Morning came with bells.
Not the gentle kind. The academy bells were meant to be orderly measured tones rolling across stone and glass but this morning they felt sharp, like they were scraping against the inside of my skull.
I hadn't slept much.
I lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling of my quarters, listening to footsteps pass in the corridor outside. Too many for this hour. Too purposeful. People weren't just waking up.
They were moving.
I swung my legs off the bed and immediately felt it the faint ache in my palms. Not pain. Residual warmth. Like my body hadn't decided yet whether it was done working.
I flexed my fingers slowly.
The sensation didn't fade.
"Great," I muttered.
By the time I reached the clinic, a thin line had already formed outside.
That had never happened before.
Students stood in clusters some injured, some pretending to be. Some avoiding eye contact. Others watching the door like it might bite them.
When they saw me, the noise dipped.
Not silence.
Calculation.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside without acknowledging anyone. The wards sealed behind me, cutting off the low murmur outside. The quiet inside the clinic hit harder than usual, thick and heavy.
I leaned against the door and exhaled.
Then I smelled it.
Iron.
Not fresh blood. Old. Dried. Masked under cheap perfume and nervous sweat.
I straightened slowly.
"Come in," I said.
The wards rippled.
A girl slipped inside, hood pulled low over her head. She closed the door behind her quickly, like she was afraid someone might follow.
She didn't look up.
"I don't need a full session," she said. Her voice was tight, rushed. "Just—just fix it. Please."
"Sit," I replied.
She hesitated, then obeyed, perching on the edge of the bed like it might reject her. When she pushed her sleeve back, the smell intensified.
Carved runes.
Crude. Angry. Still faintly glowing.
My stomach sank.
"Who did this?" I asked.
She shook her head immediately. Too fast. "I don't know."
"That's a lie," I said, not unkindly.
Her shoulders slumped.
"I can't say," she whispered. "If I do, it'll get worse."
I didn't touch her yet. Didn't activate anything.
"That's a binding mark," I said. "It feeds on secrecy. On fear."
Her eyes flicked up to mine, wide. "You know?"
"Yes."
"Can you remove it?"
"Yes," I said again. Then, after a pause, "But it won't be painless. And it won't work if you keep protecting whoever did this."
She laughed weakly. "Everyone protects someone."
I held her gaze. "Not at this cost."
Silence stretched between us, brittle and thin.
Finally, she shook her head again smaller this time. "I can't."
I nodded once. "Then I can only suppress it. Temporarily."
"That's fine," she said quickly. "I just need it to stop burning."
I stepped closer and took her wrist.
The moment our skin touched, the warmth surged and slammed into resistance.
Not cold.
Pressure.
Like fingers closing around my bones from the inside.
[Patient Receptiveness: 31%]
[Curse Type Detected: Coercive Inscription]
[Warning: Removal Requires Emotional Disclosure]
The runes flared angrily, red lines crawling up her arm like veins.
She cried out.
I tightened my grip, grounding the flow, forcing the warmth to spread instead of spike.
"Breathe," I said. "Look at me."
She did, tears spilling freely now.
"It hurts," she sobbed.
"I know."
The suppression took longer than I liked. The curse fought every inch, snapping and recoiling, biting back whenever I pushed too hard. By the time it dulled, sweat soaked my collar and my hands shook faintly.
The runes dimmed, retreating into scars.
Not gone.
Just waiting.
She sagged forward, shoulders heaving.
"That's all I can do today," I said quietly. "If it starts flaring again, come back. Immediately."
She nodded, scrubbing at her face. "Thank you."
She left quickly, not meeting my eyes again.
I stared at the door long after it closed.
That was new.
Not the curse.
The intent behind it.
Someone was marking students.
Testing boundaries.
I didn't have long to think about it.
The wards chimed again.
Another patient.
Then another.
And another.
By midday, my ledger lay open on the desk, ink smudged from careless hands. I hadn't eaten. My head throbbed. The warmth in my palms pulsed like a second heartbeat.
And still, they kept coming.
Not all of them were injured.
Some just wanted reassurance.
Some wanted proximity.
One wanted to "ask a question" and couldn't meet my eyes when she did.
I turned three people away.
That earned me looks. Whispers.
By the time the sun dipped low, my nerves were frayed thin enough to snap.
The knock that came then was different.
Not hesitant.
Not rushed.
Measured. Familiar.
I opened the door and found Seraphina standing there.
No escort. No attendants.
Just her.
Her uniform was immaculate as always, but her eyes were sharper than I'd ever seen them. Focused. Alert.
"You're overworked," she said, stepping inside without waiting for permission.
I shut the door behind her. "You shouldn't be here unannounced."
"You should be eating," she replied coolly. "Yet here we are."
I huffed a quiet laugh. "What do you want, Seraphina?"
She didn't sit this time. She paced the room slowly, fingertips brushing the edge of the desk, the shelves, the doorframe.
"Someone used a coercive curse on a first-year this morning," she said.
My jaw tightened. "You know about that?"
"Yes," she replied. "Because my family has seen it before."
That stopped me.
"Where?"
"At court," she said. "Used to silence servants. Lovers. Political inconveniences."
Anger flared hot and immediate in my chest. "It's illegal."
"So are many effective tools," she said flatly.
I looked at her. Really looked.
There was frost at her fingertips again but thinner. Controlled. Contained.
"They're testing you," she continued. "Your limits. Your response time."
"I'm not a guard," I said.
"No," she agreed. "You're leverage."
The word settled heavily between us.
"I trust you," she said suddenly.
I met her gaze. "You've already said that."
"This is different," she replied. "This is me choosing to stand where they can see me."
I frowned. "What are you suggesting?"
"That I stop pretending my involvement with you is private," she said. "That I make it visible."
"That's dangerous," I said immediately.
"Yes," she replied. "Which is why it works."
I ran a hand through my hair, frustration spiking. "You don't need to put yourself in front of this."
Her eyes hardened. "I already am."
Silence stretched.
Then, quieter, she added, "And I need to know something."
I waited.
"When you touch me," she said, voice low, controlled, "are you anchoring me because you must… or because you choose to?"
The question landed like a blade.
I didn't answer right away.
Because the truth wasn't simple.
"Both," I said finally.
Her breath caught. Just slightly.
"That's what I needed to hear," she said.
She stepped closer.
Not into my space.
Just close enough that I could feel the cold radiating from her skin—and the warmth beneath it.
"Next session," she said, "we go deeper."
I swallowed. "That won't just hurt the curse."
"I know," she replied. "It will hurt me."
"And you're still asking?"
"Yes."
She turned and left before I could argue further.
The door closed softly behind her.
The system chimed.
[Escalation Threshold Approaching]
[Anchor Bond Strengthening]
[Warning: Choice Will Soon Be Required]
I sank into the chair, exhaustion crashing over me all at once.
Lines.
Boundaries.
They weren't washing away.
They were being redrawn.
And I was standing in the middle of all of them, palms still warm, heart pounding, knowing—deep down—that once the next line was crossed, there would be no pretending this was just healing anymore.