Chapter 17. The Old Moon

Aria’s fever had barely broken when the latch on the attic trapdoor lifted, not with the familiar malice of Cassandra, nor the official authority of a Council enforcer, but with a quiet, careful scrape.

It was Jules.

Jules was everything Aria was not: soft, earnest, and dressed always in the gentle blues of the low-rank wolf uniform—a color that had always felt safe, like a distant, clear sky. Aria often wondered why Jules bothered with her at all, a quiet shadow clinging to the pariah of the academy.

Jules hauled herself up, balancing precariously on the rough-sawn planks, carrying a tray with a bowl of thin broth and a mug of steaming herbal tea. Her eyes, wide and sympathetic, immediately took in the lingering signs of the catastrophic awakening: the dampness of Aria's cot, the metallic smell of the magical outburst, and the unnaturally charged atmosphere. The air still felt thick and heavy, as if the oxygen molecules were vibrating with residual energy.