Chapter 18: Elena’s Flame
The charm's weight sat heavy in Leon's palm as he walked the upper corridor. It had cooled, the faint magical heat fading the moment he'd tucked it into his coat pocket. But it still felt wrong — like a watchful eye that had been plucked mid-blink.
He took the rear hall toward the tower wing, away from where the servants moved during pre-dawn prep. His father wouldn't be awake for another hour, and the training yard was still dark. Only one person would be awake now.
The soft pulse of arcane light flickered ahead — faint blue rippling under the door frame.
Leon stopped.
Knocked once.
"Elena," he said, voice low.
No answer.
He waited.
The lock clicked. The door eased open.
Elena stood barefoot, robe open at the neck, fingers glowing faintly from a dispersal rune she was wiping off her forearm. Her black hair was tied messily behind her head. She blinked at him, clearly still halfway into her spellwork focus.
"Leon," she said. "You're early."