Chapter 14

The door clicked shut, its sound an abrupt punctuation to the muffled chaos of the hallway now behind me. I stood there, my gaze tracing the spines of ancient books that lined the walls of his office. The air felt thick with the scent of leather and old paper, a testament to the many years this room had witnessed.
He was silhouetted against the large window, the afternoon light casting a soft glow around him as he removed his glasses. His fingers, long and precise, polished the lenses with a care that seemed at odds with the crease between his brows—a clear sign of displeasure.
"Sit," he said again, without looking up from his task. His voice was always calm, but there was an edge today that made me hesitate before obliging.
I perched on the edge of the stiff chair opposite his desk, my hands clasped in my lap. This was the part where he usually began discussing grades or lecture notes. I mentally rehearsed explanations for the less-than-stellar marks on my last essay, preparing to defend my interpretations of the text.
But he surprised me. "Have you experienced any dreams lately?" he asked abruptly, setting his glasses aside.
Dreams? That wasn't the question I was expecting. My mouth opened, then closed, unsure how to navigate the sudden shift. "No, not since..." I trailed off, recalling our last conversation about the protective runes he’d inscribed for me. "The runes seem to be effective," I finished, trying to keep my tone even though my heart thrummed wildly in my chest.
His eyes, sharp and assessing, met mine for a moment before he nodded once, as if confirming something to himself.
"Still, they could be fading," he said, his voice low. His gaze dropped from mine and settled on my lips. "I need to inspect the runes. Open your mouth, please."
A flicker of unease danced through me. His request was reasonable—necessary, even—but the intimacy of it set a tremble loose in my fingers. I complied, parting my lips slightly, conscious of the cool air brushing against the inside of my mouth. My tongue felt suddenly heavy, weighted with the potential power of those unseen marks.
Obedient yet hesitant, I opened my mouth wider, the silence of the room amplifying the sound of my racing pulse. The air, once benign, now seemed thick with an unspoken tension as he stood and approached me.
His proximity was a palpable force, his shadow enveloping me like a cloak. My breath hitched, uneven and shallow, as his presence loomed closer. His eyes, usually a sharp blue that cut through facades, now appeared softened by concern—or was it curiosity? My cheeks burned under his scrutiny, the heat radiating from my skin as if I stood too close to a flame.
"Steady," he murmured, more to himself than to me, his voice barely above a whisper. Yet, it resonated within the confines of the office, commanding despite its volume. The walls around us seemed to lean in, privy to this intimate examination. I could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with mine, a strange comfort against the coolness of my exposed vulnerability.
Unsettled by the intensity of his gaze, I averted my eyes, seeking refuge in the nondescript corner of the room. There, the shadows played upon the walls, indifferent to the scrutiny I was under. I could not escape the awareness of his fingers, clinical yet unfamiliar, as they brushed against my lips. They were dry, parted ever so slightly from the rush of breath that betrayed my nervousness.
"Relax," he instructed, his tone even and professional. Yet something in the way he said it reminded me that this was no ordinary checkup. The runes held secrets, and he was the keeper of their mysteries.
His fingertips moved with practiced precision, trailing over my teeth. I could almost hear the unspoken approval for the impeccable hygiene that had become second nature to me. But it wasn't my diligence he was searching for—it was the evidence of magic that lingered within.
Obedient to his silent command, I pushed my tongue out just enough to reveal its pink surface. It felt strange, this display, as though I offered up more than just a part of myself for inspection. The chill of the room seemed to recede as I focused on the task at hand, on the necessity of proving that the runes still lay dormant beneath the flesh.
My tongue, raised slightly, quivered under his gaze as if it bore the weight of unspoken words. A tremor of anticipation coursed through me; I was a parchment and he, the reader, intent on deciphering the hidden script inked beneath my skin.
"Stay still," he murmured, more to himself than to me. His eyes narrowed in concentration, the air between us charged with something I couldn't name. For a moment, it felt like the world beyond these walls had ceased to exist, reduced to the expanse of silence that held our breaths captive.
Then, without warning, his finger pressed deeper into my mouth, searching for the rune etched somewhere within. The contact was brief—a fleeting invasion that left a trail of cold fire along my tongue. He found what he sought, his touch retracting as quickly as it had come, leaving behind an echo of intrusion that made me want to recoil.
"Is it still okay?" I ventured, my voice barely above a whisper as the reality of the office swam back into focus. "What should I do to—"
"Rinse with saltwater every night. Don't speak of it," he cut in briskly, his tone void of the earlier intensity. It was as if the door to whatever depth we'd shared was abruptly closed, and I was left standing on the threshold, clutching at fragments of understanding.
He was already ushering me towards the exit, his movements efficient, almost urgent. I stumbled slightly, confused by the sudden shift from scrutiny to dismissal. In the hallway, the sound of my footsteps echoed hollow against the linoleum, a stark reminder that whatever had just transpired was not meant to linger.
"Remember, not a word," he called out, his voice reaching me from the now distant doorway of the office that already seemed like another world.
The echo of my footsteps had barely begun to fade when a shadow detached itself from the wall, morphing into the familiar form of Elodie. Her eyes were pools of concern as she fell into step beside me.
"Did everything go alright with Mr. Hargrave?" she asked, her voice carrying a note of something I couldn't quite place—curiosity, maybe, or apprehension.
I nodded, pressing my lips together in a thin line. "Yeah, it was fine," I managed, but the tremor in my voice betrayed me. My pulse thrummed erratically, a silent testament to the disquiet that had settled in the pit of my stomach. Why did I feel like I was harboring a secret, even though I'd done nothing wrong?
Elodie's gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, searching. "You seem a bit off," she observed, her head tilting slightly.
"Long day," I replied quickly, too quickly, and forced a smile. "I'm just tired, that's all."
But her question had stirred the embers of anxiety within me, fanning them into a blaze that threatened to consume my carefully constructed composure. I could still feel the phantom touch of Mr. Hargrave's finger against the rune, the sensation of being seen in a way that left me exposed and vulnerable.
We reached the end of the hallway, where streams of students flowed around us like a river around rocks. I took a deep breath, hoping the currents of normalcy would wash over me and erase the imprint of that strange encounter.