An empty lecturetheatre yawns out in front of me as Talen holds the door open for me to step through.
No one’s here, the space stretches wide and quiet, the kind of quiet that sinks into your skin, and there’s a chill clinging to the stone that smells like old parchment, ink, and whatever they use to scrub blood off the front stage.
Talen follows as I step inside, closing the door behind him, and the second he does his scent cuts through it all, intoxicating, familiar, and suddenly the room feels too small, the air too tight, like there’s nowhere left to stand that doesn’t pull me into him.
The rush hits fast, a sudden kick of rhythm that makes my whole chest feel too tight.
Two weeks. It's been two weeks since I’ve been this close to him. Two weeks of repeating the same line in my head, like it might eventually stick—that it was a mistake. But shit, apparently, two weeks isn’t anywhere near long enough for my body to get the message. And now not only do I have to fake date him, I have to train with him too.
In the corner of the stage, there’s a table and two chairs. Talen heads straight for it, drags out a chair, and drops into it like he’s settling in for a show—boots kicked up on the tabletop, hands laced behind his head, his crooked grin already in place, loose sun-kissed waves falling across his forehead.
A flush starts creeping up my cheeks. Too fast, too obvious.
Okay. Stop staring. I need to be able to stand in the same room as him without blushing like an idiot—or making things awkward. Because I want answers, and being around him is stillmy best shot at getting them. So no more mistakes, no more relapsing. One slip was already too much.
But fuck, why does he have to look so good right now?
He nods to the chair beside him, a quiet invite. I don’t move. Just stay planted in the middle of the stage, like keeping the space, the table, between us might help.
It doesn’t.
“So how does this work, then?” I ask, tone flat. “You train me while we fake date. Do we flip a coin for which one comes first?”
His grin lingers, then he drops his feet from the table and leans in.
“Two birds, one stone. We use our dates for training, lunches here, every day.”
“How romantic.” I reply.
“Figure the less time we have to spend together, the better.Especiallyafter Ashvale.”
My eyes narrow, studying his face, but that unreadable mask is back, locked in like it never slipped. I know he felt it, the same way I did, the same way I still do. But clearly, he’s sticking to the version where it never should’ve happened. Which, fine. That’s exactly what I’m supposed to be telling myself, too. Itwasa mistake. I can’t trust him. Yeah, maybe he’s attracted to me, that part’s obvious, but wanting to fuck someone and using them? Those aren’t mutually exclusive. He’s only helping me, saving me, because he wants something. I just haven’t figured out what yet.
But do I ask him about the urchin? It doesn’t add up—I’m still not convinced it was him, yet part of me still wonders... And if it was, I sure as hell don’t want him knowing I found it. No, better to keep that card in my pocket until I know exactly what game we’re playing.
“So helping me train is just another way to keep me alive till you get what you want?”
“I don’t want you dead, Bloom.” His voice calm as ever. “Thought I’d made that pretty fucking clear by now. But yes, there are things I want and you being alive is part of that.”
“And let me guess, you’re not going to tell me what they are.”
“You’d be correct.” He leans back slightly, arms crossing across his chest.
“Because you won’t? Or youcan’t?”
His jaw tightens, and something shifts behind his eyes, but he doesn’t answer. I’m not surprised. I already know how this goes. No point pushing, he’s made it clear he’s not going to give me anything straight.
“We’re here to train, not talk.” He unfolds his arms. “Unless you’d rather keep using that sad little duck of yours as an emotional support animal?”
Why did it have to behim? If I say yes, I’m handing him leverage. If he’s using me—and I still don’t know that he’s not—what’s to stop him from twisting whatever he teaches me? Steering me toward something I shouldn’t be doing, something he wants? I could say no, try to find someone else, but he’s a Senior Officer, and I’ve seen what he can do with his Threads. Hate to admit it, but… It’s bloody impressive.
And I want answers, and at this rate, I won’t survive long enough to get any. If someone calls me during Call Week and I lose control... sure, maybe I’ll take them down, but I’ll take myself out too. Plus, it’s not like I want anyone else around here knowing I can’t control my Threads—that I’m one bad day away from blowing a hole through the wall. If word gets out about the duck, I’m not sure I'd even make it to Call Week.
And even if I turn him down, I still have to fake date him; might as well make the most of it. Better to spend the time actually learning something instead of sitting in awkward silence, pretending I don’t want to shove him off a ledge—or drag him into the nearest supply closet.
I want answers, I want revenge, but first Ineedcontrol over my magic.
“Fine,” I mutter. “Teach me.”
