It’s his.
Every tremor’s deliberate. Every spike calculated.
My inhale cuts short, panting now as pressure building tight and cruel—like he’s the one deciding when I get to breathe. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to ground myself, but my hips still roll forward, chasing friction that isn’t there.
No contact, no touch, but my body’s reacting anyway. Hungry and helpless for more.
And I know,I know, he’s watching.
Still, my mouth opens on a sound I can’t stop—a cry, raw and broken, stripped to the bone and just as I'm about to tip over the edge—right as the last thread snaps?—
He lets go.
Slams the door shut.
Instantly, sound crashesback in—too loud, too fast, all at once. Professor Quinn talking, chairs scraping, scrolls rustling, voices rising.
The world around me returns in one violent sweep and my eyes snap open, like my body’s just remembered where it is. Howpublicthis is. And that I’mnotalone.
My skin is flushed, chest still rising too fast.A few students glance back, brows raised, confusion flickering across their faces. Heat rushes to my cheeks. I sink down lower in my seat, spine folding in on itself, trying to disappear.
When I finally glance his way, Talen’s not even looking. He’s turned slightly, pencil in hand, casually drawing something in his sketchbook.
But I can’t move, can’t breathe. Because he didn’t just win. Hedismantledme.
God, this was never a game. It was amassacre. And I just walked right into it?—
Okay, maybe my plan isn't going to work.
“I can’t find it,” the shorter cadet grunts, squinting under the sun as he rummages through a bush, fingers red with dust and thorn-pricks.
“Then look harder,” the taller one snaps.
Patrol ended an hour ago, but we haven’t made it back to the outpost yet—because one of these idiots lost the key. The ground’s so dry the thing disappeared on impact. We’ve beencombing this stretch for thirty minutes, kicking at loose rock and dead scrub like it might be hiding out of spite.
We’re somewhere on the outskirts of Ravenscross for an overnight patrol assignment—just south of Ashvale, far enough to feel the distance but close enough that my chest still tightens if I let my mind drift north.
I don’t. Ashvale’s a box I can’t open. Not yet. I have no answers, and until I know who’s responsible, what’s going on with these attacks, the grief stays buried, worry too, push it down. Keep moving.
“Here, oh. No, wait, just some metal.” The shorter one walks over holding a twisted scrap, eyes already dull with disappointment.
Great.
I was meant to be on patrol with Strannt today, the Weasel, but I was swapped out last minute. Now I’m stuck with two cadets I barely know, their names already half-forgotten, and one officer who hasn’t said more than ten words to me since we left the Citadel this morning:Talen.
He sent us back to the outpost ahead of him, stayed back in Ravenscross, said he had something to check. Surprised he trusted me not to run, though god knows I’ve got nowhere to go.
I let the tension drain out of my chest and turn away, eyes tracking the horizon. Past the edge of town, out toward the Void, toward the Ravine, and the Innerland wall beyond it.
It’s been almost two months since the ball, and so far nothing, no answers and no sex.
I'm so tired of it, of him. From the constant push and pull that’s led absolutely nowhere. I’ve spent weeks trying to wear him down, tear through whatever wall he’s hiding behind. But all I’ve done is exhaust myself and watch him inch further out of reach.
And I’m tired of pretending. Pretending that I only want the part of him I can touch, that he’s just a distraction, a stress relief, when the truth is—I want all of it. Every maddening, guarded, impossible part.
And worse—I’m tired of pretending I don’t trust him. Because I do. And honestly... I have for a while now.
I just didn’t want to admit it before. It was easier not to. Safer to lie to myself, keep the line drawn clean. I said I’d be a fool to trust him blindly. But I guess I’m a fool, because I do, I trust him.
