“You know,” he starts, hands in pockets, looking down, pacing. “I didn’t always hate Outerlanders. When I was a kid, I used to shadow my father on patrols. He was an officer. One of the best the Citadel had ever seen. I wanted to be just like him.”His jaw flexes, and a surge of magic ripples through me. “But one day on a routine trip, delivering rations to the Outerlands, he was ambushed. He hid me, but they got him. Smashed his legs to a pulp. Couldn’t walk right after that. His whole future—gone. Never got a chance to become the officer he was meant to be. Now he’s stuck here teaching Non-Magical Combat to a bunch of half-trained brats in a mouldy classroom.”
He lifts his eyes to mine as he takes a step towards me. Cold, damp stone meets my back as I shift away, keeping as much distance as I can between me and this fucking weasel.
“That’s the day I figured it out.” He continues. “How ungrateful you all are. How lucky you were that we even brought you, still bring you, those rations. You didn’t fight. Didn’t sign the treaty. We should’ve left you to rot.” A beat. His voice hardens. “But I won’t waste what he gave up. If my father couldn’t be the best officer in the Citadel. I will be.” Bile rises sharp in my throat, gut twisting, Threads turning feral as his gaze drags over me. “And it starts with doing my job properly. It starts withyou.”
Breath starts coming fast, too fast, like my lungs can’t pull enough air. I don’t even mean to call them—but my magic moves anyway, stirring behind my ribs, blooming in my chest, bleeding down my arms, to my fingers, like they can sense what’s coming.
I could end it. Right now.
Let it out. Let the magic off the leash. Burn him from the inside out before he even lays a hand on me.
But if I do... I’ll go down with him.
Still, the thought of his weaselly hands touching me?—
My body stiffens in one tight pull, muscles gathering hard and my fingers tightening into a fist with it. Magic writhes under my skin like it’s begging to be chosen.
Fine, let it come.
Strannt takes a step closer. I don't flinch. All I can think is:
Touch me.
I dare you.
Then—
A cough, dry and mocking, behind me. Strannt stiffens, I turn following his gaze.
“Hate to break up that touching little memory, Strannt…” The troll is gone, but in his place stands someone leaner, taller. More dangerous.Talen.
Braced in the doorway, arms flexed, he flicks his gold talisman in that same lazy rhythm. Black training gear back on, eyes locked on Strannt. Shoulders loose, but every inch of him hums with restrained violence.
Strannt shifts, just a step, but it’s a step back.
“Oh no, don’t stop on my account. I was enjoying the performance.” Talen’s mouth curves, cruel and amused. “Though I am curious… why you’re in myinterrogation cell?” A pause. His voice drops, lower now, to something more possessive. “Didn’t Lucien warn you not to touch what’smine?”
Strannt’s jaw twitches, recovering too fast. “I was just warming her up for you, you know…”
“No, I don’t know.” Talen’s head tilts. “Enlighten me.”
Strannt opens his mouth. “Well, I was just?—”
The talisman stops. Talen’s hand snaps shut, trapping the coin mid-motion and with it—Strannt’s voice.
“Actually,” Talen says, voice flat, bored, as he steps into the cell. “I’ve decided I don’t want to know. You’ve already lingered long enough. It’s time to leave.”
A sudden gasp as Strannt drags in a breath—Talen opens his palm, releases the talisman, and his voice.
For a moment Strannt hesitates, but Talen just takes another step forward.
“Fine,” the Weasel hisses. “Never had a taste for Outerlanders anyway, she’s all yours.” He turns for the door, but halfway there, glances back over his shoulder. “We’ll be listening,” he adds, voice like oil. “First time can sting a little... but you’ll get used to it. Just try not to enjoy it too much.”
He leaves.
The door closes, lock clicks.
And I’m alone.
