“Not the commitment type?”
Sean snorted. “Not really, no.”
A brief silence settled between us as my mind wandered back to the Radicals. Sean’s thoughts were clearly aligned with mine.
“We need to eradicate these Radicals sooner rather than later,” Sean said, his tone grim. “If they keep this up, we’re not only talking about losing some battles. We’ll jeopardize the existence of the entire magi world.”
“What do you suggest?” I asked, as my mind already raced with possibilities.
Sean’s eyes hardened. “Take the fight to them. There are three camps we now have the location on. They fucking attacked us with an Amplifier. They attacked your Collective as well, after they abducted and hurt your significant other. I say we go for blood.”
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “How?”
Sean lowered his voice. “We attack tonight. No plan, no backup—only the two of us. We move like shadows. We’ll kill half of them in their sleep and interrogate the rest about this Logan character.”
I met Sean’s stare head on, feeling a surge of determination. “I’m in.”
FIVE
EMMA
Classes took on a very different tone in the following days.
Maurice had portaled out to Crown to handle what was officially labeled a “dire political situation.” Which, translated (in the non-magical sense) from bureaucratic nonsense to actual reality, meant way more blood than politics. James had told me as much, though in typical James fashion, he’d insisted I keep it under wraps.
As if I had anyone to share it with. I was still the Academy’s resident pariah, a social leper with the same number of new friends as a dead guy. If I threw a secret-sharing party, it would only be me and the void.
But whatever—loneliness wasn’t exactly at the top of my list of concerns when James was out there playingKnight in Brooding Armor, fighting Radicals like it was his full-time job.
Nino had tagged along, both to help in the fight against those homicidal maniacs and to hunt down the Amplifier. Probably also to keep James from getting himself killed, though knowing him, he’d find a way to make it difficult.
The longer James was gone, the more the worry gnawed at me, leaving me restless and miserable. I hated not knowing if he was okay, if he was safe. Each night was a battle between trying to focus on my training and the sick feeling in my gut something could happen to him out there. The ache of his absence became unbearable. The fear of losing him? Even worse. And with every passing moment, it twisted tighter, winding itself around my ribs like it was trying to squeeze the life out of me.
On top of everything, our classes had a new instructor—AJ. From the second he walked in, I knew he and I werenotgoing to be friends. He had this kind of fake, smug confidence which instantly grated on your nerves—like he thought he was better than everyone else. His hair looked like it had its own PR team, and his whole vibescreamedwannabe overlord.
It was instantly clear as day: he wasn’t there to teach—he was there to assert dominance. And for some reason, he’d decided to do it by makingmehis target.
It didn’t take long to realize hehatedme. He didn’t even try to hide it. From day one, his eyes would narrow every time he looked at me, like I was an insult to his entire existence. Maybe it was because I was stuck at an interface time of 1.02 seconds—fastest in the class—or maybe he simply didn’t like my face. Either way, he took it personally. Like my very existence was some kind of cosmic insult, and he was the poor soul tasked with correcting the universe’s mistake.
AJ didn’t push me—heshovedme headfirst into hell with a godsdamn grin on his face. He had me sparring with people three times my weight class, fighters who could’ve crushed me with one hand tied behind their back. Every match felt less like training and more like an attempt to see how many times I could hit the floor before staying down. And every time I dragged myself back up, bruised and half-conscious, there he was—smirking from across the room like he’d won a bet.Asshole.
And it wasn’t just physical. He humiliated me at every opportunity, barking orders with thinly veiled malice, pointing out every tiny mistake like it was some colossal failure. “What’s wrong, Thompson? Can’t keep up?” he’d say, loud enough for the whole class to hear.
Sympathy was for people he respected. I wasn’t one of them. When I staggered back to my feet, almost unable to stand, he simply stood there, arms crossed, head cocked in a way you’d watch a broken experiment sputter along. Not worth the praise. Not even worth the disappointment.
He never called for a Healer, never gave me a break—just kept pushing, kept making me fight until I was hardly holding it together.
By the third class, I looked worse than James ever had after a real battle. My body was covered in bruises, every inch of me aching from the beatings AJ had orchestrated.
“What the hell happened to you?” James’s voice rang through the Nexus that night, his expression filled with anger when he took in my bruised and battered face.
I sighed deeply, trying to downplay it. “Don’t worry about it; it’s only some sparring with other Superiors. I’ll find a Healer tomorrow.”
“Emma,” he growled, his concern evident, “you need to tell me right now who did this to you.”
“And add them to your kill list?” I said with a hint of sarcasm. “I would’ve thought you would’ve had your fill by now, with all those Radicals you’re dealing with.”
“Them?” James’s tone was sharp, and I could hear the rage behind it.
