Chapter Eight: Bonfire & Blurred Lines
(Lyra's POV)
If yesterday felt like the world turning gold —
today felt like it was catching fire.
The second day of the Autumn Festival was louder, warmer, somehow even more alive. Booths had doubled, students buzzed between music, and a giant banner over the field read:
"Saint Valley Autumn Cup — Football Finals!"
Evan and Cassian were both in the team lineup.
Apparently, they were the school's "golden duo."
I didn't get it until I saw them warming up — Cassian calm and calculated, Evan all reckless energy and grin. They looked like opposites, but when they practiced passes, it was like watching lightning strike the same point twice.
I'd spent the morning setting up the art club's booth — paints, sketches, and a half-finished mural that stretched across three panels. It was supposed to capture "the soul of autumn," whatever that meant.
Rina, the club leader — tall, confident, with copper-streaked hair — smiled as I arranged brushes. "You're Lyra, right? The quiet one Evan Vale kept teasing at the opening ceremony?"
I froze mid-stroke. "He— what?"
She laughed. "Relax. Everyone saw it. He's got a type — the ones who look like they read poetry and know how to ruin men's egos."
I choked on my iced coffee. "That's… oddly specific."
"Accurate, though," she said, smirking. "You're good with colors. You joining full-time?"
I nodded, feeling a small spark of pride. "Yeah. I want to. Art's kind of… my quiet thing."
"Then you belong here."
She smiled — and I liked her instantly.
For the first time, I felt like I was building something of my own.
By the time the match started, the whole school gathered near the bleachers.
Soraya waved a bright banner with Evan's name on it.
Saphira had face paint.
Aveline pretended not to care but kept watching Cassian like she might combust.
I stood near Rina and the art booth, half-distracted by the mural, half by the sight of the boys running down the field.
"Vale looks like trouble," Rina muttered beside me.
"Always is," I said.
And then he caught my eye — just briefly — from across the field.
Sweat glinting on his temple, hair messy, grin sharp.
He winked.
I nearly dropped my brush.
"Case in point," Rina said, smirking.
When they won (of course they did), chaos followed. The crowd surged forward, confetti burst from somewhere, and Evan lifted Cassian's hand in triumph.
Someone dragged me into the group photo — Soraya, Saphira, Aveline, Cassian, Evan, everyone laughing and shouting. For a second, it didn't matter that I barely knew how to breathe around them.
Later, after the noise, came the quiet —
The bonfire night.
The festival lights dimmed, the stars came out, and a massive fire burned at the center of the field. Music softened to acoustic strumming, and everyone settled in little clusters with blankets, cider, and low voices.
I sat near the edge of the crowd, sketchbook in my lap, watching sparks climb toward the sky.
Then — footsteps.
"Hey," Evan said, dropping down beside me.
"Hey," I echoed, closing my book. "Shouldn't you be celebrating?"
"I did," he said, leaning back on his hands. "Wasn't as fun without you there."
I rolled my eyes. "You've got a whole fan club, Vale."
"Yeah, but only one of them has a mole on her right cheek."
My breath caught. "You noticed that?"
"Hard not to," he said quietly. "It moves when you smile."
The fire crackled between us. My chest felt too small.
He looked at me for a long moment — not teasing, not smirking — like he was trying to memorize something.
Then, before either of us could say anything more—
"Mind if I steal her for a sec?"
Cassian stood there, hands in his jacket pockets, eyes catching the firelight.
Evan smirked, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Sure, man. Don't keep her too long."
When Evan walked off, the air shifted.
Cassian sat beside me, gaze soft. "You okay? You looked a little cornered back there."
I smiled faintly. "I wasn't."
He studied me, then nodded toward my sketchbook. "You draw like you're trying to make time stop."
"That's the goal," I said quietly.
Cassian smiled, just barely. "Then you're good at it."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward — it was heavy.
The kind that hummed with something almost forbidden.
From across the fire, I saw Evan glance over. His jaw tightened — just slightly — before he looked away.
And I realized something I wasn't ready to name yet.
There was more than one heart burning in this fire.
When I got home that night, Mom was still awake.
She looked at me — cheeks flushed from the cold, smelling like smoke and cider — and said, "You look happy."
I didn't know how to tell her that happy felt like confusion right now.
Like sparks and stares and the warmth of two people who saw me differently — both in ways that scared me.
So I just smiled and said, "Yeah. I think I am."