misjudged the strength.”

  I exhaled slowly. He really was smarter than I’d thought. I’d have to be careful around the new assistant.

  “No one in my class will come near me,” I said. “I’m sure you’ve heard the same rumours as everyone else. They don’t see me as dangerous. Just dirty. They bite from a distance, but they won’t dare touch.”

  “I don’t believe in rumours, Aurora. But you act like a cornered animal. You’re afraid it will happen again. Which means the dragon might come back—say, for the Winter Ball.”

  He folded his arms and looked me dead in the eye.

  “Hiding from everyone won’t make you any less afraid. You ever consider that if you surrounded yourself with a real friend—or even just a few close allies—not even a high-born dragon or heir of an ancient house would dare come near you?”

  I smiled, catching the hint in the assistant’s words.

  “And you say you don’t believe in rumours, vir. Don’t worry—I have other plans for the Winter Ball. Far too many spells left to study. The guests will be perfectly safe… unless they decide to break into my room.”

  “That’s the real shame, Aurora,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “What about the dress? The dancing? A young woman turning into a recluse…”

  “Thank you, but I’ve already attended one ball,” I replied, my tone dry. “That was enough to last me a lifetime. And I plan to live a long one, Vir Dymov. A very long one.”

  I turned toward the door.

  “You’ll have to make a decision now, assistant to the dean—either let me go or report me to the Inquisition. But in one thing, you were right: the dean knows. Think about what reasons he might have for staying silent… and for looking away every time I walk into his classroom.”

  Standing at the door, I lifted my chin high and looked straight at the now-hesitant assistant.

  The young man rubbed the back of his head, clearly unsure. Then he stepped forward and opened the lab door with a quiet, “Good night, Aurora.”

  I had genuinely hoped that after such a painfully honest conversation, the young mage would lose interest in me.

  But as it turned out—quite the opposite happened.