The following is the first chapter of Darkest Storm, Book 2 in the Witch Blade series. New to the series? Grab Silver Storm (Book 1) first.

---

I’ve been watching Jade get ready for fifteen minutes, and she’s checked her reflection exactly zero times. This might not sound alarming, except Jade Harrington’s never met a mirror she didn’t at least glance at. It’s not in a vain way—it’s more like she’s constantly making sure she exists, and that the world around her is real.

Right now, she’s staring at her combat boots like they hold the secrets of the universe.

“Jade?” I pull my hair into its usual messy bun and secure it with two pencils, because I forgot where I put my clips. “Are you okay?”

“Hmm?” She blinks, finally looking up. “Yeah. Fine. Just tired.”

The obvious lie sits between us like a third roommate.

“Did you see Oliver at the end of last night?” I ask. “After the Unity Flame went out?”

Pain flickers across her face before she locks it down.

Maybe she was more into my brother than I realized.

“No,” she says, and there’s that flat voice again. “He was probably with his friends. Or maybe with Avery.”

I close my eyes, trying to piece together the night chronologically for what must be the hundredth time this morning. Oliver was dancing with Jade. They went to the buffet. She went to the bathroom. Then the storm hit, resulting in chaos, everyone running for cover, and the Unity Flame dying.

I can’t place Oliver anywhere after the storm’s first lightning strike. He wasn’t helping the evacuation. He wasn’t checking on Avery. He wasn’t finding me to make sure I was safe, which is Brother Protocol 101.

That’s four gaps in the data, all from the same thirty-minute window.

Jade and I walk to the dining hall in relative silence. The entire academy is subdued this morning, everyone moving in clusters and speaking in hushed voices. I catch fragments of conversation as we pass, each one adding to the tightness in my throat.

When we finally enter, my heat sensing ability unfurls across the room like a net, mapping every signature at every table.

First-year table: Nina with the notebook she’s always writing in. Her thermal signature burns low and steady, controlled as always. Felix is stealing bacon from Garrett’s plate. Sam is annotating a textbook.

Normal.

Second-year table: Deidre’s at the innermost part of the spoke, laughing as if she’s performing for an audience.

Third-year table: Callie and Alessandra with their heads together. Callie’s signature is oddly cool for someone sitting next to the fire. Deacon’s looking anxious. Beside him, Tyler’s half-turned in his chair, flirting with the girl on his right, his elbow hooked over the backrest like he owns the room.

No Oliver.

No Avery.

I swallow down a lump in my throat, and the chandeliers flicker once.

“Evie!” Felix waves me and Jade over to our usual spot. “Did you hear about Avery?”

“No.” I move to our table automatically, unable to stop staring at Oliver’s empty chair. “What happened?”

“She collapsed near the end of the ball.” Felix leans forward, lowering his voice. “Some of the fourth-years found her passed out near the Revelation Flame.”

My mind immediately starts cataloging possibilities.

Magical exhaustion from the storm’s interference? Alcohol poisoning? Emberlink disruption? If Oliver was hurt, the bond could have destabilized her. The Revelation Flame can be destabilizing if someone’s suppressing strong emotions.

Lauren reaches past Felix for a pastry. “Everyone’s saying she drank too much. She had a glass in her hand all night.”

Jade’s hand goes to her bracelet and twists it around—a nervous habit I’ve been cataloguing since the first day we met. “She was upset about Oliver going to the dance with me,” she says simply, which is far from a surprise to anyone.

“She’s been in love with him for three years.” Lauren shrugs with zero sympathy. “That’s not exactly breaking news.”

I glance at the empty seats again, then back at the others at our table. “Is anyone even checking on her?”

Felix pushes his eggs around his plate, only half looking at me. “Callie and Alessandra said she refused to leave her room this morning.”

The lump in my throat grows larger.

“I need to find out what’s going on.” I’m already moving to the third-year table before I’ve consciously decided to. Callie and Alessandra are Avery’s suitemates, so if anyone knows what happened last night, it’s them. And if they try to brush me off, I’ll burn through their deflections until I get a real answer.

The chandeliers flicker again, their flames jumping and dancing.

Control yourself. You’re in public. Keep it together. Oliver’s probably fine.

But the thing clawing at my throat isn’t just worry. It’s the sick, growing certainty that the signs were there, and I looked right past them. Because for weeks, Oliver’s been secretive and jumpy, disappearing into his advanced studies like it was eating him alive.

I told myself he was stressed. But maybe I should have pushed harder. Maybe I should have asked.

Callie looks up as I approach, her expression shifting from bored to vaguely annoyed. She’s immaculate as always—not a hair out of place, her makeup perfect despite the chaotic night.

Alessandra sits beside her, stirring her tea.

I don’t have time for the fake pleasantries they give me because I’m Oliver’s sister.

“Have either of you seen my brother?” I ask, already bracing for condescension from both of them, given that they mutually decided not to like me from day one since I’m friends with Jade.

“No.” Callie’s tone suggests supreme disinterest as she pours herself a cup of coffee.

“What about Avery?” I ask.

Alessandra dumps an unholy amount of sugar into her tea. “After watching Oliver fawn over your roommate all evening, Avery got herself good and drunk. We practically had to carry her back to Hydra Hall.”

The chandeliers flicker more insistently.

“She was getting sick in our bathroom around three in the morning,” Callie adds. “Paying the price for drinking her feelings about your brother’s wandering eye.”

The chandeliers overhead surge brighter, flames leaping in their iron cages, and my hands ball into fists.

“Then where’s Oliver?” I demand. “If Avery’s in her room, where did he go after the ball?”

“I don’t keep track of your brother’s schedule.” Callie’s eyes flick to the chandeliers, then back to me with a smirk. “Maybe ask your roommate.”

“Callie,” Alessandra says, low and pointed.

“What? It’s true.” Callie shrugs one elegant shoulder. “Oliver was following Jade around like a puppy. If anyone knows where he ended up, it’s her.”

I want to defend Jade, defend Oliver, or throw Callie’s coffee in her immaculate face. But the chandeliers are flickering faster now, and if I don’t walk away, I’m going to melt the mug right out of her manicured hand.

“Fine.” I take a deep breath and step back from their table. “If you see him, tell him I’m looking for him.”

“Will do.” Callie smiles and waves a dismissive hand. “Now, run along back to the children’s table.”

The world blurs around me as I move through the dining hall.

Oliver wouldn’t just disappear. He wouldn’t miss breakfast. And Avery collapsing at the exact moment the Unity Flame went out, at the exact moment that impossible storm appeared…

Correlation isn’t causation. Correlation isn’t—

The chandeliers flare so bright that people at nearby tables shield their eyes.

Causation.

“Evie.”

A hand closes around my wrist. The thermal signature registers before anything else—hot and steady, burning with the controlled strength that only belongs to one person at this academy. It’s the same signature I’ve been cataloguing across training circles for weeks, the one that runs hotter than every student and faculty member I’ve scanned since arriving at Blaze.

Kieran Cross.

He’s positioning himself between me and the third-year table like a shield, his green eyes scanning my face with an intensity that would normally make me stumble over my words.

Right now, I can barely remember how to breathe.

“You need to step back,” he murmurs, close enough that only I can hear.

“Oliver’s missing.” The words come out fractured. “He’s not here. He’s never not here. And no one cares.”

“I’m aware.” His grip on my wrist tightens so much it hurts, his thumb pressing into the soft underside of my hammering pulse. “But you’re about to set the dining hall on fire, and that won’t help anyone.”

I look up. The chandeliers aren’t just flickering anymore—they’re blazing. Flames strain against their iron cages, casting wild shadows across the ceiling.

“I can’t control it.” My voice breaks. “Oliver—”

“Forget Oliver for thirty seconds.” His other hand grips my shoulder, his nails biting through the fabric of my shirt hard enough to leave marks. “Focus on me. Just me.”

Focus on him.

His green eyes have striking amber flecks. There’s a quiver of arrows tattooed along his right forearm. He smells like a forge, but in a good way—hot metal and smoke. And beneath all of it, his heat signature is doing what it always does when I scan him in class: running hotter than his calm voice suggests and his controlled expression warrants.

His eyes hold mine with that same intensity he has during combat training. He digs his nails in even harder—the focus of a man who knows exactly how much pressure a body can take before it breaks—and the heat in my chest stops climbing. The chandeliers dim from white-hot to merely blazing.

His nails ease out of my shoulder, but his hand stays, warm and heavy through the fabric. His heat signature hasn’t dropped. Most people cool down once a crisis passes, but Kieran’s burning at the same elevated level he was when he grabbed my wrist, as if the crisis isn’t over for him just because the chandeliers stopped trying to melt.

“There,” he says, softer now. “Better.”

“I’m not better,” I say.

“We’ll find Oliver.” He starts guiding me back to the first-year table. “But you can’t help anyone if you’re having a breakdown in the middle of breakfast.”

“I’m not having a breakdown.” My protest sounds weak, even to my own ears, and I don’t fight him any further.

When we reach the first-year table, I’m suddenly aware of everyone watching us. Nina’s abandoned her notebook, Felix is frozen mid-bite, and even Sam’s looking up from his book.

Jade’s standing at the edge of the table, her face pale.

“Are you okay?” She steps forward, reaching for me like she’s not sure I’ll accept the touch. “The chandeliers…”

“I’m fine.” The lie is automatic. “I just need to sit down.”

“I’ll check the training grounds and the Scorched Circles,” Kieran says, and then he’s gone before I can thank him, cutting through the dining hall with the quiet efficiency of a drawn blade.

His heat signature is a bright, steady flare weaving between cooler bodies, burning hotter than every person he passes. It doesn’t dim when he reaches the doors or waver when he disappears through them. It just cuts off, sharp and sudden, leaving coldness in its wake.

Jade guides me to my seat, her hand trembling where it grips my elbow.

“Here.” Felix pushes a glass of water to me. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I’m not going to pass out,” I say, but I take the water anyway, my hands shaking badly enough that some of it sloshes over the rim. “I just need to find my brother.”

“Maybe he’s with Professor Thaddeus?” Sam offers. “Oliver’s in his advanced studies group, right? They could be having an early meeting.”

“Maybe,” I hear myself say.

After all, Oliver’s been spending a lot of time on his advanced studies coursework recently. He’s never been the type to devote more time than necessary to homework. And he’s been so distracted. Secretive and on edge, like he’s worried a threat’s going to jump out at him at any moment.

I should have pushed harder to find out what was wrong. I should have made him tell me. Why didn’t I make him tell me?

I’m yanked out of my thoughts when the dining hall doors open, every conversation dying as Headmistress Constance strides through the entrance.

“Sit,” she says, and every standing student drops into their seat like gravity tripled.

She moves to the center of the room, positioning herself between the student tables and the faculty section. Her hair, always perfectly pinned, has a few strands out of place. Her left hand is clenched at her side.

“I have an announcement.” She pauses, and her clenched hand trembles once before she stills it. “Professor Thaddeus Morgrave and third-year student Oliver Thorne are missing.”

The world tilts.

Oliver.

Missing.

The words don’t make sense.

“An investigation is underway,” she continues, cutting through the growing murmur of shocked voices. “The Council has been notified, and they’re sending three of their witches to assist. They’ll arrive this evening and be formally introduced tomorrow.”

Three Council witches.

The Council doesn’t send anyone for anything less than a catastrophe.

“All classes will proceed as scheduled.” Her gaze sweeps the room without landing on the first-year table. “Until further notice, combat training will be relocated from the Scorched Circles to indoor classrooms.”

I can’t look at her. I can’t look at anyone. My heat sensing ability is screaming outward, scouring the room, searching for a thermal signature that isn’t here.

Oliver’s missing, the Unity Flame is dead, Avery won’t come out of her room, and everything is wrong, wrong, wrong. My magic reaches and comes back with nothing, like a hand closing on air—

The chandelier above me bursts into flame.

Suddenly, Nana appears at my elbow, her weathered hand closing around my arm. The contact grounds me just enough to keep the ceiling from igniting.

“Come along, Evangeline.” She helps me to my feet, and I realize I’m shaking. “Let’s get some tea in you before you bring the ceiling down.”

The hallway’s a blur of stone and torchlight as she guides me to the door, and I’m barely aware of anything except the gaping hole in my thermal map where Oliver’s signature should be.

“He’s missing.” The words tumble out, not sounding real. “I need to check the island. There have to be places they missed…”

The Observatory?

The Worship Center?

The library?

No… those are all too obvious.

Maybe the Drowned Tower or the Obsidian Caves?

“We’ll find him,” Nana says, but there’s a tremor of uncertainty in her voice that makes the lump in my throat double in size.

Because she doesn’t know if we’ll find him.

Nobody knows.

Eventually, the cottage appears before us, and Nana guides me through the door, sitting me down on a bed with white sheets that smell like lavender and dried herbs. The space is warm from Nana’s healing magic, which radiates a soft, constant heat that seeps into the sheets, the walls, and the floorboards.

“Drink this.” She presses a cup into my hands, and steam rises from it, carrying the scent of chamomile and an herb I can’t quite place. Valerian, maybe.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Calming draught, with valerian root and star thistle.” She sits on the edge of the bed, watching me with sharp eyes. “Your magic is tied to your emotions. When you panic—”

“The fire goes haywire.” I take a sip of the tea, barely able to taste it. “Control the emotion, control the flame. Chapter three of Basic Pyropsychology.”

As I speak, she creates a ball of fire in her hand and holds it to the bottom of my mug, heating the ceramic and making the liquid glow orange.

“That should help stabilize your magic.” She stands, and the infirmary grows quiet except for the soft clink of bottles as Nana moves around, putting supplies away.

They’re normal sounds. Safe sounds.

The kind of sounds that remind me this place has rhythms and routines that continue, even when my world is falling apart.

---