Page 9 of House Ignis

I tore my gaze away so fast my braid slapped my shoulder, but not before Ember caught the look on my face.

She was already grinning like a smug cat that had just knocked something expensive off a shelf. I was hot, bothered, and had no idea what the fuck was happening to me.

Against my better judgment, I glanced back. Jeremy's perfect green eyes were locked on Asher, sharp as blades, each flicker a silent declaration of war.

I turned forward again, pulse pounding, palms damp, still fighting the pull of that silver gaze I refused to meet.

Maddison leaned over from across the table, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "Just so you know," she whispered, "he's still staring at you."

I bit the inside of my cheek, refusing to look, refusing to give in. I couldn't. If I did, I'd drown all over again.

Then Headmaster Silas's voice boomed through the chamber, rattling the chandeliers.

"Ava Pyreson.”

Fuck.

Of course I was last.

The Princess of Zymarra. The heir to the entire godsdamn continent. What a privilege.

My skin burned as our bench screeched against the stone, the sound ripping through the sudden hush of the Grand Hall.

A thousand voices erupted into cheers and whistles that made the walls shudder.

I rose, my legs stiff and my heart hammering against my ribs. Ember smacked my ass like I was her prize fighter.

I shot her a look that could kill; she only grinned wider.

"Let's go, Pyreson!" Ryven bellowed, his voice echoing like a war cry.

Veyros, take me now.

"Breathe, little flame."

I shut my eyes and drew a slow breath through my nose, trying to steady the chaos pounding in my chest.

Every gaze in the chamber pressed down on me, hot and suffocating. When I finally opened them, I lifted my chin, let my boots carry me forward, and walked toward the dais.

Headmaster Silas stood there, smiling at me—proud, expectant—while the Celestial Orb pulsed beside him like a living star.

I forced my lips into something resembling a smile, though inside I was unraveling.

At the foot of the dais, I risked a glance back. Hundreds of eyes were fixed on me.

"Ava Pyreson," Silas proclaimed, his voice ringing through the coliseum of stone and fire. "Zymarra's Flame, we welcome you to the Academy. And we take a moment of silence for our eldest Flame. May Nox keep his soul."

Jax.

The name sliced through me like a blade. My heart stuttered. My chest tightened with a swell of anxiety, every breath becoming too shallow, too sharp.

"Do not have a panic attack," Aether seethed. I could practically feel his golden eyes burning through me from the upper ring.

I forced my brightest, fakest smile, turned to the crowd, and lifted my hand in a regal wave.

The roar that followed rattled the stone arches overhead.

They devoured it—every cheer, every chant, every ounce of performance I fed them.