I’ve seen enough looks like that to know when a man’s somewhere else entirely. He’s not just seeing me. He’s back in the Outerlands, years ago, when he was ambushed and left for dead. And now his gaze crawls over me like I’m one of them,hell, I am one of them. Like I’m the debt come due. The thin curl of his mouth says he’s going to enjoy this.
A hard twist rolls through me, but I plant my feet. “Didn’t think professors handled interrogations,” I hiss, jaw tight.
He tilts his head, voice oily. “Well, I thought I’d make a special exception for you.” His cane taps once as he steps closer. “After all, you seemed so concerned about that baker today, the one who was Reassigned. I saw you. Standing in the doorway. Defending him.”
Fuck.
“I’ve been watching you for a while, Cadet.” His smile spreads thin. “And I can see why Officer Veirmont is rather captivated. You are…fascinating. Always in the library, aren’t you?”
I shiver as the thought scrapes down my spine. He’s been watching me, watching Rowan.I shift my weight, squaring a shoulder like I might shove past if he comes closer.
“There’s nothing wrong with being in the library,” I snap.
His eyes glint, amused. “True. And to be fair, I’m not really interested in the childish antics of a second-year cadet. A senior officer, however…” His cane drags as he closes the distance, “…would be much more interesting.”
The sour, papery reek of old ink wraps around me—underscored by the faint rot of someone who spends too long in sealed rooms as he stops in front of me. My throat tightens, air catching.
“You know,” he continues, voice low. “Truth Strings are fascinating things. I heard from Holloway that you’re doing rather well with them.” The look in his eyes makes my stomach drop. I already don’t like where this is going. “As you would have learnt, Truth Strings cannot be forced or coerced. It would be useless to try and pull them in an interrogation.”
He pauses, tilts his head, letting the silence stretch.
“What he failed to mention,” he murmurs, “is that that isn’t entirely true. For us—those who’ve honed our magic, trainedour Threads properly—Truth Strings break the moment any coercion is detected.” His smile sharpens. “But someone with… wilder magic, shall we say? Unstable. Raw. There are ways to make them slip. To force a String when demanded.”
His cane taps once against the stone. Then he whispers, almost with relish.
“Pain.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The air doesn’t move. Stone walls, stone floor, nothing between us but five feet of space and the last word he said.
Pain.
My breath catches, but the rise in my chest doesn’t. It surges fast, an erratic rhythm beating loud in my ears. I don’t blink. He hasn’t, either.
Professor Strannt, Weasel Senior, stands opposite me in the centre of the cell, knuckles white around his cane like he’s waiting for the fun to start. Waiting for me to twitch. Beg. Break.
Ankles locked, fists loose, I force just enough tension to fake calm. A brutal rush sprints through me, but I hold. I make myself hold.
He’s bluffing. Has to be. Just pressure, just noise, hoping I’ll crack before he has to prove it.
“If you can use pain to coerce a Truth String, then why wouldn’t Professor Quinn tell us that?” I challenge.
Weasel Senior’s mouth lifts, more teeth than smile, like he’s already picturing me screaming. “Well, if we did that, we’d have cadets torturing the truth out of each other over stolen ink potsand who said what to whom.” He steps closer, the cane tapping once. “All hell would break loose.”
I don’t move. But something in me coils tight.
“And besides,” he adds, voice softening in that grease-slick way that makes my skin crawl. “It wouldn’t work. Not on just anyone. It only works when the magic is raw. Untrained. Chaotic.” A beat. “Like yours.”
The silence stretches, under my skin my Threads flicker—sharp, sudden—tightening before I can stop them. Like they’ve sensed the danger before I do.
Shit, he's going to ask about the relationship... that it's fake? He knows. Or he thinks he knows. Either way, I’m one String away from being Reassigned.
My heart pounds. Fear? Focus? A mix of both? Trying to figure out how far he’ll push, how much I can take before something cracks...
My fingers curl before I can stop them. I need a way out. Or at least a way to take the hit without shattering. I can’t afford to break. Not here. Not in front of him.
Can I lie? Can I say I believe the relationship is real? But I already feel the String slipping inside of me.Shit. I could fight. I’ve gotten stronger with my Threads... But this cell is too small, and my aim’s still unreliable. One misfire and I take myself out before I even touch him.
