Thornhill Academy. Chapter 136

**Cage**

I’m not sure what kind of morning I expected, but it sure as hell wasn’t this. She walks into class like sin dipped in sunlight. Long black hair down her back, lips painted red, heels clicking against the floor like the start of a war drum. Every head turns. Every breath stalls. And she doesn’t look at me. Not once. For someone who’s been glued to my side half the semester, that’s almost impressive. She walks right past my desk, her scent trailing after her—something sharp and sweet that clings to the inside of my skull—and heads straight for the front. Straight for him. Professor Hill. My jaw tightens and I tell myself it’s the bond acting up again, that low hum in my chest pulling toward her like she’s gravity and I’m the idiot rock caught in orbit. But that’s not it. It’s the way she leans on his desk to hand in her assignment, the way he looks up at her and then immediately looks away, like he’s fighting a losing battle with his own thoughts. The entire class feels it—the crackle, the pull. It’s not just chemistry; it’s magic. And it makes me want to break something.

She settles into a front-row seat, crosses her legs, and starts twirling a pen between her fingers. Every movement is deliberate. She’s testing him, maybe even testing herself. I know manipulation when I see it. She’s good, too good. But Hill’s trying to play it cool, pretending he’s not rattled. He’s completely fucking rattled. He changes the lesson at the last second, trading theory for practice. It’s the kind of move teachers make when they need to get out of their own head, and she grins, basking in her triumph. I swear the room's temperature spikes. They spar verbally first, questions, counter-questions, that little tone she uses when she knows she’s in control. The whole time, he’s doing everything he can to keep the distance between them. But she keeps closing it. Every time she leans over or brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, his jaw gets tighter, his hands tenser. It’s torture, watching it. Not because I care. No, that’s not it. It’s because it’s inappropriate. It’s a breach of the rules, the kind of thing the council doesn’t just frown upon, they eliminate for it. Hill’s walking a knife’s edge, and she’s dancing along it barefoot, daring him to bleed...And I can’t stop watching. The bond hums louder when she laughs. It’s not for me, but my bones don’t seem to care. I grip my pen so hard it snaps. By the end of class, Hill looks like he’s been through battle. She gathers her books, smiles up at him and I walk past her and out the door before I have to endure any more of it. Still, she doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t even glance my way. Maybe that’s what hits hardest. I stand outside the door for a few minutes too long. Long enough that I would look fucking stupid if she were to come out to an empty hallway with just me in it. So I leave.

By lunch, I’m done pretending it doesn’t bother me. The bond’s been a constant irritation since the festival, an itch I can’t scratch, a voice I can’t shut up, but today it feels different. It's sharp and

I can’t focus on a damn thing. Not food, not notes, not the idiots across the table arguing over elemental balances. My mind keeps replaying the way she looked at him. So when I get to my dorm, I don’t think. I just pull out my phone, scroll to the number I shouldn’t still have memorised, and hit call. It rings twice.

“Cage.” My father’s voice fills the line, smooth and cold as always. “I assume you’re not calling for pleasantries.”

“No,” I say, pacing across the small space. “You said you wanted updates.”

“On the girl,” he corrects. “Yes.”

I hesitate only a second. Then it all comes spilling out—the outfit, the way she walked into class as if she owned it, how Hill couldn’t even look her in the eye without losing composure, how the air itself seemed to bend around them. I don’t mention the jealousy. I frame it as an observation. A report. A professional assessment.

“She’s using the bond,” I say finally. “Testing its limits. Maybe even manipulating him with it.”

There’s a pause on the other end. Then a soft, thoughtful hum. “Interesting.”

“I think he’s slipping, Father. He’s too close. If she’s as dangerous as you think she is, he’s already compromised.”

The silence stretches long enough for doubt to start gnawing at me. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe I should’ve just let it go. But then he speaks again.

“You’ve done well,” he says. “Very well. Continue your observations. I’ll handle Hill.”

The way he says it makes my stomach twist. “What does that mean?”

“It means the council will be informed. This girl has been given far too much leniency.”

“Wait, that’s not what I—”

The line clicks dead before I can finish. I stand there staring at my phone, heartbeat loud in my ears. A chill creeps up my spine as the realisation sets in. Whatever happens next… it’s not going to be simple. I should feel vindicated. She’s dangerous. Reckless. She needs to be contained. That’s what I’ve been telling myself since the moment I met her. But the image of her laughing in that classroom won’t leave me. The spark in her eyes that said she wasn’t afraid of any of us—not even him. I throw my phone onto the bed and drop into the chair by the window, running a hand over my face.

“Stupid,” I mutter. “She’s just another assignment.”

But even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. Because deep down, the thought of the council handling her—of anyone handling her—makes my stomach turn. And when I finally drag myself to class again and spot her across the room, laughing with Kael and Evander as if nothing in the world could touch her, I realise something worse: I don’t just want to know what she’s hiding...I want to be the one she tells. And that—that’s the most dangerous thought I’ve ever had.