Only then does Lucien seem to clock me. His gaze drags over my face, then drops, not with concern. Just calculation.
“You should be thanking this guy, just saved your fucking life.” He turns back to Talen. “Putting yourself in front ofthatdragon, likethat...” A scoff. “Especially for an Outerlander. I would’ve just let her burn.”
What? Itwashim? My head snaps to Talen. He distracted the dragon? Why? That makes no sense.
But he doesn’t move, doesn’t look at me.
My mouth opens—to ask, to demand something—but before I get the chance, Strannt storms in, dragging Ryven by the collar like a prize catch. He lookspleasedwith himself.
Lucien snaps first. “What do you want, Strannt?”
Strannt barely hears him, his weaselly eyes are already locked on mine, practically gleaming.
“This one,” he says, shaking Ryven by the scruff. “Just told me our little redheaded Outerlander here tried to bolt. Said she ran off just before the dragon hit.” A beat. “And we all know the punishment for abandonment…”
Shit, they know.
A jolt lashes up my spine, fear, this time for real. I don’t know where it’s been, but it’s back. And it’s loud. Cold sweat breaks across my skin, like my body’s only just remembered we’re not safe.
How the fuck am I getting out of?—
“You’re mistaken,” Talen cuts in across the cell. “I was with her the whole time, and I would’ve known if she had tried anything asfoolishas that.” He pushes off the wall, pacing toward Strannt with the kind of slow, surgical precision that makes him flinch. “So next time you barge in, wasting our time, make sure your facts are straight first.” He stops in front of him. Glances down at Ryven, one second, maybe less. “And ifhe’scaught lying again…” A corner of his lip pulls. “Next time, he won’t have a tongue to lie with.” Then he turns to Lucien without missing a beat. “She’s done here. Get her out.”
He doesn't wait for a reply. Just cuts through them both, no eye contact, no pause, just gone. And I stand there, useless, trying to catch up.
He risked himself to call off a dragon. Then lied to Strannt’s face, to Lucien, forme... Why?
The air feels wrong in my lungs, too thick. My Threads stir, uneasy. I can’t make it add up. None of it makes sense, but I don’t get the time to process anything, because Strannt shoves Ryven out the door, muttering something under his breath about him being a lying piece of shit, and turns his full attention to me, eyes disapproving, disappointed.
But there’s no way I’m staying in here a second longer than I have to. My magic isn’t throwing a full-blown tantrum—quieter than it should be, considering the situation—but it’s close. So I limp over and grab my pack, the duck clunks against my shoulder as I sling it over.
Strannt’s eyes narrow. “Let me see that.”
Fuck. No, no, no. I was so close.
Shit. Maybe if I play it off, like I don’t know what it is. Just a stupid trinket. A souvenir. Something I picked up off the street and they will let me keep it.
“Come on, Bloom,” Strannt holds out his hand. “I don’t have all fucking day.”
I hesitate, eyes flicking toward the door, but Lucien’s already there, blocking it, arms folded. He nods once in agreement.
God, the longer I wait, the more suspicious this looks. So I peel the strap from my shoulder, slow, and pass the pack over.
Strannt grabs it, starts rummaging through, rough and impatient, until he hits something. I see it in his face, the moment his fingers close around it.
“Well, well, well,” he drawls, pulling out the duck like he’s just found a crown jewel. “What do we have here? Don’t remember this being Citadel protocol, a wooden duck with a missing wing? Something for bath time?”
No, it’s a fucking magical conduit keeping my bloody Threads from blowing a hole through this cell. And the wing is broken because I’m unhinged enough to dream of Talen’s mouth at my throat.
But I say nothing. Lips tight. Not a blink. Not a twitch.
“I’ll be taking this,” he says, spinning it in his palm. “Might enjoy playing with it later. Maybe I’ll even think of you.” He tosses my pack back with a smirk. “You can go now.”
I don’t wait. I don’t think. I just walk out—fast, flushed, furious, trying not to feel anything at all—but my hands are already shaking.
Shit, how long does it take Finn to hand-carve a magical duck?
Because I need a new one.Now.
