The pounding rhythm in my chest quickens as magic surges, pressure building fast. No, fuck. I can’t lose control. Not here. Not now.
I need to take Ryven down—clean, fast, knock him out or something, without dragging myself under with him. Without giving him, or the Nightrose, the show they’re waiting for. Without becoming exactly what Merrin’s betting on.
Breathe. Just fucking, breathe. Don’t show any weakness.
Talen folds his arms; I meet his gaze.
“So this is how you plan to kill me?” I say through clenched teeth, doing my best to sound,look, composed. “A bit lazy, don’t you think?”
The left side of his mouth curls as he lifts a brow. “Oh well, why would I get my clean hands dirty when I can let someone else do the work for me...?” He leans in, voice low, all velvetand venom. “Though I know howdisappointedyou are… that it won’t be me touching you.”
“Right. Like I’d want your hands anywhere near me.” I spit. “You think they’re good, they’re clean? They’re filthy, covered in blood from all the gold your family squeezed out of the Outerlands. The only thing those hands are good at is taxing Spice and killing us.”
His grin doesn’t falter. If anything, it just sharpens as he leans into my space, like he means to own it.
“Oh, Bloom,” he whispers, “Youreallydon’t want to know what these hands are good at.”
His words creep under my skin, sinking deep like they’re trying to root there. But that’s what he wants. He’s pushing, baiting, waiting for me to break.
“Shame you’re about to die,” he taunts, catching the shift in my jaw I try to hide. “I was just starting to enjoy thatthornylook on your face.”
A tight cough cuts through the tension. I flinch, breath catching.
“Sorry to interrupt your little… whatever this is,” Ryven calls from the other side of the stage as he spits his toothpick out. “But are we doing a Demonstration or wh?—?”
Talen’s head snaps from mine toward him, fast. His hand lifts, like he just caught something out of thin air, and Ryven’s voice cuts off mid-word. His mouth works, but nothing comes out.
“If you want to keep that tongue of yours,cadet...” Talen’s grin drops as he turns and pins Ryven in place with a stare so cold it makes the look he gave me feel almost generous. “You’llneverinterrupt me again.”
Ryven swallows hard. His shoulders pull in and for the first time, he looks small.Timid.My Threads jolt, this time not in fear. Maybe I do have a chance...
“Yes, um, thank you, Officer Veirmont,” Quinn cuts in, uneasy, “for reminding our cadets that they are students here, and should speak only when addressed. Now, let’s all take our places, shall we?”
I follow Quinn’s gesture, moving without thinking, stepping into position on the platform, opposite Ryven. Talen stays behind me, watching.
Magic stirs before I’m even still. Crawling down my arms and sparking at my fingertips, begging to escape.But I need to be careful, I need to control it, I need to?—
“Let’s begin.”
Before the thought can finish forming, Ryven moves, one foot forward, both arms raised and then—Pain
White-hot. Blinding.
Too slow to dodge. I hit the platform hard, palms first, then knees. Elbows jolting as I slide across the wood. By the time I register the impact, flames have already taken my sleeve.
Heat lashes up my arm, fast and hungry, as panic spikes. I swat at it, frantic, but it presses in, relentless.
The stink of burning cloth floods my nose, sour, too familiar. The edges of the world smear—light bending, sound warping—and suddenly, it’s not Ryven in front of me anymore.
Suddenly I’m seven, barefoot, smoke curling under the door, walls glowing around me. Then screams, mine,someone else’s. I’m at the handle, twisting, yanking, but it won’t budge. It’s stuck.
Can’t move. Can’t breathe.
Just fire. Just fear
I squeeze my eyes shut.
No,this isn’t then, this isn’t real.I’m not there. I’m here.Now.
