The walk back to my dorm felt longer than it should have.
Not because of the distance my room at Arcanum was conveniently perched in the east wing like a well-guarded secret but because my thoughts, as usual, were staging a civil war behind my eyes. There were far too many threads in my mind to pull apart. Verania's warning. Sylvithra's not-so-subtle affection. Velka's evasive glances. Riven's overly delighted commentary.
And worst of all?
Me. Thinking about Velka again.
I slammed the door to my room shut behind me with a dramatic sigh only slightly louder than necessary. The enchanted wards clicked into place with a soft hum, recognizing me and Smaug's magical signatures. My personal sanctuary, at last.
Smaug was already sprawled across my bed like a fluffy apocalypse, his wings draped over the edges, tail coiled around my pillow with intent. His scales shimmered faintly in the candlelight, and his expression was that of a beast who believed the mattress now belonged to him.
