I knew the moment I saw the rune.
The Blooming Chain—an old mark. Ancient. Forgotten, perhaps, by the pampered sons of modern nobles, but not by me. Not by anyone who's stared into the black tongues of altar-flame cults and heard the words they chant when they think no one's listening.
They were watching now.
And worse, they remembered.
I didn't sleep that night. Not out of fear. Fear is useful—motivating, grounding. This was something else.
Anticipation.
Because if they came for Felix, they'd learn something important: I don't let anyone touch my students.
Not anymore.
The Academy's Quiet Rot
By dawn, I was already in Vaughn's office. The bastard had the audacity to look half-asleep, robe askew, hair a mess.
"Lucian," he grunted, pouring tea. "You know it's not technically a crime to let me sleep past sunrise."
"Check the archives. Pull every file flagged with the Blooming Chain rune. All of them."
That got his attention. He straightened.
"You're serious."
