Lina stood outside Instructor Halvorsen's office, her fingers cold despite the warm hallway. The summons had arrived that morning—folded neatly, sealed with the academy's crest. "Routine check-in," it said. But nothing about it felt routine.
Ren had wanted to come. He'd shifted into fox form and padded beside her, silent and alert. But the assistant at the door had stopped him.
"Shifters wait outside," she'd said, voice flat. "Instructor's orders."
Ren hadn't moved. His golden eyes locked onto the assistant's face, unblinking. His tail lowered, not in submission—but in warning.
Lina had touched his fur gently. "It's okay," she whispered. "I'll be back soon."
Now, alone in front of the heavy oak door, her heart thudded against her ribs like it wanted out. She raised her hand to knock—then hesitated.
She wasn't afraid of Halvorsen. She was afraid of what he might already know.
The office was colder than she remembered. Stone walls lined with scrolls and spellbooks gave the room a scholarly air, but the silence felt sharp—like it was waiting to cut her.
Halvorsen gestured to the chair. "Sit."
Lina obeyed, her back straight, hands clenched in her lap.
"You've been doing well in spell theory," he said. "Until recently."
"I've been trying."
"Trying," he echoed. "Yet your focus seems… divided."
She said nothing.
"Tell me about your shifter."
"Ren."
"He's… unusual."
Lina kept her voice steady. "He's quiet. Obedient."
"Is he?" Halvorsen's gaze sharpened. "He shifted in the maze, didn't he? Without command."
Lina's breath caught. "It was a mistake."
"I'm not interested in excuses." He stood, walking slowly around the desk. "I'm interested in patterns. In bonds that deviate from protocol."
He stopped behind her chair. "Do you feel your bond with Ren is stronger than it should be?"
She thought of Ren's warning: Don't let them see how much you care.
She didn't answer.
Halvorsen circled back to his desk and placed a crystal orb between them. "Place your hand here."
Lina obeyed. The orb pulsed faintly, searching for her bond.
Outside the door, she felt Ren's presence like a thread tugging at her chest. He was close. Alert. Waiting.
"Now call him."
She didn't speak. She reached inward—and stopped.
She dimmed the connection. Muffled the spark. Buried the warmth.
Ren's magic flickered, confused. Then quieted.
The orb pulsed once. Then faded.
"Stable," Halvorsen said. "Unremarkable."
Lina stood. As she reached the door, he added, "Some bonds burn too brightly. They tend to burn out."
She stepped into the hallway. Ren was waiting.
He looked at her.
She didn't speak.
But he knew.
The corridor stretched like a tunnel. Lina kept her eyes forward, but her thoughts spiraled.
She'd passed the test.
She'd lied again.
Ren padded beside her, silent. He didn't brush against her leg. Didn't glance up. Just walked.
As they turned the corner, a voice called out.
"Hey, Lina."
Callen stood nearby, his hawk shifter perched on his shoulder.
"You were in Halvorsen's office," he said. "Everything okay?"
"Just a check-in."
"They tested me last month," Callen said. "Resonance orb. Same desk. Same silence."
Lina's stomach tightened. "Did you pass?"
"I did. But my shifter didn't speak for three days after."
Ren's ears flicked. He moved closer to Lina's leg.
Callen noticed. "Yours is… expressive."
"He's careful."
"Careful's good," Callen said. "But quiet is safer."
He stepped closer. "They're watching everyone lately. Especially first-years with strong bonds."
Lina's pulse quickened.
"Why?"
"Because strong bonds mean strong magic. And strong magic means unpredictability."
He looked at her for a moment longer, then walked away.
His hawk gave one last glance at Ren before gliding down the hall.
Lina knelt beside Ren. "I won't let them touch you," she whispered.
Ren didn't move.
But his warmth was steady.
Back in her room, Lina shut the door and leaned against it. The air felt too still. Too clean. Like nothing had happened.
Ren leapt onto the windowsill and stared out at the mist-covered grounds.
Lina sat on the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees, hands tangled in her hair.
"I had to," she said aloud. "They would've taken you."
Ren didn't move.
She remembered the moment in the office—how his magic had reached for hers, warm and trusting. How she'd pushed it down.
She stood and crossed the room. Knelt beside him.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Ren turned his head slightly. His eyes met hers—calm, unreadable.
"I won't let them break us," she said. "Even if I have to lie. Even if I have to pretend."
He blinked once. Then leaned forward and pressed his forehead gently against hers.
Lina stayed by the window long after the mist swallowed the courtyard. Ren hadn't moved from his spot, but she could feel the tension in him—like something held back.
"They think we're quiet," she murmured. "But they don't know what you remember."
Ren's ears twitched.
She reached out, brushing his fur. "Tomorrow," she said, "you'll tell me everything."
And this time, she wouldn't look away.