Talen says I need to stop thinking of my Threads like wild magic and start treating them like muscle—something that learns by repetition. He says the rope helps. A physical anchor to teach a mental one.
But every time I try, the knot slips. Not the one in my hands, the one inside me. Like something uncoils the second I stop holding my breath.
One evening in our dorm, Ezzy caught me fumbling with it. Grinned like she was watching a toddler trying to do their own shoelaces. Said she remembers doing it when she was five. It was embarrassing as hell.
And the frustration hasn’t exactly eased up. The other week, I chucked the rope across the room in front of Talen—and yeah, I nearly cried. Which just made it worse. I hate that I lost my grip like that, especially in front ofhim. But I’ve been holding everything down since I came back with nothing but grit and sheer will, and it doesn’t take much to shake it loose.
Plus, it doesn’t help that I’m in a constant state of emotional whiplash, stuck between hating him and hating myself for wanting him.
I almost left the rope and walked out, more than once. Wanted to say to hell with it, with him, with this place, with all of it.
But I need answers. I need the bastards responsible for Ashvale to pay. That means surviving Call Week, and I can’t do that without controlling my magic. I also can’t afford to let things with Talen get in the way. He thinks it was a mistake—I know that,it was a mistake, and I don’t want to give him any excuse to push me further away, he’s still my best chance at finding the truth.
So I picked the rope back up and tried again.
I expected mockery, sarcasm, maybe even a lecture. But Talen just sat beside me. Quiet. Steady. He's done it more than once, no smirking, no ego. He’s... patient. Kind. And that terrifies me more than anything.
During training, he sits close but never touches. We don’t talk about the kiss, not once, and I’ve learned to choke downevery stupid urge that bubbles up when his eyes catch mine. I keep my focus on the rope, on my Threads, on the work. Not on his mouth. Definitely not on what it would feel like against mine again.
But outside the lecture theatre, it’s different.
In public, we still have to pretend, still act like we’re something we’re not, and that’s when it gets harder to hold the line.
Because when he smiles at me in the corridor—slow and lopsided, curling left before it finally crinkles at his eyes—I forget.
Forget why I’m keeping my distance.
Forget every reason I’ve been telling myself to stay away.
God, it was so much easier when I thought he wanted to kill me. Cleaner. Predictable. I knew how to hate him.
But now, when he smiles at me like that—when my body leans into his even as my mind reminds me it was a mistake, a bad idea from the start—it’s worse. So much worse.
Because now, I don’t know what he wants, only that I do.
I want him. And that? That’s way more dangerous.
But holding it down—the want, the instinct, all of it—it’s worth it.
Not because he answers my questions. I’ve tried, little things, when he’s tired or distracted, but he never bites. It’s worth it because of Lucien. Sometimes he shows up during training, and the two of them walk off to talk—far enough that I shouldn’t hear a thing. But I always do. The air shifts, bends just enough, and their voices drift my way.
I catch pieces. More signs going up on doors, more unrest, more dragon breaches, things the Citadel never reports unless an officer or cadet dies.
I know he’s doing it,Talen, letting me hear things I’m not sure I should. I just don’t know why.
But even with those scraps, it’s still not enough, not nearly. I’ve got more questions than answers, and the waiting gnaws at me. So I keep moving. Tying knots, looking for clues in the library with Rowan, helping Ezzy in the Rec Hall. Anything to keep my hands busy and my head from circling back to Talen, or Ashvale, or Bren.
Losing them is still too raw to touch, so I don’t. I do what I’ve always done: shove it down, ignore it, keep moving. Probably isn’t healthy, but it’s working, for now.
By the first sign of snow melt, I can go a full day without the bloody duck, sometimes two. Only took three more months of white-knuckled control and enough headaches to level a mountain.
Last night, Talen even took it away, said he wanted to see how I’d do without my emotional support animal. No charm to sleep with, no anchor. Just me, my magic, and whatever control I’ve scraped together over the past four months. When he gave it back this morning, the duck’s broken wing had been mended. He didn’t say anything. Just set it on the table and slid it across. I said thanks. He didn’t answer.
The one upside of the past few months? No one’s taken a shot at me. They all seem to be saving it for Call Week, and since I blew out the windows in Professor Quinn’s Offensive Magic class three weeks ago—sent shards flying right past his face—he hasn’t called me back down for another Demonstration.
Last week, though, Elijah was called down. Every time I see him, something unsettling coils low in my gut. Ever since he tried to kill Ezzy, I can’t look at him without wanting to set something on fire. He tore through an Air Realm cadet like paper. When he stepped off the stage, he looked straight at me, dragged a finger across his throat, and mouthed,“Call Week. You’re next.”Guess he’s still pissed I almost accidentally killed his sister during my first week here.
Maybe he’s the one who poisoned me with the Snare Urchin? But if so… how did it end up in Talen’s pocket? I’ve been paranoid since, that someone might try again, but Citadel security has ramped up—more interrogations after outside training assignments, bag checks after patrols. They’re even searching the male cadets now. Something’s going on, and it puts me on edge. But at least it means no one’s able to sneak in more Snare Urchin anytime soon.Hopefully.
