Thornhill Academy. Chapter 64

**Cassian**

The girl does as I tell her. At first, she’s tentative, her hand trembling slightly as she redraws the runes. But there’s a quiet defiance in her movements too, the kind I’ve only ever seen in students who refuse to break, no matter how many times the world tells them to.

“Good,” I murmur. “Now channel. Slow your breathing.”

She nods and places her palm over the centre rune. The air changes, not subtly, but violently. Magic doesn’t hum this loud unless something is wrong. The candlelight bends toward her, and the ink on the page begins to tremble as if it’s alive.

“Easy,” I warn, but my voice comes too late.

A pulse of light surges from the parchment, expanding outward in a rippling wave that makes the hair on my arms rise. The air tastes of ozone and something else, power, raw and unfiltered. Her eyes flash gold for half a heartbeat, and my stomach twists. This isn’t elemental amplification. This is something ancient, something I haven’t felt since I was on the frontline of the wars.

I move before the next surge hits, closing the space between us. My hand shoots out, wrapping around her wrist to cut off the spell. The energy slams against my mental wards, trying to claw its way in. I tighten my hold, forcing her focus toward me.

“Enough,” I snap.

Her head jerks up, eyes wide and glassy. The glow fades, the runes dying into smudged ash on the paper. For a moment, neither of us speaks. The scent of scorched ink fills the air, along with the faint, almost sweet undertone of her magic.

I release her wrist slowly, watching the way her pulse flutters beneath her skin. “That wasn’t the spell I showed you,” I say quietly.

“I—” She swallows, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean to channel that much,” I finish for her, tone low. “But you did.”

She looks down at the ruined parchment, guilt flickering across her face like a shadow. I see the tremor in her hands, the exhaustion behind her bravado. Power that strong doesn’t come without a cost. And it wasn’t rune magic that answered her. It was something far older. Something I’ve only ever read about in sealed records and only seen at war. *Siphoning...but it cant be, can it?*

I study her closely, careful not to let the suspicion show. If she is what I think she is, then she’s dangerous, not because she means harm, but because this world will destroy her if they find out.

“Energy doesn’t rebel, Miss Rivers,” I tell her softly. “It follows the one it recognises. The one who commands it.” My gaze lingers on the blackened paper. “Tell me… who taught you to channel like that?”

She hesitates.

“No one,” she says finally.

I lean back slowly, steepling my fingers, hiding my thoughts behind a calm mask. “I see.”

The air between us hums again, residual magic brushing against my wards like a heartbeat. She doesn’t even realise how much of herself she’s left open. She’s raw, untrained and entirely too powerful for her own good.

*What are you, little one?* And more importantly… who else knows?

She’s trembling. Not visibly, not enough for anyone else to notice, but I can feel it in the air between us. Her magic is still unsettled, vibrating just beneath her skin like a creature trying to crawl out. She’s terrified, and that fear leaves cracks… tiny ones, but enough for me to slip through. I don’t intend to invade her mind. Not at first. But when she looks at me, wide-eyed, pupils blown, pulse pounding so hard I can hear it, she forgets to raise her walls. And I’ve never been good at resisting curiosity. So I step in. Quietly. Carefully. There's a whisper of thought pressed against the edge of her consciousness. Her mind is bright, too bright, a storm of noise and colour and raw magic. It’s nothing like a shifter’s steady rhythm or a warlock’s trained pulse. No, this is chaotic and alive, like lightning bottled in glass. She doesn’t notice me. She’s too busy panicking over what just happened, over the scorch marks on the desk, the faint shimmer still crawling across her fingertips. Her thoughts stutter in a loop of guilt and confusion.

*Not supposed to happen. Not supposed to happen. No one can see. He can’t know.*

But I do know. I go deeper and then I see it. Images flash, blurred and fractured, but clear enough. *Her hands, slick with river water and blood, pressed against a glowing wound. The golden flare of dragonfire that wasn’t hers. The way that power surged into her like breath drawn too deep, like hunger finally fed. Then there's more flashes, her in the woods again, pain in every line of her body, the echo of a growl that isn’t human. She’s siphoning, taking power, shaping it, wearing it like a second skin. And she’s good at it. Natural. Terrifyingly so.* I step back before I’m seen, retreating to the edge of her consciousness. Her magic lashes once, like a snake sensing intrusion. I raise my own wards fast, masking the disturbance before she can register it.

She’s staring at the burnt parchment, whispering under her breath.

“I didn’t mean to,” she says softly, voice trembling. “It just… happened.”

*No*, I think. *It didn’t just happen. You made it happen. You absorbed a creature’s power, many different powers and wielded them as if they were born in your blood. A siphon. She is a siphon, that I know now for sure.* The realisation settles cold in my chest. Gods above, they’ll tear her apart if anyone finds out. Not because of what she’s done, but because of what she could do. Power like that doesn’t belong to one person, not according to the Council. It belongs to the war. I school my expression into calm neutrality, every trace of discovery buried deep behind my professional mask.

“Take a break, Miss Rivers,” I tell her, standing and turning away before she can see the calculation in my eyes. “You’ve done enough for today.”

She blinks, confused by the softness in my tone. “Am I… in trouble?”

“Not yet.” The words slip out quieter than I intend.

I leave her sitting there, staring down at her still-trembling hands, and by the time the door closes behind me, I’ve already made up my mind. I won’t tell Scorched. Not yet. Not until I understand more about this girl, Allison Rivers. A Siphon.