Thornhill Academy. Chapter 51

I stood in the corner like a rock, arms folded, every line in my body strung tight and ready. Cage called it tutoring, but it was a performance, one part correction, three parts sneer. He’d say something, then repeat it louder to watch her flinch. Every time his voice went low and sharp, my dragon pressed against my ribs like a fist. I wanted to step forward and end him with a look, wanted to shift and show him what happens when you push what’s mine. I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not here. Not yet. So I stayed still and watched. Allison kept answering. Quiet. Flat. Like she was holding herself together out of habit. It was a small, stubborn thing; she refused to let him see her break. But the hour wore on, and the way her shoulders sagged, the way her pen trembled, the pale ring under her eyes growing a little deeper each minute, I felt it in my gut like a warning bell.

When she paused mid-sentence, fingers slack on the pen, I felt the shift inside me. Not the dragon this time; something softer, a pull. She was running on fumes.

“That’s enough for tonight,” I said, before I could talk myself into silence. My voice cut through the room, and Cage looked up, irritation flickering across his face like a storm cloud. I kept my tone even. “She needs to rest.”

Cage slammed his book shut, an ugly sound that echoed. “She’s going to need a whole lot more time if she’s expected not to be a complete...” He didn’t finish. He never did finish things in front of me. He knew when the line had been crossed.

“She’s done,” I ground out. My hands tightened into fists at my sides. Standing there, letting him mouth off felt like poison. I was always careful, continuously measured, but I’d watched him push at her for too long. He could snarl and posture all he liked; if he touched her, if he tried to humiliate her in front of anyone, there would be consequences. I didn’t need to say them aloud for him to understand. He threw me a look, part defiance, part calculation. Then, because he wasn’t stupid, because he knew the cost of pushing a dragon, he let the words die. He shoved his bag over his shoulder with a theatrical flourish and left the room, the door banging behind him. As the common room emptied, the weight of the moment dropped off like a cloak, and I finally moved. I crossed the space and knelt beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat in me but not so close she’d feel trapped. Her face had gone slack with exhaustion; the sharp edges of earlier anger were smoothed away by fatigue.

“You okay?” I asked, voice low. I wanted to take her hand, but I held myself back, letting my words be the first touch.

She blinked up at me, a small, almost apologetic smile flickering. “I’m fine. Just tired.” The lie was gentle and useless; I’d been tracking the truth all evening.

“Good,” I said. “Come on, you need to eat and rest.” I rose, keeping my tone casual, the way you keep things that matter from sounding like orders.

The attic door clicked softly behind us, sealing out the noise of the halls and the world beyond. Inside, the air was warm and heavy with the faint scent of cedar and lavender, hers. She dropped her bag onto the floor and let out a long, shaky sigh, shoulders sinking as if the weight of the entire academy had been pressing there. Above us, the enchanted skylight shimmered with the night sky, casting the whole room in rippling silver-blue light. Stars pulsed like they were alive, the moon glowing full and proud. She looked like a painting, exhausted and messy and still, somehow, radiant. My dragon hummed beneath my skin, smug and possessive.

“Sit,” I said quietly, voice lower than I meant it to be. “I’ll make something to eat.”

She didn’t argue, which told me more than anything else how tired she was. She just sighed again, padded barefoot across the soft rug, and dropped onto one of the plush green sofas. A flick of her fingers and the small crystal-screen TV came to life, light spilling over her face as she tucked her knees to her chest.

I turned toward the kitchen, rolling my shoulders and scanning the space. It wasn’t what I’d expected from a student dorm, it was better. Everything gleamed softly in the moonlight: dark wood, copper handles, small enchanted lights that glowed when I brushed my fingers under the cupboards. The fridge opened with a soft hum, and I took stock—eggs, butter, bread, a few containers of leftover breakfast food, and fruit. Enough to make something warm. I hadn’t cooked in a while, not since before the Academy. Dragons had an appetite that bordered on gluttonous, and the last time I’d worked a pan, it had been in my family’s estate kitchen. Here, though, there was something oddly grounding about it. Using my hands. Doing something simple and good. I pulled a pan down, let the flame hum to life under my palm. The smell of sizzling butter filled the air, sharp and sweet, and I found myself grinning like an idiot. My dragon rumbled in my chest, a lazy, pleased sound. *She’s hungry*, he murmured through me.

“I know," I muttered back quietly, almost under my breath.

A few minutes later, the pan hissed and crackled. I glanced over my shoulder. She was still watching the TV, but her head had slumped to one side, cheek resting against the couch cushion. The flickering light danced across her face. The faint shadows under her eyes made her look younger, more human, more real.

I turned back to the pan and smiled to myself. “You’d think she’d fight me on this,” I said softly.

*She’s learning*, my dragon said, a deep chuckle threading through my chest. *So are you.*

When the food was ready, I plated it up and brought it to her: eggs, toasted bread, and some makeshift fried rice I’d thrown together with the leftovers. She stirred just as I knelt beside the couch and placed the dish on the low table.

“Smells good,” she mumbled, blinking her eyes open.

I chuckled, brushing a stray hair from her forehead before I realised I’d done it. “Eat. You’ll feel better.”

The first bite made her groan, a quiet, involuntary sound that sent a bolt of heat straight through my chest.

“Good?” I asked, half-teasing.

“Too good,” she said around another mouthful.

I chuckled, leaning back against the couch beside her. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

We ate in silence for a while. The TV flickered, the moonlight shimmered, and I just felt… full. Whole. Happy.

When she finished, setting the plate aside and curling back into the cushions with a sleepy hum, I looked at her again, the girl who wasn’t supposed to have anyone, the girl the world kept underestimating, and thought, she's mine.