Thornhill Academy. Chapter 72

**Cassian**

My office was quieter than the rest of the academy at this hour, stacks of books sat in piles on my desk, the oil lamp guttered low, and the smell of old paper and my evening tea lingered in the corners. I’d already told Scorched the terms; yes, he’d agreed I could take on Ms Rivers, provided I did it on my own time and without pay. He’d grunted something about the council and cautioned me with that look he has that strips nonsense down to its bones. Fine. I’d expected that. I set the kettle back on the brazier and leaned across my desk to pin a page into the ledger. A knock, polite and hesitant, sounded at my door. I called for them to come in. They opened the door together. Allison stood first, small and watchful as always; the strain of the week still sat along her shoulders. Behind her, Evander Drayke filled the frame with his broad shoulders. The faint smell of smoke and iron on him. He carried himself like a man who had been able to bite the world and not be eaten back. I’d glimpsed enough of her mind yesterday to know there was something raw and deep between them. Seeing them together made the problem feel far more urgent.

“Drayke,” I said by way of greeting. He inclined his head. “Professor.”

His guard was on; I could see it in the tight line of his jaw, the way his eyes took me in and measured. Good. It’s sensible to be wary of those who can read the room or the mind.

I folded my hands on the ledger. “You understand why I insisted on meeting like this,” I said. “I’m not here to harm your mate.”

Both of them blinked, surprise colliding across their features. Evander’s mouth went dry; Allison’s eyes widened just long enough for me to notice.

“You do realise,” I added, patient but flat, “that I can read minds.” Their faces made the same small, miserable acknowledgement. “You let your guard down yesterday, Allison, when your magic slipped. And Evander—” I pointed, deliberately, at him — “has no walls blocking me at all.”

Evander’s shoulders tightened. He reddened, quickly, an almost boyish flush. “Sorry,” he muttered, head lowered. “I… I wasn’t thinking...”

“Yes, well, if you could please clear your mind of *those* images.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and let the irritation drain into a steadier tone. “Why I’m willing to help is not important. What is important is the consequence: a siphon without control is a weapon the council will dissect and deploy. Or destroy. Either result will not be good for her.” I let that sit between us.

Allison’s fingers curled into the strap of her satchel. Evander’s gaze flew to her and then back to me, the worry in him bright as a flare. I could see the question forming in his mind — *why help?* — and I decided to answer it plainly.

“I will help because it is wrong to hand an innocent woman over to an institution that will not look for her as a person,” I said. “Because I have a duty to prevent harm when I can. Because if I—if we—can teach her to feel her power, to funnel it and contain it, she won’t be vulnerable. That is what matters.”

Evander nodded stiffly. There was a sharp intake of breath from Allison, as though relief and fear had collided and both won. I set a few conditions, slow and careful. “This is clandestine. No public displays. No siphoning from me or from any student without consent. You,” — I pointed at Evander — “will learn what I teach her. You will be a guardian, not a gawker. Miss Rivers will not use her power as a weapon. If she cannot keep to that, I will take different measures. I will not hand her over to the council to be used as a weapon. I will not, however, allow her to endanger anyone else.”

They both swallowed. Evander’s jaw worked once; Allison’s lips trembled.

“Do you understand?” I asked.

“How will I feed then?”

Both Evander and I looked at her. Her fingers twisted around the hem of her sleeve, eyes flicking between us before she continued, a nervous rush spilling out. “And… not to mention, I’ve already told everyone I’m a mind reader. If I can’t keep using that, I’m going to look pretty fucking stupid when I can’t read minds anymore.”

I exhaled, long and low, pinching the bridge of my nose again. “Fine.” I hated myself for how easily that word came out, but the logic was sound. “You’ll feed only from myself and from Evander, no one else.” I said firmly, catching the small, guilty look that passed between them, “Only because you need to. Understand?”

She nodded quickly, the guilt morphing into something quieter, more thoughtful. Then, after a pause:

“Last time I fed from Evander… I shifted.”

I’d already seen it in her memories, the way the flames rippled beneath her skin, the echo of scales and golden wings. Still, the weight of her confession settled between us. I nodded once, thoughtful.

“I know,” I said simply.

Her brows drew together. “You know?”

“I saw it,” I admitted. “When I looked inside your mind yesterday. You didn’t just take from him, you mirrored him. You took his essence and translated it. That’s why you shifted and probably why your bond snapped into place early.”

Evander’s arm tensed where it rested on the back of her chair, his protectiveness spiking again. “Then what happens if she feeds from me again?”

Allison’s voice was quieter now, almost afraid to ask the next part. “Yeah… what if I shift again?”

“Then you do it somewhere contained,” I said. “Somewhere safe, where you can lose control without consequence.” I leaned forward, elbows braced on the desk, my tone going flat and deliberate. "The next time you feed from him, or from me, you’ll need to learn to channel what you take instead of letting it consume you.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, the faintest shimmer of fear behind her eyes. I didn’t soften it. Fear, in this case, would keep her alive.

Evander’s voice came quieter this time, almost grudgingly respectful. “You’re going to teach her that? How to use mine?”

I inclined my head. “We will both need to teach her each gift. She’ll need to know how to control what she draws.”

His golden eyes met mine, wary but steady. “And if she can’t?”

“We make sure she can,” I said simply. “Failure isn’t an option, Mr Drayke. Not with what she is. Not with what’s coming.”

“Tomorrow evening,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Bring your focus. Bring your control. And Miss Rivers—” I paused until her eyes lifted to meet mine, wide and uncertain. “Bring your hunger.”