A single rose stem lies across a folded note. No flower. No petals. Just thorns. I nudge the stem aside with my free hand, unfolding the paper.
Sunday, 5 p.m. East Wing. Fifth floor. Door opposite the main stairwell. Don’t be late. Unless you’d rather go on a date with a dragon than me. -T
P.S. Get your fucking Threads under control. This duck won’t save you every time.
Before I can think, heat presses low in my gut, chest cinching tight as the rhythm inside me pushes harder with every handwritten line.
The paper crumples under my fist before I’ve even finished reading, brows pull tight, eyes narrowing. I can see it already—that smug, crooked grin stretched across his face like he’s standing right in front of me.
He was here.... Inmyspace. Close enough to touch my things.
My jaw locks, teeth grinding.
God, I bet he’s loving this, finally got me cornered. I hate it. Hate him. Hate the way he slips in, past skin, past muscle—burrowing deep into my bone, my blood. Like a poison threading through every vein, impossible to cut out without bleeding myself dry.
But as much as I loathe him... there’s someone I hate more.
Myself.
Why the hell didn’t I stop him? I triedto get away—at least, I think I did, didn’t I? Should I have tried harder? Or was I already leaning in before I realised it?
Fists curl at my side before I can stop them.
I leant in.
How could I?
He’s a Veirmont. A Citadel officer. The bastard behind the Spice tax, the one choking medicine out of Outerlanders. The same arrogant prick who Reassigns innocent people to hold off dragons. Even here, professors flinch if he gets too close. And according to Finn, he killed his ex-girlfriend...
He’s the same cold-eyed executioner who blamed me for his brother’s death, and promised to make me pay. He shouldn't even want me alive.
So what the hell wasthat?
He’s saved me.
Twice.
First the Dragon. Now this.... Marking me ashis, in the most public and possessive way possible.
The questions run through my head on a loop, over and over. But beneath it, quieter, darker, another voice whispers:
He leaned in.
Just for a second.
But I felt it. Didn't I? Or did I imagine it? I must’ve imagined it. I mean, of course I did. A flicker of heat. A trick of the moment.
Especially after the day I’ve had? Shit after the past few weeks I’ve had. Ezzy’s blood still fresh on my hands. My Threads snapping loose in front of half the Citadel. Nearly being Reassigned, black-eyeddragons, for fuck’s sake. My mind is a goddamn mess. I'm a mess. I haven’t slept properly since I arrived, and I’ve been bracing for death every day since.
So, whatever that was? Whatever IthoughtI felt... It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Because people like him don’t slip and they sure as hell don’t lean in.
I blink, and the coldness of the empty room creeps back in. Grey stone. Dust and old parchment in the air, that sour mildew tang that never really leaves. But underneath it, something new, a thin edge of smoke and leather-warm heat,Talen. Soaked into the walls like the place forgot to breathe him out.
God. What am I going to do?
For a second, I just stand there, duck in one hand, the note in the other, my mind clawing between two futures.
In one version, I show up Sunday for his date, smile like it doesn’t taste bitter, and slip into a role I don’t want to play.
