Thornhill Academy. Chapter 110

**Cassian**

The knock comes before dawn. Three sharp raps. Not loud, but decisive. I know the sound of hesitation, and this isn’t it. I glance up from the desk, eyes aching from too many hours spent over essays that blur into one another. My students’ words don’t hold. Nothing does, not since the bond settled like a quiet storm inside my chest, it's constant, patient, impossible to silence. It hums even now, a faint pulse under my ribs, whispering her name with every beat of my heart.

“Allison,” I murmur under my breath, and the hum sharpens as if it’s answering me.

I rub the bridge of my nose and force the thought away.

“Enter,” I call, voice steadier than I feel.

The door opens, and Scorched steps inside. His suit is sharp, his silver tie askew, but his hands twitch at his side, and his usual grin is missing. That alone puts me on alert.

“Professor,” he says, bowing slightly, tone clipped with tension. “The Council has responded.”

For a second, I don’t move. The words hang there like something heavy and fragile all at once. The Council. Responded. I thought they’d ignore me. They usually do.

“Responded,” I repeat slowly.

He nods. “They’ve requested your presence immediately. The transport sigil’s already been activated at the east gate.”

“Requested,” I echo, setting my pen down. “That’s their polite way of saying summoned.”

Scorched doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. I push back from the desk, the chair creaking faintly. My office is still lit with the low golden glow of the desk lamp, papers stacked like small monuments to order and control. Control that I’m about to lose. I straighten my cuffs, then glance once toward the window. Dawn hasn’t broken yet, but the faintest light edges the horizon. Somewhere beyond those hills, she’s still asleep. Or maybe she’s already awake, stretching, brushing her hair from her face. I know she feels me. I feel her every moment...And yet, I can’t even walk down the halls to see her. The thought makes something in me twist. I grab my coat and follow Scorched out.

The path to the eastern courtyard is silent. Thornhill is still half-asleep; mist curls through the arches, clinging to the stones. I catch my reflection in one of the windowpanes—tired eyes, jaw tight, my usual put-together appearance is gone.

Scorched slows as the glowing transport sigil comes into view, etched into the stone. “Hill,” he says quietly, “for what it’s worth… I hope they listen.”

“Me too,” I say, and step onto the circle.

The hum starts at my heels, a low vibration that crawls up my spine, wraps around my lungs, and yanks. Then the world folds inward.

The Council’s chamber is colder than I remember. No windows. No colour. Just marble, stone, and the faint scent of incense that never seems to fade. The ceiling arches high above, etched with the sigils of the Seven—symbols of unity, control, obedience. Seven figures wait behind the crescent dais, their faces half-shrouded in shadow and glamour. The one in the centre—a woman draped in midnight blue, gold sigils along her sleeves—tilts her head as I appear.

“Professor Hill,” she greets, voice smooth, unhurried. “We received your petition.”

I bow slightly. “Thank you for granting me audience.”

“You’ve requested an exemption,” she continues, fingers laced together. “Permission to pursue an attachment with a student currently under your instruction, citing the existence of a fated bond.”

“Yes,” I say evenly. “The bond isn’t something I chose. But it exists. Denying it causes… strain. For both of us.”

A ripple of murmurs moves through the council seats. The man on the far left leans forward, eyes sharp. “You are aware, Professor, that such relationships have led to chaos before. The last instructor who petitioned for this exemption—”

“Was executed for defiance,” I finish quietly. “Yes. I remember.”

The woman in blue raises a brow. “And yet you ask us to risk a repeat?”

“I ask you to recognise what your own archives already prove,” I reply, forcing calm into every word. “A fated bond is not a choice. It’s law older than yours. If you deny it, you invite instability far worse than scandal.”

That gets their attention. A few shift uncomfortably. The bond pulses under my skin, hot, eager, like it wants to speak through me.

She sighs, a long, practised sound. “You signed a contract, Professor Hill. Ten years of service to Thornhill Academy in exchange for removal from the war at the wall. It was not forced upon you.”

“No,” I admit. “It was the price of survival.”

“Then you understand the terms.”

I lift my gaze to meet hers fully. “I understand them. But the contract was never meant to imprison my heart.”

There's a whisper of silence between them. A dangerous one. Then her expression hardens. “Be careful, Professor. That sounds dangerously close to rebellion.”

There it is. The word they guard like a weapon. *Rebellion.* The whisper that still makes even seasoned soldiers flinch. I don’t flinch. Not this time. Not when I know what I am doing this for.

The woman straightens. “Your request is denied. You will maintain professional distance from the student in question. Should you break conduct again, your contract will be voided, and you will be recalled to active duty at the wall immediately. Do you understand?”

For a long moment, I just stand there, the air heavy and still, my heart fracturing inside my chest. Denied. Denied my bond. Denied my soulmate. Denied.

Then I nod once. “Yes. I understand.”

“Good,” she says, already turning away. “We’re finished here.”

The chamber dissolves around me. The teleport sigil drags me back through the fold, and the world re-forms beneath my boots. Thornhill’s gates loom ahead, shrouded in fog. The crows are awake now, circling above the bell tower. The mist clings to my coat as I step off the platform. The sun still hasn’t risen. The light is thin, ghostly, touching the cobblestones in streaks of grey and silver. It’s quiet except for the heartbeat I can feel under my ribs, steady, distant and absolutely hers. She’s alive. Laughing somewhere, maybe. Probably complaining about Kael stealing her tea or having Evander kiss her soft lips...And I’m here, chained to a promise I can’t keep.

Scorched isn’t beside me anymore. The courtyard is empty. The fog curls around my ankles like it’s listening. I look up toward her dorm window. Too far to see her, but the bond tugs at me relentlessly.

“Distance,” I whisper to myself. “That’s what they want.”

The word tastes bitter. Because no matter how many rules they carve into stone, no matter how many contracts they burn into my name, the bond doesn’t listen. It hums again, low, defiant, and utterly possessive. And I already know I’m going to fail.