Lucian and I were still picking clumps of pink goop from our hair when we arrived at the great lawn. It was one of my favorite places on campus (granted, pretty much every place was my favorite on campus). Large white rocks stretched up from the grass, shaped like the ribs of a massive dragon. 

The great lawn was blanketed in greenery, and offered an incredible view of the towering spires of the main building and the clocktower. The cliff that formed the dragon’s roost was visible behind it, floating in the sky. Every now and then, a dragon would soar overhead, its massive wings cutting through the air above us with a whoosh. The breeze, stirred by their flight, sent our hair and jackets fluttering. 

Students lay sprawled across the grass, textbooks and parchment spread between them. A group of friends played Illusionary hide or seek, their forms flickering between trees and rocks, quite literally vanishing into their surroundings. Others simply enjoyed the day, lying in the grass with their arms behind their heads, faces turned toward the sky.

“That was the absolute worst,” Lucian grumbled as we looked for an empty spot to settle down, flicking another wad of pink goop from his hair. “As terrible as a gnome trying to work a stick shift.” 

I shrugged. “Okay, moving past the weird gnome analogy, I’m just gonna come out and say that despite that shitshow, I actually think the nimnims were pretty cute.”

“Because you are a bloody psychopath,” Lucian muttered, before quickly adding, “I say, endearingly.” 

“Are you seriously narrating your own inflection?” I sighed, shaking my head. “Whatever. Even if we’re covered in goop, I still had a great time in class.”

“Of course you did,” Lucian said. “You have a great time with everything. You could be staring at a piece of dragon shit for an hour and somehow manage to come back to me blabbing about how fascinating it was.”

Honestly, as long as that dragon shit was from the Owen Thorn universe, he probably wasn’t wrong. 

“Daemons,” Lucian groaned, rubbing at a stubborn patch of pink goop on his cheek. “It is beyond me how you manage to have so much energy all the time. Someone should sedate you—” He was cut off mid-complaint as he slammed into someone’s chest. “Hey, arsehole,” he snapped, looking up. “Watch where you’re going…”

The words trailed off as Lucian’s gaze met a pair of striking ruby eyes. The irritation in his voice quickly morphed into something far more sardonic as he realized who he’d just collided with. 

“If you wanted my attention, you could’ve just asked,” Lucian said with a smirk. “No need for physical violence, Thorn. Though perhaps I should applaud you for being proactive. Seeing as claiming to be a hero while sitting back and doing absolutely nothing is a favored pastime of yours.”

I had frozen the moment I’d seen Owen, utterly tongue-tied.

Owen Thorn stood there, framed between Ferula and Wesley, looking as radiant as always. Every feature was devastatingly perfect, from the sharp line of his jaw to the soft curve of his lips. His presence alone seemed to draw all the light around him, effortless confidence radiating off him. 

This was the closest I’d physically ever been to Owen. Lucian and Owen usually avoided each other like the plague, their paths only crossing when absolutely necessary. And in class, I made a conscious effort not to talk, stare, or even so much as breathe in Owen’s direction so I wouldn’t go into fanboy mode and come off like (as Lucian allegedly would ‘enduringly’ say) a complete psychopath. 

But now, with Owen standing only a mere foot away, it was impossible to ignore the surge of emotions racing through me. My heart thundered, each beat echoing in my ears as I gallantly attempted not to faint again. 

“Come now, Darkona,” Wesley said, cocking his head like an oversized puppy, “that was a bit harsh, yeah?”

Well if Lucian was harsh, Ferula was a tad harsher. “Oi, Darkona, enjoy getting a pink goop bukaki today?”

Lucian’s gaze flared. “Shut the hell up, Crowe!”

Ferula smirked. “I’d shut up, but I don’t take advice from guys who spend more time in the mirror than I do.”

“Oh shit,” I whispered, “She totally just out-insulted you.” 

“You’re not supposed to be supporting her,” Lucian hissed. “You’re supposed to be my hype-man!”

I pulled a face. “Says who?”

“Says me, right now!”

As the tension between Lucian and Ferula simmered, Wesley stepped toward me. His fuzzy ears perked up, his tail swishing behind him. With a friendly smile, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a bag filled with bright strawberry candies that sparkled like stars. 

He held the bag out to me, his big black eyes warm. “Would you like some—”

“He’s with Lucian.” Ferula snatched the bag from my hands. “That means no candy.”

Wesley’s ears drooped. 

“My, you do replace your sidekicks quick, Darkona.” Ferula’s gaze went dark as she took me in. “And a human to boot, even though we all know damn well you despise our kind. You must be running low on options after the last two people willing to kiss your ass were burned to a—”

“That’s enough, Ferula.” A voice cut through the air, low and commanding, as Owen Thorn stepped forward. “Drop it.” 

It was good he cut in when he did, because Lucian looked ready to go on a murderous rampage. Which (considering what happened with him later in the book) wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibilities.

Owen’s attention finally fixed on Lucian. “I’m actually glad I ran into you,” he said softly. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“No fucking shit, genius,” Lucian snapped. “I hate your guts more than gnomes hate skydiving.”

I buried my face in my hands. “I still don’t understand what is up with these awful gnome analogies.” 

Owen let out a long-suffering sigh, the kind that could only belong to someone who’d spent years managing Lucian’s volatile moods. “Listen, I just want to talk.”

Lucian’s eyes narrowed. “About what?”

“What happened last year,” Owen said. “I think it would be good to—”

Lucian hurled a potion at him, the sizzling, purple concoction flying through the air. Owen gracefully side-stepped and the potion crashed into the ground beside him. The liquid hissed and steamed as it made contact, the smell of burnt grass filling my lungs.

“That was really immature,” Owen said. “I’m only trying to—”

Lucian threw a second potion at him. 

The pale blue liquid glittered as it arced through the air. The Chosen One ducked, the potion flying over his head and splattering against the trunk of the tree behind him. In an instant, its leaves transformed to silver bubbles, a storm of tiny, iridescent orbs swirling into the sky.

“I’m trying to be the bigger man here.” Owen’s right eye twitched, the sure sign he was getting annoyed. “So what the hell are you doing?” 

“Proving that actions speak louder than words,” Lucian said. “And your actions last year told me more than any conversion ever could.” His gaze went ice cold as it met Owen’s own. “So what would I, or any of us, ever want with a Chosen One who's never able to save anyone?!”

The words seemed to strike Owen like a physical blow. He froze, not even moving when Lucian hurled a bright red potion at him. This one  smashed against Owen’s chest with a soft, wet splat. His tie burst into flames. 

The heat made the air shimmer, distorting the edges of Owen’s usually calm features as raw hurt surfaced in his gaze.

Then Owen’s voice dropped low. “You know what, Lucian? Fuck you.” His expression contorted into a snarl, his eyes burning as fiery as his tie. “You don’t get to act all high and mighty now when you’ve dedicated the past seven years to making my life a living hell. And despite it all, I still tried to reach out to you, because I understand you’re going through a lot right now. But what’s the point if you’re going to just push me away?”

Owen ripped off his tie, the flames licking at his fingers as he smothered the fire with his bare hand. He didn’t even flinch.

“Because that’s all you ever do! You push people. You push, and push, and push until they either break or leave you. I really wish there was something I could have done about the wyvern. I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life. But don’t you dare try to blame me for the fact that your life is shit.” Owen flung the charred tie aside as he stepped forward, fury radiating off him. “And especially don’t blame me for what happened last winter. It’s not my fault you decided to fa—”

Lucian surged forward, the sheer rage in my roommate’s eyes like nothing I’d ever seen before. And it wasn’t a potion he flung at Owen this time—it was his fist. 

My body started moving before my mind could catch up. All I could think about was protecting Owen Thorn. The world seemed to slow around me, the sounds of the campus muffled as adrenaline surged through my veins. I threw myself between them a split second before Lucian’s fist connected with my jaw.

Blinding pain exploded through my skull. 

The world spun. My knees buckled, the ground rushing up to meet me. The last thing I felt was the cool grass brushing against my cheek as my vision went black and I passed out—again.

***

“Guid tae see ye’re conscious again, Mister Price.” The thick, comforting brogue of Madame Neeps pulled me from the haze of unconsciousness. As my vision slowly unblurred, her round face came into focus above me, framed by a mass of fiery red hair. “Though ah thocht I made it crystal clear I didnae want ye makin’ a habit o’ comin’ tae the infirmary.”

I groaned, feeling the dull ache in my jaw as I sat up, once again tucked in a pile of plush feather pillows and blankets in the infirmary’s nest-shaped beds. 

“Sorry.” I tried to muster a smile, but the attempt only made my jaw throb more. “Though at least I didn’t pass out because of a hot guy this time.”

Madame Neeps let out a snort of laughter. “Wee victories, I suppose.”

I looked up, blinking in surprise when I spotted Lucian hovering near the edge of the infirmary. He looked like he was wrestling with whether or not he should even be there, his head lowered and his hands stuffed into his pockets. Lucian’s gaze flickered between me and Madame Neeps, as if seeking permission to approach, his usual confidence noticeably absent.

“Hey,” I said, giving him a little wave. 

Lucian’s shoulders relaxed, just a tad.

“Sorry, for punching you in the face” he mumbled. 

“Probably karma for me punching you in the face when we first met.” I spread my arms wide, flopping backwards into the blankets. “So let's just call it even. Punch pals.”

Lucian very nearly smiled at that. “I know I shouldn’t have let my anger get the best of me. But they were being such pricks.”

“I don’t know, man,” I said. “Owen just wanted to talk to you. You didn’t need to be so mean.”

“Why are you taking his side?” Lucian muttered. “You’re my friend, you’re supposed to agree with me.”

“Right,” I said. “I’m your friend, not your yes man. You heard Ferula call me your sidekick back there, didn’t you? Well I’m not one. If I think you’re wrong, I’m going to call you out on it.” I sighed, rolling onto my side to look at him. “I’m telling you right now that Owen was just trying to talk with you and trying to punch him was a total dick move.”

Lucian went silent for a moment. 

Then he glanced away, his voice so soft I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or himself when he whispered, “Someday you’ll understand—Owen Thorn isn’t as kind a person as you think he is.”