“If you’re not working for the Council or the Academy, then… let me go.” Desperation scrapes down my throat. “There’s nothing you can get from keeping me. No family waiting to pay a ransom. No power. No value. You could walk away right now, and I’d never breathe aword about seeing you—hell, I don’t even know who you are. Just… let me disappear.”
She tilts her head, studying me the way someone might inspect a trapped insect. “Oh no, we can’t do that, little sinless. You’re far too valuable.” Her voice is syrup-sweet, like the answer should be obvious.
“Valuable?” A laugh cracks out of me, sharp and ugly. “You said it yourself—I’m sinless. No power. Nothing worth your effort. Keeping me is more trouble than profit.”
She goes quiet, standing and observing me. Then she mutters, mostly to herself, “You really don’t know what you are, do you?”
I don’t know how to respond to that. She’s clearly crazy. She moves back to the table, grabbing the scarred man’s shoulder—and there’s a new quickness in her voice. “Briar, go meet the others at the usual spot. They should be here soon. We’ll need to regroup and plan our next move as soon as possible.”
The scarred man nods, silent, and takes something from the table- it looks like a stone or a rock. He murmurs into his hand as he lifts it. A thin red shimmer slides over him from head to toe, a translucent blanket of power that clings to his skin and hums. A shield. My breath stops. Not a stone. A relic.
The memory snaps back—the pressure of a stone pressed to my forehead when they took me. Relics. These aren’t random kidnappers. These are rebels. Sloth rebels.
Cold spreads through me like ice water. What are the rebels doing so close to the academy? How did they even get this close? What do they want with me?
A new fear takes over.
Briar walks out, the door clicking shut behind him. The woman turns back to the desk papers with a hum. I guess I’ve already lost her attention.
What did she mean—I don’t know who I am?
A loud crash snaps through the building, and my jaw clenches. The sound apparently startles the rebels too. “What was that?!” the woman snaps, looking at the door.
“Jack, go see why Briar hasn’t left yet. He needs to hurry. And tell him to keep it down—we’re trying not to draw attention to us,” she orders, rolling her eyes and going back to the documents.
“Yes, ma’am,” Jack says, and he hurries out. She mutters to herself and flips papers with a concentration that makes my skin crawl. While she’s distracted, I work my hands- slow, tiny movements — shimmying the rope around my wrists, feeling for slack. The fibers bite into my skin, but maybe, just maybe, if I keep at it…
Jack slides back through the door holding two coffee cups, breathless. “He’s gone now. Brought us iced coffee. Figured it’s going to be a long night,” he says, thrusting a cup towards her.
“Right you are,” she replies, taking it and slurping it down. The smell of coffee prickles my nose — rich and warm and suddenly awful.
I force my mind to the ropes. Working to get loose and watching the pair for any sign they might turn around.
Suddenly, the woman faints like a marionette with its strings cut. One second she’s upright- eyes on the page- and the next she just collapses with a loud thud.
Jack immediately panics. “Matilda!” he yells, lunging to her side.
Before my brain can unscramble what’s happening, the door slams open and the room explodes into motion. Boots hit the floor, ashadowing blur—someone is in the doorway—and my chest goes cold with recognition.
I don’t believe what I am seeing. It’s… “Atticus?” I scrape out.
He’s a storm in the doorway, calm and furious as he glances my way. He moves like a blade: quick, precise, lethal. Jack runs towards the relics on the table, and Atticus is on him immediately. His arm wraps around Jack’s throat, cutting off the air with a practiced chokehold. For a second, Jack gurgles and flails; then he goes limp.
“I should have told you to drink the coffee,” Atticus grits out, and the words fall like gravel. I blink, the room tilting. Maybe I’m still dreaming. Maybe I’m still asleep.
Atticus is already on his knees in front of me, flinging ropes, hands moving too fast to follow. “Arwen,” he says, my name a hiss, and a prayer tangled together. “Are you hurt? Talk to me. Are you—”
I stammer, words tripping over each other. “What are you doing here? How—oh my universe—are they dead?”
“They’re not dead, and I don’t know how long they will be out. Get up,” he orders, breath sharp. He drags me up off the mattress, holding me while I regain my balance, scanning the room the whole time. “We have to go. Now. I don’t know where the third man went or when he’ll be back. Take this.” He hands me a strange crystal that hums lightly in my hand. It feels familiar. Friendly but dangerous at the same time. I look down to where my feet should be and immediately drop the Crystal. It hits the ground as my body becomes visible again.
“What is this? Where did you get it?” I hiss at him, picking it back up.
“I’ll explain later.” He picks up my bag, which I didn’t even notice was in the corner, and hands it to me. “Ready?”
“Hold on.” I say, heading to the table.
“Arwen…”
