The ceremonial lanterns floated into the sky, hundreds of them rising like stars being born—an illusion of peace.
But Evelyn was already moving.
She slipped through the crowd, gown trailing behind her like a shadow. Beside her, Alexander kept pace, his steps silent. Caelan flanked her other side, his eyes scanning for threats with the cool precision of someone ready for war.
"She went west," Evelyn said. "Toward the ruins behind the North Tower."
Alexander's jaw tightened. "That's not just ruins—it's where the Academy stores restricted artifacts."
"She's after something," Caelan muttered. "Or someone."
They passed beneath an archway laced with ivy and stepped into the abandoned wing, its stone halls cold and quiet. The music faded behind them.
And there she was.
Isabella stood alone, her crimson gown blazing like blood in the moonlight. Her gold mask was gone, revealing the calm cruelty of her expression. In her hand: a blade not forged by the Academy—a twisted, rune-marked dagger that pulsed faintly with dark energy.
She turned slowly, eyes landing on Evelyn.
"So predictable," she said smoothly. "You always have to play the hero."
"No," Evelyn replied. "I came to stop a villain."
Isabella laughed. "Do you think I care what I'm called? I was never going to be the shining star. That role was taken before I could breathe. So I made my own place."
Evelyn stepped closer. "You made it out of lies and poison."
"And yet here I stand." Isabella held up the dagger. "This isn't for you, Evelyn. Not directly. It's for the one who turned you into something I could never be."
Her eyes flicked to Alexander.
"I was never meant to win your heart. But I can break hers."
Alexander stepped forward, voice a blade of his own. "You'll do no such thing."
The dagger flared with a violent pulse.
But before Isabella could strike, Evelyn raised her hand—magic pulsing like a heartbeat from her fingers. A shield of violet light exploded between them, hurling Isabella backward.
She crashed against the stone wall, the dagger skidding across the floor.
Caelan moved swiftly, pinning her with a containment spell. Runes locked around her wrists like chains of fire.
It was over.
Isabella lay there, panting—eyes wide, not with fear.
But with rage.
"You think this changes anything?" she spat. "There's more coming. You think I'm the storm? I was only the wind."
Evelyn's voice was calm. Cold. Final.
"Then you should've known the wind never survives the fire."