The flower glows softly on the bedside table.
Its violet light spills across the dark wood, steady and quiet, like it belongs there. It hasn’t faded since last night.
I haven’t touched it since.
Silas stands near the center of the room, his hand slightly lifted as he senses the lingering magic. His expression is tight, focused.
“I knew it,” he mutters.
I lean against the window frame, arms crossed tightly.
“Knew what?”
“Someone used magic inside the castle last night,” Silas says quietly.
Ace hasn’t taken his eyes off me since they walked in.
“What kind of magic?” I ask.
Silas doesn’t hesitate.
“Black magic.”
The room goes still.
His gaze drifts to the bedside table.
To the flower.
The violet glow pulses faintly.
Silas exhales under his breath. “That explains it.”
Ace turn
