I noticed it first on a Wednesday that couldn’t decide between rain and moonlight.
My snowflake sat hunched over a fortress of textbooks at the long table in our private library, hair slipping over one shoulder, mouth pursed as she gnawed on a pencil like it had personally offended her GPA. The fae-woven wards braided with wolf sigils along the beams usually purred soft in the background—magic content to watch us exist.
Tonight?
They were awake. Alert.
Silver threads in the rafters brightened, dimmed, brightened again—syncing to her pulse like she was something the room was learning, cataloguing, adjusting for.
She didn’t notice. Or pretended she didn’t.
She was knee-deep in comparative treaty clauses between Lycan’Dra and Drakonis, scribbling notes like the Gods graded on speed. “Sc
