She nods. “Right. Well, If you change your mind… We’ll be here.”
“Sure thing.”
I turn before she can say any more.
Let them train. Let them joke and swing and show off. I don’t need friends, I need allies. People who can help me survive this place. And that means not wasting time messing around in the Rec Hall.
Because right now, I have one priority. Talen—the fucking Nightrose. Figuring out what he’s planning and hopefully where he’s weak.
The dorm roomdoor closes behind me with a dull thud. For a moment, I just stand there, staring at the space that’s supposed to be home—for now. Then I cross to the untouched bed, drop my pack on to the mattress, and follow it down. Falling back, arms spread, legs heavy. It’s harder than I remember, stiff, the impact sends a jolt straight up my spine.
Shit, Lyra.What have you gotten yourself into?
I move to let down my red curls, but pause when my hand brushes the outside of the pack and catches on something rigid beneath the fabric.
Mum’s journal.
The leather is cool and worn against my skin as I pull it free. For a breath, I just sit there, holding it, waiting for my hands to stop shaking. Then, when they finally settle, I take a deep breath and unwind the string, flipping it open.
I start to read, but I only manage one page before I have to stop. Not because of what it says, but because it’sher.
Her handwriting, her voice.
After all this time, after everything. Right there on the page, this page.
I try to keep going, I really do, but my eyes blur, sting. My chest tightens. And suddenly the words aren’t words anymore, they’re just ink smears in a storm of everything I’ve shoved down since I got here.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to outrun it. The weight of it, all these feelings and aches I don’t want to name. But the darkness presses in, heavy but somehow welcoming.
And god, I’m so tired, sleep pulls me under before I can fight it.
Alinor Bloom, Second Year Cadet, Entry #1
Okay. First page. First diary. I’m not really the “dear diary” type, but Professor Holloway always says writing things down helps you sort them. And honestly? I don’t know who I can talk to right now... So this is just for me. No one else....
Anyway, I didn’t think I’d feel it again. Not after last year. But the moment I stepped back through the Citadel gates, it was there—that pressure. That weight. Like I need to fold smaller, quieter, tighter just to survive.
If I move wrong, speak wrong, something might unravel. Maybe me.
Everyone says second year is when you find your footing. Maybe they’re right. I’ve learned how to pass. How to blend. My Threads don’t slip mid-calling anymore.
But there’s something else.
Something I haven’t said out loud.
Sometimes, only sometimes, I feel it. Not two Threads.
But three.
Not for long. Not always. But when it happens... it’s like the world opens. Like the pattern makes sense for a breath, and I can see it. Feel it. Stars, even writing that feels dangerous. Like I’ve put it out there and now it’s real.
I haven’t told anyone yet.
I thought about telling Professor Merrin once or twice, he notices things the others don’t. But I can’t tell if that makes him safer... or more dangerous. Sometimes I think he already suspects.
What would he do, if he knew? What would any of them do? They say power is potential. But here, it feels more like a test. One you’re not supposed to pass.
I used to think I’d leave here knowing who I was. Now? I’m starting to wonder if I’ll be able to leave at all....
