I stood frozen in place as Bryce Blackthorne strode into the Great Hall. From the gasps around me, I wasn't the only one surprised by this turn of events. But my shock came from a different place—I knew this man. Not as Dashiell's brother, but as Jeffrey Anderson.
"Knight," he said with a smirk, his voice hauntingly familiar. "It's been a while."
The last time I'd seen Jeffrey, he'd been a prideful junior alchemist at the Eldoria Traditional Chinese Medicine Association. We'd competed once, and his humiliating defeat had sent him storming away with promises of revenge.
But the man before me now barely resembled that person. Jeffrey—or Bryce, whoever he truly was—looked gaunt, with hollow cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. His skin had a sickly pallor that not even his expensive robes could disguise.
"Jeffrey Anderson," I said, keeping my voice level. "Or should I call you Bryce Blackthorne now?"
