Pride, pain, or getting dragged. Pick one.
I take his arm, he winks, I don’t bother hiding the eye roll.
Smoke thins as we move through the wreckage, I’m half-limping, half-dragged. Rowan braced under one arm, Lucien under the other. Every step sends another bolt of pain lancing through my leg. My Threads don’t like it, they stir hard, scratching under my skin, agitated and raw, like they’d rather burn me than be ignored.
But I grit my teeth and keep moving.
“Bloody hell.” Rowan’s eyes widen as he looks around the destruction. “How did that thing even get through the Veils?—”
“There you fuckers are.” Strannt materialises in front of us, cutting off our path like he owns it. I shift to glance behind him—no Elijah, no Beth, no cabbage-laden Ryven. Maybe one good thing came out of today, maybe Ryven got fried. One can dream.
“Shit, did youseethat thing?” Strannt barks, weaselly eyes wide with faux bravado. “I mean, I heard they were massive, but that was a fucking beast... Still, nothing compared to what my father’s seen.”
“Glad to see you too.” Lucien replies, his grip still firmly on my arm. “I was starting to worry after I saw you running off from behind that fountain. Figured maybe you pissed yourself and ran home to change...”
Strannt’s lips twitch, eyes narrowing as his mouth pulls thin. He wants to push back, but Lucien’s still standing tall, towering over him. One look, and Strannt takes a step back.
Then he sees me. Half-limping between them, magic thrashing behind my ribs, pain stamped across every step. I must look easy. Weak. A perfect landing spot for whatever’s left of his pride. “Oh. Bloom, you didn’t die.” He sneers. “What a shame. I thought dragons had a special taste for Outerlanders...”
Rowan flinches as my grip tightens on his arm—steadying my balance, steadying the magic clawing to get out. I should keep my mouth shut. Should just get out of here, find some privacy, grab the duck. But I’m too fried to care.
“Funny,” I snap back, no filter left, no control. “I heard they prefer officers. Preferably ones with big mouths and small...” I let my eyes drag down his body. “...hands.”
Rowan stays quiet, but beside me Lucien chokes on a small laugh, brows lifting ever so slightly in something close to approval.
“You’re lucky,” Strannt mutters, stepping towards me, jaw clenched, voice dropping low. “If Veirmont hadn’t already claimed you for himself, that pretty little mouth of yours wouldn’t still be working.”
Don’t rise to it. Just ignore him. We don’t need another target on our backs—not after surviving a fucking dragon. Not after trying to run, trying to escape, and failing. Again. God knows who saw.
Three more weeks, head down, get the journals, get out. Then home, Bren, safety.
But now that I’ve started, I can’t stop...
“Try it,” I spit. “Let’s see how many fingers you get back.”
His weaselly eyes narrow, jaw clenched. I can practically feel his Threads twitching around him, itching to strike. Cowards like him always want to hit something smaller—until someone’s watching. Someone like Lucien. Who’s still braced at my side.
Strannt knows it. He steps back, but not before hissing. “You better watch your back. When Veirmont gets bored of you... We’ll see how brave you are then.”
The pulsing behind my ribs claws harder, but this time I clamp my jaw shut, biting down on the inside of my cheek. If I open it again, I’m not sure what will come out. Besides, Lucien’s already tugging at my side, signalling for us to start moving again.
Leaving the square, we slip down a narrow side alley. Shattered glass litters the path ahead, buildings on either side are scorched and battered, but somehow still holding.
All but one.
One shop is just gone.
Not damaged—erased. Nothing left but blackened beams, splintered stone, and a thick layer of ash choking the air. Whatever it was... it isn’t anymore. The only thing left that even hints that a building was ever here is a single red door, barely upright.
Same shade.Same strange mark etched above the handle.
The tailor shop.
It’s strange. The rest of the alley survived—scarred, yes, but still standing. If it had been a full pass, this whole stretch would be ash. Dragons don’tpick targets,they burn everything...
I look around, but no sign of the shopkeeper. No movement inside.
No sign of Talen.
