Chapter 58
Harry walked alongside Jean through the winding corridors of Kamar-Taj, his crimson and gold cloak flowing behind him with each exaggerated step. He gestured grandly as they passed students in various stages of magical practice, some floating effortlessly in mid-air, while others summoned elemental forces or bent time itself. The soft scent of incense filled the air, mixing with the faint hum of raw, untamed magic that seemed to pulse from the very walls of the ancient temple. Jean, still absorbing the weight of the world she’d entered, couldn’t help but feel a spark of excitement as she watched students and teachers alike weaving spells with a skill and ease she could only dream of mastering.
“So, this is Kamar-Taj,” Harry said with a cheeky grin, his voice laced with playful pride. He threw his arms wide, as though unveiling the most magnificent secret. “Home to sorcerers, scholars, and some of the most stubborn people you’ll ever meet. Speaking of which,” he added, his smirk deepening, “it’s time you meet my best friend.”
Jean raised a skeptical eyebrow, the flicker of amusement evident in her eyes as her fiery red locks glinted in the light. “Best friend?” she asked, a teasing edge creeping into her voice. “Really? Should I be bracing myself?”
“Absolutely,” Harry replied with a dramatic flair, fully aware of the chaos that was sure to unfold. “He’s a gem, truly. Although,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “between you and me, he’s still convinced that he’s the victim of my educational moments.”
Jean rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “You mean pranks, right?”
“Tomato, tomahto,” Harry said with a shrug, his mischievous glint never leaving his eyes. “Don’t worry. Wong loves me.”
Jean couldn’t help but laugh, her unease melting away slightly. “Sure, he does.”
As they entered the grand library, Jean’s gaze swept over the immense collection of ancient tomes, scrolls, and artifacts that seemed to hum with arcane power. Shelves towered high above them, bending and curving in ways that defied traditional architecture, packed with countless texts. A few students wandered through the aisles, consulting scrolls or meditating in the midst of this treasure trove of knowledge. At the heart of this vast, holy place stood Wong, the Keeper of Knowledge and the Master of the Mystic Arts, a man who exuded quiet authority. His dark robes billowed around him as he methodically cataloged a series of mystical texts, his expression as implacable as ever.
“Ah, Wong!” Harry exclaimed, his voice carrying with an unmistakable note of over-the-top enthusiasm. “Just the man I wanted to see! I’ve brought someone for you to meet.” He gestured to Jean with exaggerated grandeur. “Jean Grey, meet Wong. Master of the Mystic Arts, Guardian of Sacred Knowledge, and, most importantly, my best friend.”
Wong glanced up from his work with a raised brow, his face impassive, before his gaze shifted to Jean. The corner of his lips twitched slightly, but his tone remained as level as always. “Jean Grey,” he said, nodding at her politely. “Welcome to Kamar-Taj.”
Jean gave him a respectful smile but felt the weight of his eyes upon her. She had heard of him, of course—the quiet, no-nonsense librarian and one of the most formidable sorcerers alive. She wasn’t sure if she was impressed or intimidated yet, but either way, she knew she would have to earn her place here. “Thank you,” she said, her voice steady. “It’s an honor to be here.”
Wong’s gaze flicked briefly to Harry, who was leaning against a shelf with an exaggerated casualness, an expression of mock innocence plastered across his face. “I’m sure it is,” Wong responded dryly, his voice smooth as silk but tinged with an edge of sarcasm. “And you’ll find that some of us here take that honor very seriously.”
Harry placed a hand over his chest in mock indignation, his eyes wide with exaggerated offense. “Wong! Is that shade I detect? Surely not directed at me, your most beloved best friend.”
Wong didn’t bother responding directly. He simply sighed and turned toward a nearby table. There, an enormous stack of books lay in disarray—so high that it seemed to challenge the very laws of gravity. Jean blinked in surprise, her green eyes wide. “You’re kidding, right?” she asked, voice tinged with disbelief. “All of these?”
Wong, without a flicker of emotion, lifted a few of the books, his arms never wavering under the weight. “The Ancient One has provided me with your reading list,” he said with a tone that brooked no argument. “These are the basics of mystic theory, energy manipulation, and, of course, the Phoenix Force. You’ll want to familiarize yourself with all of them. The knowledge contained here could save your life—or more likely, everyone else’s.”
Jean stared at the stack, her mouth agape. “All of them? Seriously?”
Wong didn’t hesitate. “Entirely.”
He spared a glance at Harry, who had pushed himself off the shelf and was now rubbing his hands together with the enthusiasm of a child in a candy shop. “You’d do well to take a lesson from her, Potter,” Wong said flatly, his eyes narrowing as he addressed Harry. “She hasn’t even started, and she’s already taking this more seriously than you ever have.”
Harry feigned shock, his hand clutching his chest as if wounded. “Wong, that cuts deep. I’ve already mastered half of the library.”
“Exactly,” Wong shot back, his arms crossing with unflinching precision. “You’ve mastered half, and still, you somehow find the time to wreak havoc.”
Jean looked between the two, incredulity written across her face. “So, you are a troublemaker, Harry.”
Harry’s smirk widened. “Troublemaker is such a strong word,” he said dismissively. “Think of me more as... an innovator. Someone who brings a bit of excitement to the day-to-day grind. You know, spice things up a bit.”
“Or someone who enchanted the Cloak of Levitation to tap dance during meditation class,” Wong said flatly, crossing his arms tighter across his chest, his eyes narrowing as he fixed Harry with an unwavering glare.
“Okay, that was funny,” Harry admitted, a grin tugging at his lips. “You’ve got to admit, it lightened the mood.”
Wong pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hope you plan to do better than that,” he said to Jean, his tone softer but still serious. “You’ll want to start with the book on top. It gives a comprehensive overview of the Phoenix Force and its nature. The rest will help you control your powers. At least, eventually.”
Jean nodded, trying to keep her focus on the task at hand, despite the sheer absurdity of everything around her. “Thank you. I’ll get started right away.”
Wong’s expression softened imperceptibly, his professional demeanor slipping just a fraction. “Good. And if you have any questions—”
“Ask me,” Harry interjected, sidling between them with a roguish grin. “I’m an excellent teacher. Rates are reasonable, too.”
Wong shot Harry a look so deadpan it could’ve killed. “Her questions should be directed to someone who won’t turn the lesson into a joke.”
“I would never!” Harry exclaimed, dramatically raising his hands in mock offense. “Well, almost never.”
Jean shook her head, chuckling despite herself. “I think I’ll take both of you up on your offer,” she said dryly. “For balance.”
Wong’s lips twitched in what could only be described as approval. “A wise decision,” he said, his tone giving way to the barest hint of warmth. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
As Wong turned to leave, Harry leaned toward Jean, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “See? Told you he loves me.”
Jean rolled her eyes, but her smile was genuine. “You’re impossible.”
“Impossible, yet irresistible,” Harry replied with a wink, his grin widening. “Now, let’s get these books to your room. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you the secret Kamar-Taj trick for speed-reading.”
“Let me guess,” Jean said with a sly smile. “Magic?”
“Now you’re getting it,” Harry said, his grin almost too wide for his face as he led her out of the library, the towering stack of books in tow.
—
Harry grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief, and waved his hand. In an instant, a small, enchanted bag appeared in his palm. He handed it to Jean, who took it with a raised eyebrow. Her fingers brushed against the soft leather, and she watched as the bag seemed to stretch impossibly wide.
“What’s this?” Jean asked, turning the bag over in her hands, intrigued.
“This,” Harry said with an exaggerated flair, “is the Bag of Ever Expanding Space. It’s a life-saver when you’re dealing with ancient texts that weigh more than they have any right to. You’ll never have to leave a book behind again.”
Jean raised an eyebrow, impressed in spite of herself. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This... this is insane.”
Harry chuckled, clearly pleased with her reaction. “It’s all about bending the rules, Jean. I’m basically the king of bending rules. But hey, enough of that. I’ve got something better to show you.”
He motioned toward the exit, and Jean followed him down the winding corridors of Kamar-Taj, passing other sorcerers in various states of concentration. The air around them hummed with magic, and Jean could feel a pull in her chest, as though the very fabric of reality was vibrating in sync with her heartbeat. She was finally here, and it felt like home.
As they stepped into the large courtyard, Jean’s breath caught. The training grounds stretched out before them, a massive space filled with practitioners testing their powers. There were sparring duels where energy blasts collided in brilliant explosions of light. Other sorcerers manipulated elements—fire, water, and wind—with ease, and Jean could sense the swirling energy in the air, bending and twisting under their control.
Harry grinned at her wide-eyed look. “Welcome to the battlefield, Jean. This is where it gets real.”
Jean stood frozen for a moment, taking it all in. The sheer intensity of the energy around her made her pulse quicken. It was nothing like she had ever experienced before, and yet, it felt right. Powerful. She wanted to dive in, to test her limits.
“Harry, this is...” She trailed off, unable to find the words.
“I know,” Harry said with a smug grin. “It’s awesome, right? But hey, we’re not here just to gawk at the cool stuff. Come on, let’s meet some people who can teach you how to really use this power.”
Before Jean could respond, a voice boomed through the air, deep and filled with authority, yet somehow warm beneath the surface.
“Potter. I see you’ve managed to find your way back here.”
Jean’s gaze shifted to the man approaching them. He was tall, with dark skin, sharp features, and an aura of wisdom that radiated off him. His robes were a rich green and gold, and his expression was one of calm resolve, though there was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes when he looked at Harry.
“Mordo!” Harry greeted him with a grin, raising his hand in an exaggerated salute. “How lovely to see you again. Still radiating that stern aura, I see.”
Mordo’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile, but he remained stoic. “Potter. Your theatrics are as exhausting as ever.”
Harry winked at Jean. “Trust me, he’s just a big softie. Just a little grumpy. He’s the one who taught me everything I know about using magic in combat. He’s strict, but fair... most of the time.”
Mordo turned his eyes to Jean then, his gaze assessing and precise. “You must be Jean Grey. A word of advice—don’t let Potter fill your head with nonsense. He’s a difficult student. Only his tenacity kept him from blowing himself up a dozen times over.”
Harry feigned indignation, crossing his arms. “I’m hurt, Mordo. I’ve only blown up half a dozen things in my time.”
Jean smirked, feeling her own grin tug at her lips. “I’m starting to see what Wong means when he talks about your ‘chaotic genius.’”
Mordo let out a breath that was half a sigh, half a chuckle. “Do not encourage him, Jean. The last thing we need is another disaster waiting to happen.”
Despite Mordo’s stern demeanor, Jean could feel the warmth in his words. He was trying to warn her, and she appreciated that. She gave him a nod. “I’ll keep that in mind, Master Mordo.”
With a slight nod of approval, Mordo gestured for them to follow him. “Come. I’ll show you how to use the Mystic Arts in battle. You must learn control, Jean. Power without discipline is nothing but chaos.”
Harry grinned at Jean as they walked alongside Mordo. “Don’t worry. He’s all tough love. He’ll teach you how to avoid ending up like me—the walking disaster. But he’s good. Really good.”
Jean couldn’t help but smile. She liked the dynamic between Harry and Mordo. It felt... real. Honest.
As they moved further into the training grounds, the sounds of magic filled the air—crackling energy, the clash of spells, and the hum of concentration. It was intoxicating, and Jean felt the familiar pull of the power within her.
Just then, the ground beneath them vibrated, and Jean felt the presence of another approaching. A tall figure emerged from the shadows, his robes dark and imposing. His eyes locked onto Jean immediately—sharp, calculating, as though he could see right through her.
“Master Kaecilius,” Harry greeted him, his voice slightly more subdued than it had been with Mordo. “Kaecilius is one of the most skilled energy manipulators around. If you want to learn how to control the more volatile aspects of magic, he’s the one to go to.”
Kaecilius studied Jean for a long moment, his intense gaze never wavering. “You’re the one with the Phoenix power,” he said, his voice smooth, yet tinged with something dangerous beneath the surface.
Jean met his gaze head-on, feeling the Phoenix stir inside her. She could feel its power thrumming just beneath the surface, an immense, uncontrollable force that terrified her at times. “That’s me,” she said, her voice steady.
Kaecilius gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Power like yours can be a gift, but it comes with a price. Too much power and it can consume you.”
Harry chuckled nervously. “See? He knows how to make an entrance. But he’s not wrong. Kaecilius here doesn’t sugarcoat things. If you can handle his lessons, you’ll be one of the strongest sorcerers alive.”
Kaecilius shot Harry a sharp look, but the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Potter, you talk too much.”
Jean gave Kaecilius a thoughtful look. “I understand the danger. I’ve faced the consequences of uncontrolled power before. I don’t plan to make the same mistake again.”
“Good,” Kaecilius said, his gaze softening just slightly. “Then let us begin. You will learn to control what you have, or you will lose it.”
Harry leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “And if you survive the lessons with him, you’ll be unstoppable. But hey, I’ll be here to make sure you don’t implode.”
Jean shot him a sly grin. “I’m beginning to think that might be a bad thing.”
Harry winked, his grin never fading. “Nah. You’ll be fine. You’ve got this.”
With that, Mordo and Kaecilius led them deeper into the training area, where Jean would begin her journey into mastering the Mystic Arts—where the boundaries of power and control would be tested like never before.
And for Harry, well... he was just happy to see the chaos continue.
—
Mordo and Kaecilius led Jean into a vast, open space within the Sanctum Sanctorum’s training grounds, the earth alive with subtle pulses of mystical energy. The air crackled with an almost tangible force, humming beneath her feet, vibrating through the ground and into her bones. Jean could feel it—a magic that seemed to flow through everything, resonating with her own powers, as if the two were inextricably linked.
The space was marked with several concentric rings of different symbols etched into the dirt, each one shimmering with its own arcane energy. Mordo’s voice sliced through the air, sharp and measured, as his gaze locked onto Jean.
"Jean," Mordo began, his voice rich with authority, “To wield the Mystic Arts, you must first understand the depths of your own abilities. Magic is not merely a tool; it is a part of who you are. And so are your powers. If you cannot control them, then they will control you." He spoke slowly, weighing each word, his eyes scrutinizing her every movement. "Control is essential. It is not enough to simply be strong. You must master it."
Jean squared her shoulders, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of resolve and defiance. She had faced far worse than Mordo’s scrutiny, and she wasn’t about to back down now. "I understand," she said firmly, her voice not wavering under the weight of his gaze.
Kaecilius, standing to the side, a dark figure shrouded in his flowing black robes, glanced over with a glimmer of cold amusement. "Let’s begin with something simple, something direct. Let us test your telekinetic abilities." His voice was smooth and calculated, like a serpent sizing up its prey. “Move that rock.”
With a subtle tilt of his head, Kaecilius gestured toward a massive boulder, its surface jagged and rough, sitting in the center of one of the rings. Jean followed his gaze, noting the weight of the challenge. This was no simple task—this was a test.
Without hesitation, Jean stepped forward, the hum of the mystical energy around her seeming to pulse in time with her own. She stood tall and centered, her fingers curling ever so slightly as she focused all of her attention on the boulder. A faint wind kicked up around her, swirling her hair as her power began to take shape.
Her eyes narrowed in concentration, her entire being attuned to the stone. With a single, fluid motion, the boulder lifted, the earth beneath it groaning in protest. It hovered, suspended in the air, as Jean’s telekinetic power swirled around it like an invisible storm. Her eyes glowed faintly with the energy she commanded, her movements graceful yet controlled, every flick of her wrist a deliberate gesture of mastery.
Kaecilius raised an eyebrow, watching the stone spin slowly, then faster, until it was a blur of motion, the ground quivering with the force of her power. Harry, standing off to the side with a smirk, watched with interest. "Not bad, Red. You’re definitely not lacking in the power department," he said, his voice tinged with both approval and teasing. "But let’s see if you can throw it without wrecking the place."
Jean’s lips curled into a subtle, knowing smile. "I’m in control," she replied, her voice calm, though her eyes gleamed with an intensity that made it clear she was relishing the challenge. She flicked her wrist sharply, and with a sound like a sonic boom, the boulder shot through the air, its path a blur of raw kinetic force. It slammed into the distant wall with a deafening crash, sending up a plume of dust. The wall trembled but stood firm, unbroken.
Kaecilius' eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of admiration crossing his features. "Impressive," he murmured, though his tone remained clinical. "But remember: power is nothing without control. You have demonstrated strength, but can you harness it?"
Mordo, whose sharp eyes had been focused on Jean since the beginning, nodded slightly, his voice cold and commanding. "Now, we test your mind. Your telepathic abilities. Focus, Jean. Do not merely resist—block me."
Jean’s expression shifted. The mental plane was where she felt most comfortable, most at home. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, tuning out the world around her, allowing herself to sink into the depths of her mind. She could feel it before it even happened—an intruder, like a cold tendril snaking into her consciousness.
Mordo’s presence was subtle, calculated, like an iceberg beneath the surface. His thoughts were disciplined, restrained, but still invasive. Jean braced herself, her mental barriers rising instinctively, a shimmer of psychic energy flowing like a protective shield.
She focused on the pressure building in her mind, but she didn’t yield. She pushed back. Her mind swelled with force, and with a mental shove, she projected a wave of psychic resistance, pushing Mordo’s influence out of her thoughts like a shield.
For a moment, the pressure stopped. Mordo’s hand remained poised in the air, his lips barely twitching as he regarded her with cold appraisal. "Interesting," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "Your defenses are strong. Stronger than I expected."
Jean’s eyes flicked open, her gaze unwavering as she met his eyes. “I’m not so easily penetrated.”
Mordo’s lips curved upward slightly. "That is good. But that was only a probe. Now, we shall see if you can do more than defend." He looked toward Kaecilius, who stepped forward, the shadows around him seeming to shift in anticipation.
"Try to influence me," Kaecilius suggested, his voice smooth and dark. "Reach into my mind. Attempt to twist my will."
Jean’s brow furrowed slightly, her fingers curling in subtle concentration as she studied Kaecilius. His mind was a labyrinth of dark intent, sharp and controlled, but not impervious. She could feel the edges of his thoughts like the fine threads of a web waiting to be pulled. She reached into his mind, her presence delicate at first, like a whisper of wind, before solidifying into something more tangible.
Her influence was subtle, a soft suggestion—a nudge of doubt. Kaecilius stiffened, his gaze narrowing slightly, but the slightest shift of his expression indicated he had felt it. He was not easily influenced, but Jean had found an opening, however small.
After a heartbeat, Kaecilius laughed softly, a dark, melodic sound that echoed around them. “Clever,” he murmured. “You have a light touch, Jean. But that is not all. You have great potential, far greater than you realize.”
Jean opened her eyes, a little surprised at the ease with which she had bent his will, but she held her ground, her expression focused. "It felt... natural," she admitted quietly, her voice betraying a hint of curiosity. "But I know I still have a long way to go."
Mordo’s expression was unreadable, but there was a hint of something approving in his gaze. “Indeed. You are powerful, Jean. But power without control is a weapon waiting to turn on its wielder. We will teach you to harness your gifts, to use them without causing destruction. But remember, true mastery lies not in the power itself, but in understanding its depths.”
Kaecilius' eyes gleamed, his tone thoughtful. “You are only scratching the surface. Your telepathy and telekinesis are impressive, but they are just the beginning. Together, we will help you understand the full scope of your abilities.”
Jean nodded, her heart pounding with the rush of excitement and the weight of the challenge ahead. “I’m ready,” she said, her voice steady, filled with resolve.
Harry clapped his hands together with a grin. “That’s enough heavy lifting for today. Time to hit the books before we blow up the whole courtyard next time, yeah?”
Jean smiled back, her lips curling into a small, mischievous grin. “I think I can handle it.”
As they walked off the training grounds, the air still vibrating with the remnants of their power, Mordo and Kaecilius exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable. But the unspoken understanding was clear—Jean Grey was not a force to be taken lightly. She was a force in the making, and they were only beginning to shape her.
—
The sun was dipping low, streaking the sky over Kamar-Taj with rich hues of amber and crimson. The training grounds were finally quiet, though the echoes of the day's magic lingered in the air, tangible as an electric charge. Jean Grey still felt the buzz in her veins—a heady, intoxicating sensation. Her first day had been grueling, but she had more than held her own. That alone was enough to keep a small, triumphant smile curling at her lips.
Harry walked beside her through the winding stone corridors, his hands buried casually in his pockets. His presence was both relaxed and sharp, like a blade hidden behind a grin. He always seemed to have this laid-back air about him, as though nothing in the world could shake him—though Jean was beginning to suspect that was far from the truth.
"Alright, Red," Harry began, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “I’m officially impressed. Not every newbie manages to avoid setting themselves or half the grounds on fire their first day.”
Jean arched an eyebrow, her lips quirking in amusement. “You’re telling me the great Harry Potter, Master of the Mystic Arts, has never blown up anything on accident? Not even a little?”
“Hey, I’ll admit to a small incident or two.” He made a vague motion with his hand. “But those were… calculated explosions. Totally intentional. I’m a man of precision.”
She snorted, rolling her eyes. “Sure you are.”
They turned a corner, the faint glow of enchanted lanterns lighting their way. Jean folded her arms across her chest as she walked, the cool stone beneath her boots grounding her amidst the surreal environment. “So,” she said, glancing at him, “what’s the deal with everyone here? Mordo acts like he’s auditioning for the role of Most Serious Man Alive, and Kaecilius…” She trailed off, her brow furrowing. “He gives me a weird vibe.”
Harry’s smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by something more guarded. “Yeah, Mordo’s all about rules and discipline. Lives for it, really. Kaecilius, on the other hand…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “He’s… passionate. Let’s just say he’s got a few ideas about how magic should be used, and they don’t always line up with the Ancient One’s teachings.”
“Passionate, huh?” Jean muttered, her tone skeptical. “That’s one way to put it.”
Harry nodded, his expression serious now. “Just keep your eyes open, Red. Not everyone here sees things the same way. And not everyone’s as upfront about it as I am.”
She stopped walking for a moment, turning to face him fully. “Are you warning me about something?”
Harry met her gaze, his green eyes steady. “Just giving you a heads-up. This place has its share of secrets. But you’ll figure that out soon enough.”
Jean studied him, her sharp mind picking apart the layers in his tone, his posture, the careful choice of words. There was something he wasn’t saying, but she decided not to press—yet. Instead, she shrugged and gave him a crooked smile. “Noted. I’ll keep my guard up.”
“Good.” His smirk returned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “And here we are.”
He stopped in front of a wooden door intricately carved with swirling patterns that seemed to shift subtly in the flickering lantern light. With a small flourish, he pushed it open, stepping aside to let her through.
The room was simple but inviting. The furniture was dark, polished wood, and a small bed sat against the wall, its soft linens neatly arranged. A desk was tucked in one corner, surrounded by shelves filled with books and scrolls, their spines marked with languages Jean couldn’t yet decipher. A large window framed a breathtaking view of the mountains, the fading sunlight casting the room in a warm, golden glow.
Jean stepped inside, her boots echoing softly against the stone floor. She ran her fingers along the smooth surface of the desk, her gaze wandering over the space. “Not bad,” she said, her tone neutral, though the faint smile tugging at her lips betrayed her approval.
Harry leaned against the doorframe, watching her with a faintly amused expression. “They do alright, don’t they? And don’t worry about unpacking—your stuff’s already here.” He gestured toward the neatly arranged personal items scattered throughout the room.
Jean turned to him, crossing her arms. “Someone went through my things?”
“Relax,” he said, holding up his hands. “They’re not nosy. It’s just a weird little perk of living in a place that basically breathes magic. You’ll get used to it.”
She narrowed her eyes at him but said nothing, turning back to the room. As her gaze settled on the mountains beyond the window, she felt a strange sense of calm wash over her.
“It’s quiet here,” she said softly, almost to herself. “Feels… alive.”
“It is,” Harry said, his voice low. “The whole place hums with magic. If you listen closely, you’ll hear it.”
Jean glanced over her shoulder at him, her expression thoughtful. “Do you ever get used to it?”
“Nope,” he said with a grin. “That’s part of the fun.”
She chuckled, shaking her head as she turned back to the window. “Well, thanks for the grand tour. I think I’ll manage from here.”
“Good. Because we’ve got training bright and early tomorrow,” he said, straightening up. “Kaecilius will be watching, and trust me, you don’t want to give him a reason to single you out.”
Jean smirked. “Let him. I’m not afraid of him.”
Harry paused in the doorway, his gaze lingering on her. “You’ve got a lot of power, Red. Just make sure you’re the one holding the reins. Power’s great, but it has a nasty habit of running wild if you’re not careful.”
She turned to face him, her eyes steady. “I’ll be fine.”
“I know you will,” he said, his voice soft but firm. With a small nod, he stepped out into the hallway. “Goodnight, Jean.”
“Goodnight, Harry.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and Jean stood alone in the quiet room. She took a deep breath, the weight of the day settling over her. But as she looked out at the mountains, the determination in her chest burned brighter than ever.
She wasn’t here to play it safe. She was here to master the power inside her.
And she would. One way or another.