I was already moving, already putting distance between us before I said what I was thinking: Choose. Me or them. Make it simple.
Because if I stayed, I’d force the choice. And she’d choose wrong.
Better to walk away first.
Train? Elio’s eyebrow rose. You’ve been training nonstop for a month. Rivera said you’ve practically taken up residence in the combat hall.
Then one more session won’t hurt.
I was already past them, my fire building hotter with every second I stayed.
Cyrus, wait… Marigold’s voice followed me into the corridor.
I didn’t wait. Couldn’t wait. If I stopped, if I had to stand there and pretend I was fine with this, I’d break something. Possibly myself.
Welcome back, I called over my shoulder without looking at her. I’ll see you at dinner.
The corridor outside felt too narrow. My fire licked along the stone walls as I strode toward the training facilities.
I’d believed one evening of acceptance had fundamentally changed who I was. Made me capable of sharing and trusting and all the mature emotional regulation this situation required.
But a month alone had stripped away that temporary clarity, leaving me with nothing but raw truth: I wanted her.
All of her.
In a way that was absolute and possessive and completely incompatible with what she was offering.
3
Marigold
FIVE MINUTES AGO, THIS HAD felt like home.
Now I was standing just inside the royal dorm’s common room, coat still on, staring at the door Cyrus had just fled through. Keane had taken my duffel—of course he had—like we’d all agreed to pretend things were fine.
They weren’t.
I reached for the chain at my neck—just the chain, not the ring. Not today. The cold metal caught between my fingers, thin and steady, something to hold on to.
The room looked the same as always. The fire crackled in the massive hearth. Cyrus’s leather chair sat angled toward it, untouched. The dark wood panels gleamed like always as the velvet drapes let in clean winter light. Everything here whispered money, power, and legacy.
And I felt like an intruder. Again.
Like last semester all over again—when I’d just found out I was a witch, when they called me half-breed behind my back, when I couldn’t take a step in here without feeling the weight of everything I wasn’t. Poor. Wrong. Other.
I hadn’t expected him to run. Not really. But maybe part of me had. Guys left when things got hard. I just didn’t think he’d do it so fast.
Well, Elio said, finally breaking the silence. He dropped onto the velvet couch, Echo’s scales flickering between anxious yellows and confused blues. That could have gone better.
Don’t. My voice came out sharper than I meant. Don’t make excuses for him.
Keane and Elio exchanged a look—that wordless kind that meant they’d talked about this already. About him. About me. My stomach twisted.
We weren’t going to, Keane said softly.
I sat down beside Elio on the couch.
What I want to happen next, I muttered, my eyes on my scuffed boots, is to unpack and maybe eat something that isn’t airport food. What’s probably going to happen is Cyrus setting more things on fire and me lying awake wondering what I did wrong.
