“It’s not about that, it’s just?—”
Ezzy doesn’t bother listening to the rest—just turns, stiff-backed, shoves the door open, and storms into the Rec Hall. Rowan hesitates for a beat, then pivots and stalks off toward his health inspection.
“Cousins,” Finn mutters beside me with a shrug. “What can you do?” Then he turns and heads after Ezzy.
As we step inside the air hits hard. It’s cold and stale, heavy with sweat, blood, and something older.Death. Not fresh, but present. Seeping from the walls.
The Rec Hall is round with a wide red sparring mat stretching across the centre. Its thick edges fraying from too many bodies hitting too hard, too often. Stone benches curve around it in clean concentric rings, no backs, no desks, nodistractions. The hall is built for one thing only. Just the mat. Just the fight.
Finn steps forward, but I freeze.
Not because of the room, but because it’s not just Professor Strannt standing on the mat. It’s both of them. Father and son. Two Weasels.
Professor Strannt, Weasel Senior, is in standard dark blue teaching robes, talking to two cadets. Beside him, arms crossed and eyes already sweeping the room like he’s hunting something, huntingme, stands his officer son, Strannt.
Fuck.
No duck, no Rowan, no Ezzy. Just Finn, cracking fingers at my side and my magic, currently burning its way upward, aching for the next excuse to explode.
I thought the officers were out on patrol all day, but he’s here. Great.
Tension, magic, bleeds through me in hot little pulses as my stomach knots, but I exhale through my nose, steady myself.
He hasn’t seen me yet, if I move quick, if I just slide into the crowd, behind the taller cadets, I might just?—
“Lyra! Up here!” Ezzy’s voice cuts across the room like a whip.
God-fucking-dammit, Ezzy.
Strannt snaps his head towards me. The surge hits hard, raw and instinctive, like my Threads want to strike without asking. I can’t keep a lid on this much longer, but still, I do what I can, clench my jaw, fists trembling, I push it down deeper.
Strannt peels off from the mat without a word but I clock the movement too late. One second, he’s standing by his father, all scowl and tension. The next, he’s right in front of me.
“Oh, I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again, Bloom.” His voice is low, laced with satisfaction. “I enjoyed your little show with Veirmont yesterday. Very much.” A pause. “Did youenjoy it too, knowing I was watching from the other side of the door?”
Finn stiffens beside me as a flicker of heat scrapes up my spine—disgust, rage, magic, all wound so tight I don’t know which is stronger.But I steady myself, and give it back to him.
“Didn’t realise weasels had such long-term memory.”
His lips tighten, just barely, but ego nicked.
“Well,” he replies, stepping closer, “I’ve been doing a bit of research. Turns out, you’ve got more weak spots than I thought... Got some useful information from a surprising source. Very much looking forward towatchingtoday’s Demonstrations...”
Shit. What did he hear? Who did he talk to?
Acid rises in my throat—the kind that hits right before you throw up, bolt, or in my case explode from magic. But I don’t let it show, don’t give him the satisfaction.
“If you’re trying to scare me, you’ll have to try harder than that,” I say, tilting my head. “So go ahead,lookall you want, must be a thrill watching a girl without having to beg… or pay.”
His jaw ticks, and for a second, his eyes flick to something behind me before snapping back to mine. “Don’t flatter yourself, you look like shit today.” His mouth curls. “Not sleeping well? Missing your duck? Been dreaming of me?”
Before I can spit something back, Finn steps in, loud, defensive, zero filter.
“You wish,” he huffs. “She’s not losing sleep overyou... a certain officer starting with V, maybe... but definitely not you.”
My Threads practically ignite, crackling in my ear as Strannt’s expression curdles into something ugly.
God, Finn. He’s bloody perfect for Ezzy. Neither of them has the slightest grasp of timing, or when to shut up.
