But if I’m going to do that, first I need a new bloody duck?—
Grabbing the towel, I dry off—skin raw from scrubbing so hard—and head back to the dorm, getting straight into bed. A second later, the door creaks behind me and Ezzy slips in, so I grab my mum’s journal and pull the covers over before she realises I’m still awake.
Alinor Bloom, Second Year Cadet, Entry #23
I keep telling myself it’s still worth it. That all of this—the rules, the obedience, the silence—is protecting something larger than any one life.
But lately, that belief feels harder to reach. Like something I’ve memorised, not something I still trust. People are disappearing. Being Reassigned. I want to believe it’s for treason, for wrongdoing, but I can’t shakethe feeling that maybe it’s just for control… or something else.
They say as long as we follow the Codex, as long as we obey, the peace holds.
I want to believe that. I need to believe that.
Because if it’s not true—if the system we’ve sworn ourselves to is rotting beneath the gold and banners—then I’ve helped build a lie.
So I follow orders. I stay silent. I tell myself I’m protecting something greater.
But some nights I lie awake, wondering who I’m really protecting....
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lungs tired, ankle burning, I burst into the lecture theatre—already packed by the time I get there. I’m still half-running when I hit the doors, chest tight, heat prickling down my spine.
It’s the first Thread Theory class of the semester. Ezzy probably sprinted down here at dawn, armed with colour-coded quills, already halfway through next week’s reading, while I, on the other hand, overslept.
I'm running late, sure, but the only thing that matters right now is finding Finn and getting a new duck before my magic finishes what yesterday started and turns me into a walking time bomb.
The itch is deep now, the kind that starts beneath the sternum and builds slow.
Weird thing is, even though my magic’s waking, it feels... sluggish. There’s definitely a tantrum brewing, it always does, but it’s not the full-blown meltdown I expected after yesterday’s firestorm.
My ankle throbs as I step deeper inside, scanning the crowd for Finn. Definitely not ideal for Non-Magical Combat this afternoon.
Like all the halls, the room fans out in steep amphitheatre rows. Everyone’s in fresh black uniforms, it smells like pressed laundry and old books, with just a trace of leather and nerves.
Ten rows up, right-hand side, I catch a flash of Ezzy’s hair. But no Finn.Shit.
Hate to admit it, but I actually kind of missed her this morning. Talking too fast, asking too many questions, filling up the space with something other than my own thoughts. Would’ve helped. Would’ve been grounding. Especially after last night’s nightmares.
Same as always, him, me, the tunnels. Except now it’s more vivid. Like my brain’s decided it’d be fun to start stitching fantasy to yesterday’s memory.
A spark flares deep, my Threads, pressure building. But no, now that I’m awake, I get to take the reins.
So I shove the images back and grab for something solid.
The note in my pocket.
Left by my bed this morning, folded neat, six plain words:We need to talk. After class.No stars, no hearts. Just Ezzy’s careful handwriting, stripped of its usual enthusiasm. That’s what makes it worse.
What the hell am I supposed to tell her? I’ve already lied about the truce. Talen made it crystal clear—tell no one. But Ezzy’s not stupid. She’ll ask. About yesterday, about the dragon.
Does she get the edited version? Just the bits that sound like training accidents and bad luck?I don’t even know what any of it means yet. And I don’t want to drag her into something I can’t untangle.Rowan said she needs protecting. But if I say nothing, and it gets her hurt?
Maybe she won’t ask... I just keep my mouth shut long enough, just enough, so I can figure it out before she even realises. No lies, just avoid the truth... She’ll forgive that. Right? She has to.
A hard knock to my shoulder, sharper than necessary. Ryven. Toothpick wedged between his teeth, grin already loaded with trouble. He doesn’t go around me, just goes through me. Then stops, just long enough to drag his shit-eating eyes over me.
“I got plans for you later, Outerlander.” His mouth curls. “And lucky for me I’ve got a front row seat.”
