Katie.

Madam Pomfrey handed Adrien her final vial of healing tonic like it was made of gold and warnings. "One a day, with food. And remember—cleansing charm every week. I'll do it myself."

Adrien raised her hands. "Wouldn't dream of DIY-ing dark curse removal, thanks."

Her voice was stronger, but her color still wasn't where it should've been. Five Days in the Hospital Wing—four of which unconscious, and she still looked like she was walking out of a warzone instead of a recovery bed.

Fred hovered beside her like he couldn't decide whether to hold her hand or barricade her from the world. Rowan stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, expression unreadable but tense.

"You good?" I asked, scanning Adrien's face for any flicker of bullshit.

She exhaled and nodded. "Not dead. Upright. Counts as good."

Fred rolled his eyes but helped her ease on her coat anyway, careful with her still-bandaged arm. "You sure you're okay to walk?"

Adrien reached for his scarf like it was hers to adjust. "You sure you're okay to let me?"

Touché.

Sage had already said her emotional, slightly chaotic goodbye to George earlier that morning—there'd been glitter, sniffling, and a very aggressive "don't die" warning. So when Adrien said she wanted to walk Fred to the Entrance Hall before the Weasleys left, I knew she wasn't ready to let go.

We followed them out together, Fred's hand lingering at the small of her back. They were whispering, close and soft. Fred glanced back at Rowan and me once, some unreadable thing in his eyes, before they disappeared down the hallway.

That left us in the corridor.

And it felt... too quiet.

I turned toward the staircase, nudging Rowan lightly. "Come on. I'm claiming the couch before someone ruins it with third-year perfume spill drama."

Rowan raised a brow. "A couch date?"

"If I pass out on you," I muttered, "you're contractually obligated to hold me."

He smiled and slid his hand into mine. "Wasn't planning on letting go."

We took the long way to the common room, our hands tangled the whole way. My shoulders were tight with worry I hadn't voiced yet, but I figured Rowan could see it plain enough on my face.

And once we hit the cushions?

He was definitely going to bring it up.

The common room was buzzing in the background—first-years trading snacks, someone hexing their quill to dance, and Lavender loudly debating Hogwarts' hottest Quidditch player (spoiler: it wasn't Draco). But for once, none of it mattered.

I sank into the couch with a dramatic groan, curling sideways until my legs draped over Rowan's lap. He tugged the blanket off the backrest and tossed it over both of us like he'd done it a hundred times.

I stared at the fire. The flickering light made the shadows jump across the walls like something was waiting just out of sight.

Rowan didn't say anything at first. He just rested his hand on my calf, thumb brushing slow circles over my sock.

Then, quietly:

"Talk to me."

I didn't pretend not to know what he meant.

I just sighed. "About Adrien? Draco? Blaise? Take your pick. They're all burning holes in my brain."

He looked at me then, sharp but soft around the edges. "All of it. Because I can't keep watching you act like you're okay carrying this alone."

I scoffed, but it came out thin. "We're all carrying something."

"Sure," he said, "but you're carrying yours like you don't deserve to ask for help—after just scolding Adrien for doing the same thing."

That one stung. Because he wasn't wrong.

I curled my fingers into the edge of the blanket, voice low. "Adrien almost died, Rowan. Because of a curse neither of us fully understood. Because we kept the letter. Because she read it out loud. And I didn't even know the marks were spreading until she collapsed in the library."

He nodded, silent.

"And then Draco's suddenly lurking in every hallway again—skinnier, jumpier, and clearly unraveling. Blaise has gone full stalker mode with a side of predator. And I just..." My voice cracked a little. "I just want to hit something."

Rowan's jaw clenched. "You want names? We start alphabetically or emotionally?"

That pulled a reluctant laugh out of me. "You're ridiculous."

"You're exhausted."

He was right.

And then—like he'd been waiting for the right second—he shifted closer. Brushed his thumb under my eye where I knew a shadow had started to form. "You didn't miss it," he said softly. "The signs. The clues. You've been fighting since the start. But you're allowed to fall apart too, Katie. Just don't do it in silence."

The lump in my throat tightened. "I don't want to fall apart."

"Then don't," he said, brushing a kiss against my temple. "But let me hold the pieces if you ever do."

I leaned into him. Finally let myself breathe.

And for a second, I let someone else carry the weight.

I must've dozed off for a minute.

Rowan's warmth was still tucked around me like a promise, but when the common room started to quiet and the fire dimmed to a low flicker, I stirred. My legs were stiff. My thoughts weren't.

"Go to bed," Rowan murmured against my hair, already half-asleep.

I smiled faintly, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw before I slid out from under the blanket. "You too."

As if on cue, the portrait hole creaked open and Adrien stumbled in with Maddie and Sage—laughing at something Sage said, but her smile was still a little too fragile. Adrien's sweater sleeves were rolled to her elbows again. I could see the faint shimmer of bandages beneath the cuff on her left arm.

I didn't say anything.

Just nodded toward the stairs.

"We're going," Maddie said with a yawn. "But I swear on Cassian's cheekbones, if we don't get hot chocolate tomorrow, someone's getting hexed."

"Fine," Sage muttered, nudging Adrien toward the girls' stairs. "But you're doing the marshmallow charm this time."

They all disappeared upstairs, and I followed half a minute later. But my feet didn't carry me to bed.

Not yet.

My brain was still looping—memories of the letter, the runes, Adrien collapsing, Draco's twitchy shadow at the edge of every corridor.

I needed air. And not the kind filtered through dusty curtains and four-poster hangings.

So I slipped out. No shoes, no jacket. Just the sound of the castle breathing around me.

It was quiet in the upper corridors. A stillness that felt both haunted and holy.

I took the long way, turning past the trophy room and skimming the edge of the Astronomy Tower. I might've doubled back—I wasn't thinking, just... moving.

Then I heard it.

A soft, wet grunt. Something between a curse and a gasp.

And then I saw him.

Tucked behind a crumbling statue of Alhena the Arrogant, barely visible in the moonlight.

Draco.

Slumped sideways against the wall, one arm clutched against his ribs, his broom—his broom—snapped clean in half beside him.

His knuckles were raw. Bleeding. His robe was torn down one sleeve, pale skin slicked with dirt and something darker. His lip was split. He looked like he'd lost a fight with a dragon and then tried to hex the dragon out of spite.

He looked up at me like I was the intruder.

"I'm fine," he snapped.

"You're bleeding."

"I said—"

"I heard you," I cut in. "You also winced when you tried to stand, so maybe shut up."

That earned me a glare. Weak, but still there.

He tried to push off the wall and failed. Barely caught himself before he hit the ground again.

I exhaled sharply, then bent down and grabbed the least-mangled part of his arm. "Come on. You're not dying in a corridor. That's reserved for heroic sacrifices and Toads named Trevor."

Draco didn't laugh. Of course he didn't.

But he didn't stop me either.

We didn't talk as I half-carried, half-dragged him down the hallway until I found an abandoned bathroom. The kind they always used in horror stories and teenage sob fests.

I didn't care. I shut the door behind us and nudged him down onto the bench beneath the frosted windows.

Still no words.Just the sound of my wand whispering, and his breathing—shaky, shallow.

I knelt.

Didn't say anything.

Just pulled his sleeve back and cast a quiet healing charm over his worst cuts. The gash on his forearm knitted together slowly, but not perfectly. It wouldn't. Not with whatever else was happening to him.

Draco didn't speak.

Didn't flinch either.

Just... watched me. Like he didn't recognize this version of me. Like he couldn't decide if I was mercy or madness.

His eyes hadn't left me.

Even when I stood to move to his other side, even when I wiped the blood from his jaw with a spell soft enough it felt like a whisper.

"I'm not fragile," he muttered.

"No," I said, voice low. "You're bleeding. It's different."

His jaw flexed. "Why are you even here?"

I didn't answer at first.

I cast another charm—clean, precise—across his ribs. He hissed but didn't pull away.

Then, finally, I said, "Because you were behind a statue looking like death and bleeding into the stone. Forgive me for noticing."

"You don't have to fix everything," he said tightly. "Not me."

"I'm not fixing you," I snapped. "I'm keeping you from bleeding out and staining Hogwarts history with whatever idiotic thing you just lived through."

A breath. Shaky. From him, not me.

Then: "You shouldn't be alone with me."

"Maybe I'm not scared of you."

"You should be."

That landed. But only for a moment.

I leaned forward, meeting his eyes. "If I was scared of you, Draco, you wouldn't be sitting here. And I wouldn't be on my knees."

His breath caught. He swallowed hard, like I'd just said something more intimate than it was.

And maybe it was.

We weren't touching. But the air between us cracked like a hex waiting to detonate.

"Why do you care?" he asked, quieter now. Like it scared him to say it too loud. "After everything."

I stood up slowly, letting the silence stretch.

Then I said, "I don't."

He blinked.

"I care about people not dying where they can't be found for hours. That's different."

He scoffed, but it sounded hollow. "You're good at that. Pretending you're colder than you are."

"And you're good at pretending you haven't already chosen your side."

His flinch was microscopic. But I saw it.

"You don't know what I'm choosing," he said.

"No," I murmured. "But I know what it's costing you."

Draco looked away then. Jaw clenched. Shoulders hunched like the guilt weighed more than the injuries.

I waved a hand toward the broom still shattered on the floor.

"That's your mess to fix," I said flatly. "I'm not touching that."

He looked down at it like he hadn't even realized it was still there.

Then: "How is she?"

My spine stiffened.

He didn't say Adrien's name. He didn't have to.

I stayed by the door, fingers flexing against the frame. "Alive."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the one you get."

He stood, slower than he normally would've, and even then he winced when the weight settled wrong on his leg. "I didn't know she was that bad."

I spun. "And whose fault is that?"

"I wasn't there."

"Exactly."

His expression snapped. "You think I haven't noticed what's happening to her? You think I haven't seen the bruises, the marks?"

"Then why haven't you said anything?" I snapped. "If you care so much, why the silence? Why let your creep of a best friend stalk her through the halls and send cursed howlers?"

He went pale. Not with guilt. With something closer to rage. "I didn't send anything."

"But he did," I said, voice sharp as a blade. "And you've done nothing—fucking shocker."

"Because I can't!" he barked.

The words echoed. Too loud in the tile and glass.

I stared at him.

His breathing was ragged, hands clenched like he wanted to punch something—maybe the truth.

"I can't," he said again, softer now. "I'm already on thin ice with them. With my father. With the rest of them. I'm not allowed to care."

"That's a convenient excuse," I spat. "When it gets too hard to grow a spine."

Draco's lip curled. "You don't get it."

"You're right," I snapped. "I don't. Because I would've burned down every inch of this school before I let someone like Blaise within ten feet of Adrien again."

That made him flinch.

"Then maybe you don't know him like I do," he muttered.

"No," I said, already halfway through the door. "But I know her. And that's enough."

I paused, one last beat.

"She doesn't need you watching from shadows. She needed you to pick a side."

I glared harder before I headed toward the door.

"Sass." His voice stopped me—that old nickname tugged at me in a way I hadn't felt in years.

I didn't turn though.

"I didn't mean for it to be you," He paused. "Or Chaos."

I swallowed. Then said, just as quiet, "But it was."

And I walked out.

It had been a few days after that when it happened.

It was supposed to be a normal walk to lunch—really.

Cassian had just said something dry and sarcastic enough to make Sage choke on her laughter, and Maddie was mid-rant about how the Arithmancy corridor looked like "hexed detention for architecture," when we turned the corner—

And saw him.

Blaise—alone.

Leaning casually against a stone pillar like he didn't reek of obsession and bad intentions. He looked up, smirk loaded and lazy.

Mistake.

Sage stopped walking.

Cassian let out a low "Oh, hell," and immediately moved closer to Maddie like he knew what was about to happen.

And me? I kept walking.

Straight toward Blaise.

His smirk didn't falter. "Blackwood. You're glowing. That's new."

I didn't stop until I was toe-to-toe with him. "Who sent the letter?"

His brows lifted slightly. "What letter?"

"You know which one." My voice was steady. Quiet. Dangerous. "Don't play dumb—you don't wear it well."

"I wear everything well," Blaise said, all lazy arrogance and snake-oil charm.

Sage took a step forward, wand already halfway drawn. "I've got a hex and a temper, Zabini. Guess which one's faster."

Maddie crossed her arms, expression lethal. "And I've got a Bat-Bogey curse with your name on it. You want to see what it does to people who stalk my best friend?"

Blaise raised both hands in mock surrender. "Relax. I haven't done anything today."

"That's the problem," I snapped. "Because yesterday—and every bloody day before that—you've done plenty."

He cocked his head, smile twitching. "You're going to have to be more specific."

I stepped closer. Close enough to smell the arrogance radiating off him.

"You didn't just betray me," I said, voice like a blade. "You betrayed the one person who actually believed in you. Adrien trusted you. Even after last year. Even after your little power games."

His face didn't change.

But his silence screamed.

"We thought," I continued, fury simmering just beneath the surface, "that we'd at least reached neutral ground. But then came the cursed letter. The stalking. The Howler. You knew she was in the Hospital Wing—you knew—and you still lingered like she was yours to torment."

His jaw twitched.

"You heard she collapsed. You had to. You knew something was wrong, and instead of backing off, you watched her bleed herself dry. And said nothing."

Still, he didn't speak. Just watched. Measured.

"You don't get to look at her like she's a prize you were cheated out of," I snarled. "You don't get to act wounded. Not when you're the one who's been carving her open from a distance."

Maddie hissed, "We should hex his damn eyebrows off."

Sage, still glaring, added, "And then light what's left of his dignity on fire."

Blaise blinked once—slow, almost thoughtful. "She's glowing again," he said, voice almost... sad. "Even more than before."

That stopped me. Only for a second.

"Yeah," I said coldly. "Because she's surrounded by people who don't poison her."

I stepped closer, "And not that you had a snowball's chance in hell after last year, but you can kiss Adrien goodbye. You've lost the privilege to even look at her after this."

Something flickered behind his eyes. Guilt.

But not enough. Never enough.

"Come on, Katie," he said softly. "You think this is all about some curse? Some stupid letter?"

"I think," I said through clenched teeth, "that you're obsessed with her. I think you've been circling like a vulture since the day she said no. And I think you know exactly who sent that letter, because you probably helped them!"

He said nothing.

Didn't deny it.

Just watched me with that careful, unreadable calm that always made me want to break his nose.

Before I could say more—

"Enough," a voice cut in.

Draco. Of course. I turned, slow.

He looked like he was trying to control something under his skin. Eyes sharp. Shoulders tight. "Back off, Zabini," he muttered. "You're not helping."

"Oh, now you have morals?" I said, rounding on him like fire catching dry grass. "Where were those when Adrien almost died?"

His mouth opened—but nothing came out.

"You don't get to sulk like you lost something you tried to destroy," I said coldly. "So go ahead. Watch her from across the room. Haunt hallways. Just don't speak to me again."

And I walked. Past both of them.

Sage and Maddie followed, flanking me like a hurricane on either side. Cassian stayed behind for a beat, glared at both boys, and then jogged to catch up.

Behind me, I could feel Blaise's smirk flicker and fade. I could feel Draco's silence crack like a dam. And I didn't look back.

In the Great Hall, I stabbed my fork into a roasted potato like it had personally offended me.

Across the table, Cassian was explaining—low and sharp—to Rowan what had happened in the corridor. Sage jumped in halfway through, all hands and expletives, while Maddie nodded along like she hadn't threatened to hex Blaise's entire bloodline.

Rowan didn't say much at first.

But I saw it—his jaw tightening. The way his eyes flicked toward the Slytherin table like he was calculating wind resistance for a punch.

And then—

"Why is he still obsessed with you?"

I blinked. "Who?"

His jaw ticked. "Malfoy. He hasn't stopped staring at you since the match—or the beginning of the term...really."

I stiffened, eyes flicking toward the Slytherin table on instinct.

Draco was doing exactly what Rowan said—watching. Calm. Calculating. That strange hollow look on his face like he didn't know whether he wanted to duel me or beg.

I grabbed my water and looked away fast. "It's not a thing."

Rowan didn't even blink. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

He angled toward me. "Minimize it. Adrien can't go to the library without Blaise slithering out of a corner, and you can't take a step in the Great Hall without Draco trying to set your hair on fire with his eyeballs."

I snorted—sharp and defensive. "They're Slytherins. They look at everything like it's theirs."

"Katie."

I didn't meet his eyes.

"I'm not—" I faltered. "I'm not interested, okay?"

"That's not what I asked."

That stopped me cold.

Adrien slowly dropped into the seat next to me, still..

Rowan's voice dipped. "Are you afraid you still care?"

The breath punched out of me before I could stop it.

I stood too quickly, the scrape of the bench dragging too loud across the stone. "We're not doing this here."

Rowan stood too. Quiet. Steady. "Fine. Let's do it somewhere else."

I could feel Adrien watching. Maddie's head turned, sensing tension. But I didn't stop.

We walked in silence, shoes tapping against the corridor stone, until we ducked into an alcove near the Astronomy stairwell—out of earshot. Out of sight.

The second I turned around, the words came out like fire.

"I'm not afraid of Draco," I snapped. "I'm afraid of what he left in me. The way he knew how to make me feel like I mattered—until I didn't. Until I was a liability."

Rowan didn't move. Didn't blink.

"And yeah," I added, voice quieter, "sometimes I remember how it felt to be wanted like that. And then I remember what it cost."

He stepped closer, slow and open. "You don't owe me perfect."

"I know," I said, voice breaking a little. "But I don't want to bring his ghost into this. Into you."

"You're not," he said. "You're not bringing anything but yourself. And I'm not asking you to forget him. I'm asking you not to let him live in your head like he owns space."

I stared at him. At the boy who never asked me to be anything I wasn't. Who never demanded silence or apologies.

"I'm trying," I said. "I swear—" I choked. "I'm trying."

Rowan nodded. Then stepped forward and pulled me into his arms.

And I let him. Because no matter how loud the shadows were... Rowan was louder.

He kissed the side of my head and whispered, "We'll watch them together."

And I knew he meant all of it.

Not just Draco. Not just Blaise. But every haunted corner they thought they still owned.

About two weeks later, my nerves were frayed—and not just from trying to dress shop for Slughorn's Christmas party while dodging potential stalkers in every shadow. Christmas was coming fast.

And so was Operation: Ruby—or at least that's what Fred had deemed proposing to Adrien as. He had convinced himself it would cover up any suspicion if Adrien intercepted anything we were writing—she hasn't, and it wouldn't.

Thankfully, Adrien was finally starting to look more like herself—thanks to a mix of healing vials and weekly cleansing charms. Her color was back, her eyes less haunted.

Selfishly, I was relieved—not just because I missed her spark, but because when it happens over Christmas... she'll want photos. And she'd absolutely hex me if she looked like literal death in them.

We'd barely made it five steps into Gladrags when Maddie declared, "If I don't leave here looking like a forbidden potion, we're trying again."

Adrien snorted. "You're already illegal in six countries, Maddie. Let the rest of us catch up."

Sage held up a deep green velvet number that could've doubled as a murder weapon. "I want to seduce, hex, and outshine a warlock in one outfit."

"You want to seduce George in one outfit," Adrien said.

"I said what I said," Sage replied, unbothered.

I rolled my eyes and pulled a crimson slip dress from a nearby rack—spaghetti straps, daring slit, all elegance with just enough edge to make Rowan short-circuit. "What do we think?"

Maddie gasped. "Oh, she's coming to kill."

Adrien gave a low whistle. "Rowan's going to combust."

"Good," I said. "I'm tired of him surviving every encounter."

It took us a solid hour—three hexed hangers, one minor levitation incident, and a very unfortunate glitter bomb—but we all walked out victorious.

Maddie twirled in her floor-length silver stunner, smirking. "Cassian's not going to know what hit him."

Adrien elbowed her. "You have kissed him, right? Because if you show up like that and you haven't, he may implode."

Maddie flushed. "Yes. It happened after study group last week. He spelled my books into alphabetical order and then told me I was 'unnervingly magnetic.'"

Sage fake-gagged. "I love him."

Adrien looped her arm through Sage's. "Well, since the twins have abandoned us temporarily, we are each other's dates."

Sage smirked. "You're the only date I trust not to hex my drink for fun."

Adrien winked. "No promises."

We met Rowan and Cassian at the back booth of The Three Broomsticks—both already nursing butterbeers, both trying to act like they hadn't just tried (and failed) to eavesdrop on our shopping spree.

Rowan stood when I slid into the booth. "So. There will be rules."

I raised a brow. "Rules?"

Cassian nodded. "Given the likelihood of Draco and Blaise slithering into that party like it's a catwalk of sins? Yes. Rules."

Sage sipped her drink like she'd been born ready. "Hit us."

"First," Rowan said, "No one—no one—goes anywhere alone. Not even to the loo."

"Second," Cassian added, "If anything feels off—magic, conversation, presence of cursed objects—you get us. Immediately."

Maddie blinked. "Can we go somewhere alone to hex Blaise?"

Rowan ignored that. "Third: there's a code word. If someone needs out fast—'hippogriff.'"

Adrien snorted. "I refuse to yell 'hippogriff' in the middle of a conversation."

"Okay," Cassian said calmly. "Then your new code word is 'feral baguette.'"

That got all of us.

Even Sage had to laugh. "I hate that I love that."

"Feral baguette it is," I said, grinning as Rowan slid a warm hand over mine under the table.

We had dresses. We had plans.

And apparently... a code word that sounded like it came from a deranged French bakery.

Next stop: Slughorn's party. And chaos.

I was about to tease Maddie about hexing her shoes into heels when a shadow fell across our table.

A small one.

We all turned. A first-year stood there—Hufflepuff robes slightly crooked, bottom lip trembling like he'd been forced into something he didn't understand.

"Which one of you is... Katie?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

I straightened slowly. "That'd be me."

The boy flinched. Then—without another word—he dropped a folded scrap of parchment onto the table, turned on his heel, and ran like he expected the floor to explode.

Cassian caught it before it could slide off the edge. "What in Merlin's—"

I snatched it gently. "I've seen this fold before."

Rowan leaned in. "What is it?"

Adrien and I exchanged stiff eyes as Maddie and Sage shifted uncomfortably.

I opened it—and my stomach bottomed out.

There it was. That handwriting. Not just familiar, but specific. Sharp. Dagger-shaped.

Anselme.

My pulse ticked higher as I scanned the message, every line arranged like it was carved into me already.

Would you choose fire again, Little Vexley?
Would you burn your sister for the truth?

Everything else blurred.

Sage's voice felt like it came from underwater. "Katie?"

Maddie's fingers brushed mine. "What does it say?"

"Don't—" Adrien called, a little too loud, making everyone jump. "Let's not do that again."

I couldn't speak. Couldn't move.

Rowan reached for it—but I closed the parchment quickly, my hands shaking.

He froze. "Katie."

"I need... I need a minute."

The silence at the table tightened like a net.

Adrien's chair scraped. "He sent something, didn't he?"

I nodded once. My voice barely made it out. "It's him."

No one breathed.

And for the first time since all of this started... I wasn't sure we were ahead anymore.

There's something dangerous about four girls getting ready for a party when they've got magic, trauma, and vendettas on their to-do list.

I swear I got flashbacks of the Yule Ball.

Maddie was halfway through her third lipstick change. Sage was charming her eyeliner to match her rage level. I was pinning my curls back with enough magical hold to survive a wind tunnel. And Adrien—Adrien was trying not to flinch while I adjusted the straps of a black, backless gown that deserved its own cinematic soundtrack.

"How are we doing?" I asked softly, smoothing the last bit of fabric near her shoulder blade. The scars hadn't fully healed—runes faintly glowed like embers just beneath her skin.

She met my eyes in the mirror. "I look like a cursed painting."

"You look lethal," Sage said, tossing her wand onto the bed. "Like if sex and vengeance had a daughter."

"That's somehow worse," Adrien muttered.

I pulled her hair to one side and gently charmed a faint shimmer over the exposed skin. "We're bringing the new letter to Dumbledore after the party, yeah?"

Adrien nodded once. "And owling Mr. Weasley. Immediately."

"Good call Adrien!" Maddie pointed at her reflection in the mirror. "Thank Merlin we didn't read this one out loud," Maddie said. "Not in the mood to watch another soul get engraved again."

"Imagine explaining that to Slughorn," Sage added. "'Excuse us while our friend starts bleeding enchantments into your carpet.'"

We all fell into a moment of shared silence.

Then Maddie raised her arms like she was announcing a prophecy. "We're going to look so good, people will forget we're emotionally unstable."

I grinned. "That's the spirit."

And once our glamour spells were set, lip glosses hexed to last through apocalypse, and Sage solemnly swore not to hex anyone until after the dessert course, we headed out.

Rowan and Cassian were waiting at the bottom of the staircase. Cassian's eyes skimmed Maddie with such intensity I thought he might combust. She didn't notice—too busy grumbling about her heels—but Sage definitely did. She elbowed me and whispered, "We've entered the swoon era."

Rowan whistled low when he saw me. "If you fall down the stairs in those heels, I'm not catching you. I'll just lie down next to your body."

"I'd haunt you," I said sweetly, hooking my arm through his.

"I'd let you."

Together, the six of us made our way to Slughorn's annual "early winter gathering."

It was everything you'd think it would be—too grand, too gold, and absolutely crawling with people who wanted something from you.

Candles hovered above every table. Enchanted ice sculptures slowly melted into swirling ribbon cocktails. A string quartet floated in midair playing something that screamed "expensive." Slughorn beamed at our group from across the room, waving enthusiastically as he pointed to the table he'd set aside just for us.

"That man is either plotting a wedding or a press release," Adrien muttered.

Then I felt it.

Not magic. Not nerves.

Eyes.

Watching. We turned as one.

Blaise.

He was near the far wall, draped in black and smirking like he'd already won something. His gaze moved slowly—too slowly—across our group before landing and lingering on Adrien.

She didn't flinch. She just lifted her chin and smiled.

It wasn't kind.

Rowan stepped half a pace closer to me. "He's the first to die tonight, right?"

"First and fastest," I said, looping my fingers through his.

"Save room for dessert," Sage muttered, already mentally hexing people.

Adrien leaned in. "Draco's not here."

"Yet," I said, voice low.

Because we knew he'd come.

They always do.