Kaia turns to face Darian fully for the first time. Her shadows shift with her, forming patterns I don’t fully understand. Bob positions himself protectively. Patricia’s notebook blazes brighter. Even Mouse’s violet eyes narrow with warning.
“You’ll stay bound,” she says quietly. “You’ll answer every question. And if you lie—” She doesn’t finish the threat. Doesn’t need to.
Darian’s voice is rough. “Whatever you need.”
“Good.” She takes a breath, steadying herself. “Because if you do, I’ll let them kill you. And I won’t stop them twice.”
The words settle like frost on stone.
Finn moves to her side immediately. Torric follows, heat signature blazing with protective fury. Malrik drifts closer, shadows intertwining with hers.
And I stay where I am. Watching. Letting the cold spread beneath my boots in patterns that mirror the ice in my veins.
Her choice. Always.
But if Darian so much as breathes wrong, I won’t ask permission again.
The blade will find his throat. This time, nothing will stop it.
Chapter 3
Malrik
The clearing empties in patterns I’ve learned to read.
Torric leaves first, heat signature blazing, fire barely leashed. Aspen follows—quieter, colder, frost trailing his boots like a threat he hasn’t finished making. Kieran moves last, ancient power wrapped around him like storm clouds, his silence heavier than words.
And Finn.
Finn pretends to linger near the fire, adjusting his pack with movements too careful to be casual. His chaos magic sparks and settles—restless energy pretending to be calm.
He’s watching Kaia without watching her.
I see it because I see everything. It’s what I do. The others burn or freeze or command. I observe. I calculate. I notice the fractures before they break wide enough for anyone else to see.
My shadows coil at my feet, calm but alert. They sense what I sense—tension stretched thin, bonds pulling in directions that don’t align, something building that none of us are ready for.
Kaia hasn’t moved since Kieran left. Mouse stays close, violet eyes tracking every shift in the group. Her shadows form tighter patterns than usual—defensive, but also exhausted. She’s running on fumes and pretending otherwise.
And Finn.
Finn starts walking toward her before he realizes he’s doing it.
I watch the exact moment he catches himself—shoulders tensing, steps faltering, chaos magic flickering brighter like static charge. He adjusts course, angles toward the supply packs instead.
Distance as punishment, not her request.
He doesn’t fool me. His trajectory still curves in her direction. Gravity never asks permission.
Kaia sits by the fire, finally letting exhaustion catch her. She sinks onto a log, spine straight despite everything, hands curling into fists on her thighs.
Finn approaches casually. Too casually. The kind of ease that takes effort.
“Mind if I—” He gestures at the space beside her.
She glances up. Something flickers across her expression—relief, maybe. Or just the comfort of familiar chaos.
“Sure,” she says quietly.
