“Ezzy’s duck’s in my bag,” I whisper through clenched teeth, turning to Rowan with no damn clue what I’m supposed to do about it. “And if they find it, take it, I don’t know how long I can hold my magic down.”
His eyes meet mine, just for a heartbeat, and I catch it: a flicker of worry. God, ifhe’sworried...
Then, without a word, he shifts his gaze forward and extends his hand beside me. Palm up, a silent offer. My fingers twitch toward the pack, the duck. Butif they catch him?—
“Lyra Bloom.” I pull my hand back, fast, as an officer steps right in front of me. Big. Solid. Looks like a bloody troll. Thick neck, squared jaw, arms like he could snap steel. “Room Five. Now.”
Dread snaps tight in my chest a second too late and any illusion of choice shatters fast as the officer grabs my arm, yanking me out of Rowan’s grip and hauling me across the chamber.
My ankle screams on impact, barely able to keep up. Each step sending a sharp jolt up my leg. Then he stops—sudden and hard—and I stumble forward, catching myself a breath before I slam into the door ahead.
Yanking my arm free, I turn to look him straight in the eyes. Just long enough to remind him I’m not nothing. But he doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t even notice. Instead, the troll just starts talking, reciting words with the dull precision of someone who’s said them a hundred times before.
“An officer will now conduct a full search of your body for any concealed weapons or contraband brought in from your training assignment. You will comply with all their requests.”
Then another voice from across the chamber, louder, rougher:
“Strip her all the way. Outerlanders love hiding things where they shouldn’t.”
Laughter follows.My magic surges up in response, a single Thread slips loose, crackling at my fingers. I clamp down hard, curling my hands into fists before it can spark any further.
Pricks.
I could say something back, something barbed. Hell, I could even let my Threads out, right here, right now, god knows they’re clawing to escape after today.That would slice through the room, wipe the smirks off their faces in a second.
But we all know what happens when I let my emotions control my magic, it’s not just them that will get hit... Plus if I lash out now, if I give them even a hint of threat, they’ll just search me harder. They’ll check the bag. They’ll find the duck. And I don’t know what will happen if they do.
So I swallow it down. The heat in my throat, the burning behind my skin. The instinct to fight. And I look the troll straight in the eyes.
“Let’s get this over with,” I hiss.
A low groan scrapes from the door’s hinges as the troll pushes it wide. And there, waiting in the dark, are two eyes.
Small. Weaselly. Gleaming with delight.
“My lucky day. I’ve always had a thing for redheads.”Strannt. “Remind me again what you said earlier? Something about your mouth and my fingers?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Fucking weasel.There is no way in hell I’m letting those hands go anywhere near me, but a quick, hard shove from behind forces me forward through the door.
“Move.” The troll grunts.
Wincing, I stumble forward into the cell, doing my best not to let Strannt see the strain in my step—or how close I am to breaking, as his gaze drags over every inch of me. Still, a shiver slides down my spine before I can stop it.
Short hair, militant cut. Small chin, mean mouth. He looks like the type who’d kill a girl just for saying no.
Okay. Shit.Think.
My eyes sweep the room. Stone walls rise around me, cold and bare. A single candle flickers weakly on a ledge, stuttering like it’s gasping for air.
No furniture. No exits. Just stone, and Strannt.
A deep pulse kicks hard beneath my ribs—heartbeat, magic, tangled and climbing fast, like smoke with teeth, hungry for release. For something tobite.
I swallow hard. Just get through the inspection. Keep the duck hidden and don’t let him get close, don’t let him touch you.And for the love of god, don’t let the magic tear you apart from the inside out before he gets the chance.
Easy. Sure.
