บททั้งหมดของ A Veil of Ash and Glass: บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 9

The drive north cuts through weather that belonged to older stories. The coast fell away; pines shouldered the sky. The light sharpened into a cold clarity that made everything look honest—and a little cruel.St. Valen’s Academy didn’t rise so much as endure. Iron gates like skeletal fingers. Stone walls that kept their bargains with winter. Ivy stitched tight along facades, a lattice of family secrets. It was the West Coast’s favorite kind of cathedral: the kind that called ambition character and made a virtue of cold, hard want.Althea watched it through the tinted glass, Umbra’s head a heavy, warm weight on her knee. The air smelled of damp leaves and old slate, a scent of marble and money that was colder and sharper than the salt at home. She could feel her family’s attention even miles across—Ricardo’s patience like a deep crushing tide, Nerissa’s vigilance as fine and sharp as wire.We behave. We blend.She breathed once and let the thought rest on her tongue like hot iron.The

St. Valen’s kept its own weather: fog that clung like a second skin, light that didn’t dare arrive uninvited, and shadows that fucking listened. The very air was a conspiracy, thick with the weight of legacies that had drawn blood on these grounds for centuries.Noah Laurent didn’t watch people. He assessed. He cataloged threats, filed away weaknesses, and kept his distance. It was the only way to keep the Laurent part of him - the cold, strategic weapon part - in its cage. It kept his world orderly.Althea Sombra ended that order.At first, he’d told himself it was just… analysis. The new legacy, the whispers of her power, the rottweiler that prowled at her heels like a possessive guardian. But ‘analysis’ was a cold, thin word for what this felt like. This was recognition.He learned her schedule, marking his hours by her. South cloister. Music with. The library chair by the fire. He wasn’t a predator learning its prey. He was a man with a proximity mine, and she was the only other o

The gala was a week away. For St. Valen’s, it was a ritual. For Althea, it was a countdown.His confession in the corridor hadn’t been a moment; it had been a vow.A reckless, whispered promise of a shared ruin. For three days, Althea had clutched that promise, a secret warming ember deep in her chest, a shelter against the cold. It left her aching. Hungry. He had seen her monster, mirrored it with his own, and he hadn’t run.Until he did.His flight from the library—the raw, undeniable horror on his face as he’d fled from their “almost-kiss”—had been a retraction. It was a douse of ice-cold water that didn’t just extinguish the fragile warmth. It turned it to ash.He was ashamed of the fall.And by running, he’d just told her, in no uncertain terms, that she was a fool for wanting it too.The anger from that humiliation was a low, bitter burn. And then, her father’s email.The blade twisted. Her family was coming. An inspection.The week became a blur of hollowed-out panic. Her magic

Luca, in a move of pure, calculated theater, did not lead Althea to the shadows. He led her to the center of the floor, directly into the light, his hand a firm, hot pressure on the small of her back. The music began again—not a polite waltz, but something slower, more invasive. A tango.He pulled her close. Too close. His hand slid up her back, his fingers splayed, his thumb brushing the bare skin just below her shoulder blade. It was an educated, proprietary touch meant for an audience of one.“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his voice a low, hot breath against her ear, his lips almost brushing her skin.“Is it the family? Or is it him?”Althea’s face was a mask of cold composure.“It’s called rage, Luca. Don’t flatter yourself.”“Oh, I’m not.” He spun her, his body a hard, unyielding line against hers. He was good. He was dangerously good. “I know exactly what this is. He’s a coward, Althea. Look at him.”Across the room, Hiraya’s hand tightened on Odesa’s arm. She could feel it - t