Now what the fuck? How did this even happen.

One moment you were watching Jack and Alyssa kiss at the Knights’ party, and the next you were cutting through the empty campus on your way back to the Order’s facility to hash out Vera’s shiny new deal with the Knights, ears suddenly ringing, someone was performing magic, small growl leaving your lips.

And then there she was.

Your heart dropped at the sight of her—Vera Stone, sprawled out on the grass not far from Belgrave Hall, her face half… melted.

“Shit,” you hissed, shoving your phone into your pocket and sprinting across the lawn. You dropped to your knees beside her.

“Stone—what the fuc—shit, Vera.” Your voice broke, eyes darting over her. You pressed two fingers to her throat, searching desperately for a pulse. Relief hit when you found it, faint but steady.

“Hey. What did you get hit with?” you muttered, already sliding your arms under her. She groaned, head lolling against your chest as you lifted her.

“You need to tell me what it was. I can’t—Vera, come on.” You pushed through the creaking old fence, striding toward the hidden entrance to the Order’s facility.

Her lips parted, barely a whisper. “Teine…”

You froze, but the werewolf hearing caught it.

“Teine?” you muttered, storming down into the building. “As in fire? Dumb question. Obviously.”

By the time you got her to her office and onto the couch, your chest was burning. Not from the run—no, from the gnawing, unwanted panic clawing at you.

You tore through her bookshelves, flipping pages, muttering curses under your breath. “Why do you always have to do this? I’m supposed to be pissed at you—for forcing us into this stupid deal, for making me jump whenever you snap your fingers—but no. I’m here stressing about you dying. Again.”

Your hands finally landed on the right spell. You dropped beside her, hovering a hand over the scorched side of her face, and recited the incantation. The magic surged through you, stronger than it should’ve been, boosted by the wolf.

Slowly, her skin smoothed. Burnt patches faded. Dark hair threaded itself back into place. It was a slow process but it was working.

You let out a shaky breath and slumped against the couch, head tipping back against the cushions.

Minutes dragged. Her breathing steadied, and eventually she spoke as her eyes fluttered open.

“You shouldn’t have wasted your strength on me,” she said softly, voice hoarse but still laced with that familiar authority.

You let out a huff and shook your head. “Wow. ‘Thank you’ isn’t in your vocabulary, huh?”

Her lips twitched—almost a smirk. Almost. “You should be more careful who you save. I might make you regret it.”

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, eyes dropping to the floor, “you already do.”

The silence hung between you, thick and lingering. Your pulse was still racing, but you forced yourself to sit still, pretending the proximity didn’t rattle you.

Because it did. It always did.

Vera shifted on the couch, studying you. “You care too much,” she murmured, more observation than accusation as she leaned her head against the cushion, eyes closing again, the faintest trace of vulnerability in her posture.