The Firefly’s Burden The Cold Between

Eclipsend 21, 20231

Dear Diary,

We haven’t talked since Veilwake.

Not really. Not like that. Not the way I thought we might.

She almost kissed . I was going to let her. I wanted her to.

And then Daevan stepped in, opened his smug mouth, and ripped the mont out of my hands like it was never mine to begin with.

Now? Everything’s been frozen in place, like the whole world went cold.

It’s been nearly two months.

Two months of walking the sa halls, sitting two rows apart in class, pretending our hands never brushed in that bookstore—pretending I didn’t see stars when she looked at under the lantern light, like I was the only thing she wanted to touch.

And we’re still stuck.

Still circling.

Still not saying a word.

Gods, I hate this.

She’s right there. All the ti.

Cheer practice. Debate team. Study sessions. That stupid winter formal eting we both bailed on because neither of us could stand pretending.

She’s everywhere… and sohow I still miss her.

How is that even possible?

I want to talk to her, but I don’t know how to start without breaking sothing fragile.

I want to touch her, but I don’t know if she’d pull away.

I want to scream at the whole Court, set fire to Daevan’s smug, vine-wrapped face, and make him choke on the idea that he has any right to say my na like I’m already his.

I want to go back to that night and not flinch.

Not freeze.

Not ruin it.

Because the worst part?

I don’t think she blas .

I think she thinks I changed my mind.

And I didn’t.

I haven’t.

I don’t think I can.

Maybe I’m imagining the tension. Maybe she’s fine. Maybe she forgot the way her breath caught when our noses almost touched. Maybe it was nothing to her.

But it wasn’t nothing to .

I’m so tired of pretending I don’t care.

I’m so tired of pretending I’m not scared.

Everything feels cold now.

The Veil. The Court. Emberhall.

.

And the worst part is, the cold isn’t killing —it’s keeping awake.

I keep replaying the way her eyes locked on mine, the heat in her breath, the thought—this is it.

I keep wondering what she would’ve said if Daevan hadn’t shown up.

If we’d kissed.

If we’d started sothing that couldn’t be undone.

Maybe it already started.

Maybe we’re both just too afraid to look at it.

Gods. I sound so stupid.

Whatever.

I miss her.

I miss what we almost were.

And I don’t know how to fix it.

—M.

The hallways at Ravenrest sll like peppermint gum, plastic snowflakes, and stress.

Finals are over. The teachers have ntally checked out. Half the student body’s dressed like they fell into a holiday special and never climbed out.

And ? I’m just cold.

Not regular cold—Eclipsend cold.

Dominveil’s final month, when the Veil thins and everything gets darker and sharper and weirder. The sun barely shows up. The wind bites like it knows your secrets. And every culture in this cursed city throws their own glitter-soaked version of a “celebration” at the creeping existential dread.

Solstice festivals. Lantern parades. Bloodwine ceremonies. Ice duels. Found-family dinners. Underground rebel banquets.

The whole month is one long, emotionally charged fever dream of joy and grief and magic and mory.

And I hate it.

I love it.

I hate that I love it.

I love the lights and the warmth and the excuse to give people gifts without having to say what they an. I love the food. I love the laughter that bubbles out when it’s too cold to fake it anymore.

But this year?

This year feels hollow.

Because I don’t have anyone to spend it with. Not really.

Naomi’s busy with Frostclaw rites. Kess is dodging Shroud eyes like her life depends on it.

And Cassie—

Cassie walks past like we didn’t almost shatter the world with one kiss that never landed.

It’s been nearly two months. And sohow, we’re still stuck between almost and nothing.

My coffee is lukewarm. My glamour is tight and itchy on my skin. My fire barely responds to in this season, and I feel it in my bones—the way Eclipsend drains . My magic pulls inward. Hibernates. Weakens.

Sumr Court heirs are not built for cold. Not emotionally. Not magically. Not even tabolically, probably.

My joints ache. My fingers sting. My core feels like a dying ember.

And yet, here I am. Still showing up. Still walking these frost-laced halls. Still pretending that Cassie Fairborn doesn’t turn every shadow in my chest into sothing unbearable.

Speak of the devil.

There she is—turning the corner with her hair tucked into her coat collar, that stupid crimson scarf she always wears now. The sa one I sotis imagine her wrapping around my neck just to pull close enough to kiss.

She’s laughing at sothing soone said… but the second she sees , her face shutters. Guarded. Perfect.

Her eyes catch mine—icy, assessing—and my fingers imdiately start rolling the seam of my sleeve between them, over and over, grounding and betraying at the sa ti.

One beat.

Two.

Three—

She moves past , and for a heartbeat, I think that’s it—another silent drive-by.

But as she passes, her hand brushes mine. Barely there. Warm fingertips gliding just once along the back of my knuckles—quick enough to be deniable, soft enough to settle the restless motion in my sleeve-rolling without a word.

My fire stirs like it recognizes her before I can stop it.

She doesn’t slow. Doesn’t look back.

Just keeps walking, the faint spark of her touch lingering in my skin, leaving standing there ice-locked with my mouth half-open and my heart half-feral.

I turn back toward my locker, ready to disappear into the shadows of my own self-loathing when—

“You two look like a pair of snow-glazed idiots.”

The voice is dry. Familiar.

I whip my head around.

Naomi Inari is leaning against the locker beside mine like she’s been there since sunrise. Arms folded, shoulders relaxed, the faintest smirk curling the corner of her mouth.

Her pixie cut is just a little uneven, like she trimd it herself again—probably with a dagger. Her uniform jacket is crisp and perfectly fitted, sleeves rolled once at the cuff. Sohow, she’s already made the Ravenrest Academy insignia look like a threat.

“What the fuck,” I say flatly. “What are you doing here?”

Naomi tilts her head. “Nice to see you too.”

“No. No, no, no. You don’t get to just show up here in uniform like this is—like this is normal.” I wave vaguely at her outfit. “You hate uniforms.”

“Hate looking like a target more.” She shrugs. “And Seara wasn’t about to let you finish Eclipsend without backup.”

My stomach knots. “She sent you?”

Her gaze sharpens—just enough to be felt. “She gave us access. That’s not the sa thing.”

“Us?” I echo.

And right on cue—like a summoned gremlin—Kess cos bounding around the corner in full chaos-goblin glory. A silver ribbon’s tied around her neck like a makeshift holiday choker, and she’s got half a candy cane sticking out of her mouth like a cigarette.

“Did soone say backup?” she announces, practically skating across the floor in socks.

I just stare at her.

She winks. “Surprise.”

“You—what—you both transferred here? Like… officially?” I stamr, eyes flicking between them.

Kess leans her elbows on the top of the lockers like she owns the place. “We forged a couple docunts. Twisted a few arms. Made so compelling argunts to the admissions lady. Naomi used her serious face.”

“I always use my serious face,” Naomi mutters.

Kess ignores her. “Besides, what are best friends for if not infiltrating prestigious human prep schools for moral support and maximum drama?”

My mouth opens. No words co out.

Naomi uncrosses her arms slowly. “It wasn’t safe for you to finish the sester alone, Mira. Not with Seara pushing the engagent talks. Not with the Shroud sniffing around. And definitely not with your emotional support enemy-to-lover spiraling into a holiday-season breakdown.”

I blink. “That’s… disturbingly accurate.”

She shrugs. “You’re predictable.”

“I am not.”

Kess snorts. “You literally wrote a three-page list last year about why you hate Eclipsend and still made us matching gift bags for it.”

“That doesn’t make predictable, it makes consistent.”

Kess grins. “Exactly.”

I hate them. I hate how much I needed them here. I hate that I almost start crying in the middle of the hall like so sentintal marshmallow because I didn’t even realize how alone I’ve felt lately until this exact mont.

Before I can say anything, movent catches in my peripheral.

Cassie.

Sa hallway.

Sa boots.

Sa scarf.

She’s moving slower this ti. Sees the three of us. Hesitates.

Her eyes flick to Naomi. Then Kess. Then .

A pause. Not long. But enough.

Then she turns—shoulders stiff—and walks the other direction.

Like nothing happened. Like none of it ever happened.

My chest knots. My throat burns.

Naomi leans in close enough that only I can hear:

“You should talk to her.”

“I can’t,” I whisper back. “Not now. Not like this.”

Kess sidles into my space, bright and nosy. “So. You coming to the Frostfire Revel with us or what?”

I scoff. “Why would I go to so fancy Winter Court spectacle where everyone’s gonna be freezing and noble and weird?”

Kess hums. “Cassie’s going.”

I nearly choke on air. “What?!”

“Yeah,” she says casually, inspecting her nails. “We kind of… invited her. For you.”

I just. Stare.

Naomi calmly plucks my coffee cup from my hand right as it slips. “You’re welco,” she says.

“I hate both of you,” I mutter, face flaming.

Kess grins like she just won a ga I never agreed to play. “That’s the spirit.”

By the ti the last bell rings, I’m running on caffeine fus and spite.

Naomi and Kess vanish into the tide of students like they’ve been here for years, already plotting my attendance at the Frostfire Revel.

I tell myself I’m not going.

(Which probably ans I’m going.)

My phone buzzes as I shove books into my bag.

Cassie: Don’t look so smug. I saw your little rescue squad.

I freeze.

Cassie: Guess I’ll see you at Frostfire, Firebrand. Try not to set the place on fire without .

My thumb hovers over the screen. I don’t answer. I can’t.

Not when my pulse is a wildfire in my throat and her words feel like a dare I already know I’ll lose.

The drive ho is all city frostlight and sleet-streaked glass. My car — sleek, imported, chard to hold the perfect temperature — hums along in near silence, insulated from the chaos outside. The windshield wipers sweep in hypnotic rhythm as I follow the snow-dusted streets toward Emberhall.

Cassie’s touch in the hallway replays in my head, feather-light and impossible to ignore, like she left her fingerprint stamped on my pulse. Every red light feels longer than it should, every turn giving just enough ti to overthink the way her fingers lingered.

Dominveil’s skyline rises in the distance — lanterns strung between rooftops, Veilfire braziers casting green-gold halos into the snow. It’s beautiful. It’s suffocating.

By the ti the Emberhall gates open, the city’s glow is fading into the heavy hush of falling snow. I park in the side courtyard, step out into the crisp air, and head for the only place in this palace that still feels like mine.

Most of Emberhall gleams like it’s trying to impress a god.

High-arched ceilings etched with golden runes. Chandeliers taller than carriages. Veilcrystal sconces casting perfect, flattering light on everything except the things you actually feel.

But the kitchens?

The kitchens are mine.

Or as close to mine as anything gets in this gilded prison.

I’ve kicked the servants out for the night—not that they fought . They never do. They know better than to challenge the Firebrand heir when I’m pacing with a mixing bowl and fury in my lungs.

The air slls like clove and orange peel. Dough rises on the hearth, spiced pears simr low on the enchanted stovetop, and sothing called peace is nearly forming behind my ribs.

Nearly.

My sleeves are rolled to my elbows, apron already dusted with flour and streaked with syrup. My fingers burn—not from heat, but from keeping my magic out of it. I’m not cheating. Not tonight. Not with this.

Three slow stirs clockwise. Close my eyes. Inhale.

It’s not just cooking. It’s grounding. It’s control. It’s mine.

Which is why the soft click of heels on tile makes every muscle in my back go rigid.

“Don’t even,” I mutter without turning. “Whatever cryptic wisdom you brought, keep it bottled.”

Selene’s voice is calm. “I didn’t co to lecture you.”

I glance over my shoulder.

She’s frad in the doorway, velvet cloak the color of lted shadows, hair in a coiled braid so precise it could hold a crown. Silver eyes scan the room like she’s cataloguing temperature. She looks like a statue co to life.

I look like I fought a bakery and lost.

“What, couldn’t sleep?” I ask, turning back to the pears.

“I ca to see you.”

“At midnight? In the kitchen? That’s new.”

“You’re always here this ti of year.”

Sothing twists low in my chest.

She crosses the room without a sound, slippers silent on the warm tile. Doesn’t touch anything. Just watches slice into the next pear with a little paring knife.

“Do you rember when we used to make embercakes together?” she asks softly.

“I rember you watching while I did all the work.”

“You insisted,” she says with the ghost of a smile.

“I was seven.”

“And already terrifying.”

The silence between us settles like cinnamon dust.

“You’re not sleeping,” she says finally, not a question.

I shrug. “Not your problem.”

“You haven’t told anyone how close it ca.”

The blade stills in my hand.

“Selene—”

“She almost kissed you, didn’t she?”

I can’t answer.

“I felt the pulse from halfway across the palace when it shattered,” she continues. “Your magic reacted. Your heart did too.”

My voice is sharp. “And then Daevan opened his damn mouth and reminded I was just a bargaining chip in a political mating dance I didn’t consent to.”

Selene flinches—barely—but enough.

“I know,” she says quietly. “Because I was one, once.”

That stills more than I want it to.

“I didn’t co here to fight you,” she says again, softer now. “I ca because Eclipsend is dangerous in more ways than one. Not just for mortals. For you. For us.”

“I’m fine,” I say, eyes fixed on the oven’s steady Veilfla.

She studies for a long mont, then slips a hand into her cloak and draws sothing small from its folds.

A lantern. Carved from obsidian and gold-veined glass, warm in her palm. Inside, Veilfire flickers slow and steady—green and gold, like sumr caught in winter’s teeth.

“For warmth,” she says. “Or warning.”

I stare at it. “What does that an?”

Her eyes hold mine.

“The littlest things carry the heaviest crowns, Mira. Be careful who bows to you.”

The words prickle under my skin.

“And love spoken in defiance?” she adds, softer. “That can bind tighter than chains.”

My jaw tightens. “Do you always talk like a prophecy?”

She steps closer, brushes a stray smudge of flour from my cheek.

“Only when I’m scared,” she says. “And I’m scared for you. Once you give sothing away—even with lips—it never cos back the sa.”

She sets the lantern on the counter and walks away.

When the door closes, I let myself slump against the table. Let the tears prick without falling. Let the heat settle in my fingertips again.

The pears caralize behind . The lantern glows steady.

And outside, snow falls in ghost-silent sheets.

My phone buzzes on the counter.

Cassie: Wear sothing dangerous for Frostfire. I want to see the whole Court choke on it.

My pulse stutters. I grip the counter until flour dusts my palms.

I type.

Stop telling what to do.

Delete.

I type.

You don’t get to want anything from .

Delete.

I type.

Gods, I hate you.

Stare at it. Delete.

I type.

I miss you.

Panic. Delete so fast my thumb aches.

I type.

You’ll regret it if you keep pushing .

Delete.

Finally, I type—

Maybe I will.

Send.

The screen goes dark. The words sit there like a brand, irreversible.

The kitchen slls of sugar and spice. The lantern hums. The pears bubble.

And Cassie’s ssage lingers, wrecking in silence.