Withhim.
Again.
The rhythm in my chest doesn’t ease, it quickens, syncing now to the pulse of magic flickering low in my gut, twitchy, overheated. Like it’s bracing for something worse. And yeah, maybe it is... Talen’s more dangerous than Strannt—smarter, colder, controlled in a way that sets every nerve on edge.
But that’s not the only reason my heart won’t settle.
Not the only reason my magic’s flaring harder now.
He takes a step forward and the air around me thickens, tight and unmoving, except for the faint current slipping through the grated slit above the door, carrying the rhythmic clatter of movement from the chamber outside.
For a moment, he just stares, and then another quick flick of his wrist and the outside noise is gone.
Even my own breath vanishes.
The only sound left ishim.
But my chest still pounds, deep and heavy, each thud pressing up through bone like it wants out.
I’m not ready for this. I don't want this.
I’ve faced blades, starved through winters, watched neighbours bleed out on the street. But this, this is different. This is danger wearing the face that’s been haunting my fucking dreams all week.
“Don’t worry,” Talen says, face unreadable, blank, but something’s shifted in his eyes. No hunger there. No softness, either. Just something else. “Strannt can’t hear you now.”
Magic flares—panic, anger, hatred, and something darker, deeper—all of it crashing up at once as he takes another step closer. I almost let it go, with Strannt, all of it, was ready to burn him down. But this one? He’d survive it. Probably smile while I died trying. So no, my Threads aren’t an option anymore.
Cocking his head, he takes another step. “But they can still see in... So I’m going to have to put on a bit of a show.”
My throat tightens, hands curl tight. I open my mouth, ready to spit something venom-laced, but nothing comes out. My tongue’s frozen, not numb, held.
He’s close now. Too close.
The air between us barely exists. What little there is smells like damp stone and iron dust, but under that—him. It coils into my nose and settles at the base of my spine.
“You’re just lucky I’m the one doing this and nothim.” He says as the grip on my tongue vanishes.
I suck in a hard breath as he takes one last step forward, closing the final gap between us. Then—louder, clearer—no softness this time. Just pure command, cold and firm:
“Now turn and face the wall.”
For a second, neither of us move. Silence stretches as he just stares, eyes pinning mine while my chest rises, heavy and uneven, almost brushing his.
God, I should be furious, should be more scared, ready to claw my way out. I was, a moment ago. But now... I’m not. Even my Threads, which were screaming beneath my skin, burning to lash out—ease, not by much
And that’s the trick, isn’t it. This is what he does, how the Nightrose works. Draws you in slow while the teeth stay hidden.
Still, I don’t move, can’t, the order’s simple, but no way in hell am I giving him my back.
“This isn’t a game you want to play, Bloom,” he warns, mouth curling.
My eyes narrow, jaw sets, heart still pounding, but I don’t shift, just let him see exactly what my silence means.
So he moves for me, quick and hard. One hand on my hip, the other clamps down on my shoulder. I twist, try to shove him off, but he’s already turning me, dragging me off balance. My ankle catches mid-spin, pain lancing up my leg, and then he slams me into the wall, knocking a sharp gasp from my lungs.
Somewhere behind me, my pack hits the floor with a heavy thud.
Shit, the duck.
