The walk back from the Training Wing is tense. Students peel off toward their dorms, voices low, eyes wide from the drill. The night air is sharp, but heat still burns through me. I can’t shake the hum in my chest, the leftover surge that hasn’t gone quiet. Viktor walks behind me, always close enough that I feel it.
The second we step inside the house, I turn. “Don’t ever do that again.”
His brow lifts. “Do what?”
“Get in front of me. Take over like I couldn’t handle it. I had the Sentinel.”
“You didn’t,” he says. His tone is flat, not cruel, but it hits like stone. “You were flaring without aim. If I hadn’t stepped in, you’d be on the ground.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I felt it,” he says, stepping closer. “Through the bond.”
That stops me. “What bond?”
His eyes narrow like he can’t
