The cold, copper-scented air of the Potions classroom did nothing to soothe the frantic, searing pain under Severus’s ribs. The lie he had just delivered—that he felt nothing—had been flawless, but the magical cost was immediate and agonizing. The heavy wooden door had barely clicked shut behind James when Severus crumpled against the workbench, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps.

He pressed his left hand over the center of his chest, beneath the layers of his thin shirt and dark robes. The skin beneath his fingers was incandescent. His mark, the full, complex Unmarked Constellation, was throbbing with a painful intensity, a magical backlash against the fierce denial he had just delivered to his soulmate.