“Please leave your sexual frustration in your bed. If you want to go on dreaming of Kael, say so. Otherwise, again.”
Elara’s frank words hit like a bucket of ice. The woman could read her like a book—or could she in fact read her mind? It was uncanny. After a stunned moment, Alina gathered her attention, ignored her flaming cheeks and repeated the focus gesture. She drew her hands through the air, as prescribed, trying to reach for the invisible thread of power that supposedly ran through every Gifted. She could sense it, could just feel the subtle pressure behind her eyes, a migraine aura waiting to detonate, but every time she grasped at it, the sensation eluded her, retreating like a shadow at noon.
By the third repetition, sweat pooled at her temples and her breathing soured, ragged and shallow. Elara didn’t let up, didn’t even blink at the signs of exhaustion. If anything, she seemed invigorated by Alina’s struggle.
“Again,” the witch said, her voice a lash. “Stop thinking. Start doing.”
“I’m trying,” she snapped, and forced her limbs to obey.
She tried to lose herself in the motion, to silence her mind and let the Gift take over, but the harder she fought, the more her thoughts rebelled. With every failure, Elara’s commentary grew sharper, a barrage of “pathetic” and “utterly predictable” and “you’re softer than bread left in the rain.” The physical strain and the humiliation made it harder and harder to concentrate. Her emotions were all over the place.
And below it all, the memory of Kael worked its way deeper. She caught herself longing for him to be here with her—watching, perhaps, arms crossed and smile crooked, ready to catch her when she fell. It was absurd, childish even, like a little girl dreaming of her white knight, but the idea clung to her like static.
Elara pushed her harder. Now the lesson included deflection drills, forceful blocks that sent a jolt up her arms, or else failed outright and left her sprawling in the snow. Her gloves were soaked through, bones aching.
Still, Elara didn’t let up.
“You’re not a little girl anymore,” Elara said, circling around her like a hunting cat. “You have to want it, Alina. The rest is discipline.”
Alina wanted to snap back—wanted to say something, anything—but she knew it would only fuel Elara’s contempt. Theonly thing she could do was try again, so she did, until her arms numbed and her lips went pale from the cold.
She tried to remember what it had been like, days ago, when the Gift had come to her in a rush, effortless as breath. But those moments now felt foreign, as if they belonged to someone else. The harder she searched for her power, the more the lesson became a mirror for her own self-doubt.
The drills spun on, relentless and unforgiving. Alina lost track of time. Only the growing blur at the edge of her vision reminded her to blink, to breathe.
When the focus gesture finally worked, a shiver of energy rippling through the clearing and dancing in her outstretched hand for but a second, Elara let out a long-suffering sigh.
“Pathetic. I expected better from you. From what Kael tells me, you’re a quick study. Did you fool him, or are you simply too weak to show me what you really are?”
Alina froze.
Something snapped. Enough! For hours she had shoved down the insults and frustration and pain. Now, it all began to bubble and spark and heave and finally exploded in a mighty eruption, completely out of control. As if from above, she watched herself draw up, shoulders back, chin high and stalking toward Elara. In one fluid motion she raised her hands and opened her mouth and screamed, screamed, screamed, unable to stop, unable to care, unable to comprehend a single emotion other than burning rage. A wave of force ripped out from her, tearing up the hard ground, and sending a spray of frozen moss and half-thawed earth in every direction. The blast caught Elara square in the chest and threw her back, legs folding beneath her as she hit the ground with a grunt.
Silence rushed in, thick and absolute. Smoke curled upward from the scorched earth, the a lonely sapling nothing but a blackened stick.
Alina stood, arms out, chest heaving, and stared across the wrecked clearing.
Elara, stunned, pushed herself up, eyes wide and wild for the first time. Her usual mask of bored contempt was gone, replaced by something raw: fear, maybe, or respect, or the cold, certain recognition that the balance of power had shifted.
Alina let her arms fall, the ache in her body nothing compared to the new, burning thing in her veins.
For the first time all morning, Elara didn’t have a word to say.
They stared at each other across the ruined ground, smoke rising between them, the silence heavier than any insult.
Alina had finally done something that mattered, and it tasted like victory.
Night was a living thing in the Caves, greedy and full of teeth. Alina drifted through the tunnels, her muscles shivering with exhaustion, her mind still sparking from the morning’s triumph and the simmering memory of Elara’s wide, startled eyes. She should have been asleep, but the quiet set her nerves jangling. Each footstep echoed too loudly. Every torch guttered in the corner of her vision, as if someone, or something, was always a half-second from stepping out and grabbing her.
She wandered aimlessly, chasing the ghosts of her own thoughts until she nearly walked straight into a closed door where light bledout in a slim, yellow line onto the dirt. Voices snapped in the air. She ducked to the shadowed side of the frame, heart pounding, and listened.
Maven’s voice was a knife: “We need to tell her. She is a wildcard, and we need to know how she reacts.” Were they talking about her?
Kael’s reply was lower, thick with barely leashed fury. “She’s not ready. You saw what happened today.” Yes, definitely talking about her. Alina’s stomach tightened.
“Exactly! We want maximum output, but we need to know that she’s stable. We cannot use her if she burns us all to ashes.”
“She’s not a weapon for you to aim, Maven! She’s a person. And she’s at the center of this whether you admit it or not.”
