“Probably multiple.”
I turn back to my meal, my heart feeling stuck in my throat.
That would definitely count as an… unfortunate accident.
Zeriel remains silent, seemingly lost in his own thoughts and oblivious to the conversation I've overheard. When we finish our brief meal, he leads me through the corridors toward Selen's office, his movements mechanical, his mind clearly elsewhere. I can’t stop thinking about Voss’s demise, unable to refrain from visualizing the gory details. But most of all:how does one simply fall into a dragon pen?
“I'll collect you this evening,” Zeriel mutters, interrupting my thoughts when we reach Selen’s door, the first words he's spoken since we left his quarters. Without waiting for a response, he turns and strides away, disappearing around a corner.
Suit yourself,I think, then straighten my posture, take a deep breath, and knock on Selen's door.
“Enter,” her voice calls from within.
I push the door open cautiously, stepping into the now-familiar office. The sight before me steals my breath.
Selen is sitting behind her desk again, but this time, I barely notice her. My eyes dart to Lira standing by a bookshelf, holding a leather-bound tome. Nyx leans against the wall, arms crossed over her muscular frame, her eyes immediately lockingonto mine as I enter. Sariah sits primly in a chair, her long fingers wrapped around an anatomical diagram, while Vex perches on the edge of Selen's desk, her silvery gaze guarded but interested.
All still alive. Somehow.
But they’re not the only ones. I spot a familiar figure leaning against a cabinet: earth-brown hair cut in a wavy bob, bronze eyes fixed on me, a near-fresh slash across one cheek. The female Laverte twin.
Beside her, four other women stand clustered together, strangers to me. Their faces are tense, eyes wary, each sizing up the room—and each other—with a caution I recognize all too well.
“Well, look who survived her champion,” Nyx says, her voice rough but not unkind. There’s a glimmer of concern in her dark blue eyes; she must assume Zeriel put me through hell. She steps closer and gives my shoulder a light slap, more reassurance than rebuke.
“Yeah,” I reply, a tentative smile forming. “I’m alright, actually. Could’ve been worse, I guess.”Also could’ve been better.
“Didn’t think we’d see you again,” Lira says quietly, her voice stripped of its usual armor. Her gray eyes search my face, open and unguarded, and I can’t shake the memory of the tears that had glistened there during my attempted execution. They’d startled me then. No one had cried for me since my mother.
“That makes two of us.” I step closer to her.
Sariah offers a slight nod, her gold-flecked eyes quietly assessing me. “You look... different.”
“Near-death’ll do that to a person,” I murmur.
Before I can say anything more, a narrow door swings open in the wall beside one of the cabinets: a door I hadn’t even noticed, half-hidden by a bookcase at the edge of my view. Through it steps a figure that sends shock rippling through me.
Ellis.
His copper hair is combed, his nervous features no longer so pinched with fear. He wears a clean gray tunic, and though he stillmoves with that awkward scholar's grace, there's something a little more assured in his posture.
“How...” I breathe, unable to form a complete thought. “You survived?”
Ellis gives me a sheepish smile, his eyes briefly flicking to Selen before returning to me. “Surprise?” he offers weakly.
“They said... I thought...” I say, looking between them.
“I keep an eye on those who have potential,” Selen says, her tone crisp as she rises from behind her desk. “And it isn’t always the kind you see inside the arena.”
I'm still struggling to process Ellis’s presence when she raps her knuckles on the desk. “Byron, you might as well come out now, too.”
To my shock, another man steps through the doorway. He’s older than Ellis, maybe mid-twenties, lean and athletic with sharp, angular features that lend him an intense, watchful presence. Dark blond hair falls untidily across his forehead, and when his gaze meets mine, I’m struck by the uncanny color of his eyes: deep gray threaded with amber, like storm clouds laced with fire. There’s something in the way he moves that stirs recognition: quiet, economical, like he’s accustomed to slipping by unnoticed. It makes me wonder what dangers shaped him, where he was plucked from.
“Byron,” Selen repeats simply as an introduction.
Byron says nothing as he steps into the room, merely nods as a gesture.
I stare between Ellis and this newcomer, my mind reeling. How is Selen hiding two men when she's supposed to be managing the female barracks?
