“Yeah, relax,Outerlander.” Finn cuts in. “You act like we’re about to stab you.” He laughs, but it grates, because that’s exactly what people like him usually do.Shoulddo. “Any friend of Rowan’s and Ezzy’s is a friend of mine. And honestly? I didn’t really think about it that hard. It’s kind of fun having an Outerlander around, would probably piss my parents off. Always a bonus.”
“Good to know I’m useful for something.” I keep my voice light, but the doubt’s still there, coiled tight. Maybe they’re not being entirely honest. But whatever they’re hiding, it doesn’t feel like a threat. So I keep walking.
“Ugh!” Ezzy reappears, tight with frustration as she jogs up beside us, clutching the strap of her satchel. “It’s still checked out. Can you believe that? Who keeps a copy ofToxic Flora and Fauna of the Outerlandsfor thislong? I swear, some people shouldn’t even be allowed in the library.”
Finn rolls his eyes at her, clearly amused. “How tragic.” Though he seems to instantly regret it when Ezzy launches into a rant about library policy—volume, citations, and the sacred order of the reference system.
We round the corner toward the next lecture theatre, big stone doors, cadets queued outside in an organised line.
Beside me, Ezzy and Finn are still going at it—she’s half-laughing, half-defending herself—but I’m not really listening. My skin prickles, gut tight, Threads already stirring. Because I’m watching, watching every face. Every shift of a boot. Certain it’s him.Talen.
Without realising, I drift a few steps from the group, edging down the line, drawn by the need to see, to be sure.
My heart’s hammering in my ears, magic so on edge now that every flicker of movement has me ready to swing or run. But I remind myself this is just another lecture to get through without anyone noticing me.
But as I lean out, trying to get a better view, a skinny cadet with a shaved head and a toothpick tucked in the corner of his mouth, pushes past. His shoulder slams into mine, deliberate and hard enough to knock me off balance.
“Scraplander scum.” He mutters, low and edged as his eyes flick over me like I’m something rotting he stepped in. “My father always said the only good Outerlander is a buried one. Should’ve culled the lot of you after the Treaty was signed.”
There it is, not just disgust, but inheritedhate. Words passed down like heirlooms. He doesn’t know me, he only knows what Irepresent. To people like him, I’m a stain on their perfect world, proof the Citadel doesn’t control everything.
A biting sting blooms as my fists curl, nails biting into my palms. I’m already so tightly wound I nearly snap.I’ve been bottling my Threads all day and now they are angry, impatient.
I shift forward—just enough for him to see it, to feel it—but then I remember. One month.Fuck, no scenes, no enemies. Not if you want to make it out of here.
The cadet smirks, leaning in as I step back. “That’s what I thought.Back down. Like the scum you are.”
Prick.
But he’s not worth it. He’s not worth it. Save it for Talen.Breathe. My expression stays flat, fingers loosening at my sides, but my magic doesn't care, it continues to build behind my ribs, pulsing with each breath. I grit my teeth, hard, swallowing it down.
“Me and the others?” He jerks his chin at two cadets behind him. “We’ll be looking forward to bumping into you again?—”
A loud groan echoes down the corridor as the lecture theatre door creaks open.
“Offensive Magic begins. Enter. Now, all of you.” The professor’s voice slices through the air, cutting the blonde cadet off.
And in front of us, the line shifts, cadets straightening, the moment breaks. But he still throws me one last sly smirk before turning away.
"You’ll wish I had hit back,” I mutter under my breath once he’s out of sight. Then I swallow hard again and follow the line inside.
The lecture theatrelooks almost identical to this morning, shadowed tiers of benches fan around a raised platform at the front.
A quick scan of the room turns up nothing. No sign of the shaved-head cadet, not that I want round two. Just need to know where my problems are or if any new ones are lingering in the crowd.
One class. Just one. Then I’m done for the day and only twenty-nine left to go. Fuck, I need a proper plan but right now I just need to keep my Threads locked down and avoid any more power-hungry cadets or officers.
No magic. No mess. No attention, because there are enough people in here who’d love to see me fall. I’m still not sure whymore of them haven’t taken their shot already. Then again, most of them move like the Codex’s been hardwired into their spines, and Merrin made it crystal clear: no combat outside sanctioned Demonstrations.
“Lyra!” Ezzy calls over towards me. “Come meet Professor Quinn.”
She’s already at the front, her hands gesturing at me in quick little circles like she’s trying to smooth the air itself.
God, I don’t want to go. But I do. Because I made a fucking deal to stay here for a month. I remind myself, it was this or the dragons. But with every hour that passes, I start to wonder if the dragons would’ve been easier.
“Professor Quinn teaches Offensive Magic, my favourite class.” Ezzy’s practically bouncing as I step up beside her.
Offensive Magic? I pegged her for a bookworm, not someone who’d choose magical combat for fun. The professor catches my look and lets out a low laugh, his voice easy.
