When I sleep—when I actually sleep—my dreams are clearer than they used to be. I see flashes of movement through the woods, hear the low growl of a wolf too far away to reach. Sometimes I wake with Cade’s name on my lips and the taste of ash in my mouth. I tell myself none of it means anything important, but part of me wonders if it’s something else.
If he’s calling to me, or I’m calling to him.
If our bond is stronger than I’ve yet to understand, or even truly feel.
Either way, the connection’s fractured. And I can’t fix it from here. But I know I want to. Every day away from Cade has made me miss him more. I barely got to know him before I left, but my heart, even without mywolf whispering her encouragement, knows what it wants.
And that’s Cade.
I want to know everything about him. I want to feel his lips against mine again. I want his arms holding me so tightly that I can’t tell where he begins and I end.
I know this with every fiber of my being because those moments are all I can think about when I close my eyes.
They’re what I’m fighting for.
So, I train. I learn. I pretend this is control, not survival. I let Malrik think he’s shaping me into something obedient and useful, because if I don’t, the helplessness will eat me alive.
If I’ve learned anything in this place, it’s that pretending is its own kind of power.
Which is exactly what I remind myself of as I approach the training hall on day eight of being gone and the doors swing open on their own—dramatic, as always. The air inside bites colder than usual, sharp and metallic, tinged with ozone and poor decisions.
Malrik is already there, waiting in the center of the room like a storm in human form—hands clasped behind his back, eyes piercing yet unreadable. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Justwatches.
“Morning,” I say dryly. “Or is it night? Hard to tell when your murder castle doesn’t believe in windows.”
He doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t. The runes beneath his feet flicker once, and before I can roll my eyes, the air ignites.
A surge of an opaque force slams toward me—pure energy, bright as lightning and twice as fast. Instinct takesover. I throw up my arm, half expecting to die, half furious that this is how he chooses to say good morning.
The power hits, searing through my palm, but instead of burning, it bends—curling around me, sinking into my skin. The impact drives me back a step, but I stay standing. Barely. My heart’s pounding like it’s trying to break out of my ribs.
“Really, Malrik?” I snap, breathless but unbroken. “Is this your idea of foreplay, or are you just bad at people skills?”
He lowers his hand, unbothered. “If you were anyone else, you’d already be dead.”
“Wow.” I tilt my head, mockingly impressed. “Compliment of the year. You’re really nailing this whole ‘motivational mentor’ thing.”
My sarcasm has only gotten sharper since I arrived. Since I can’t stab him with something physical, I’ve settled for doing it with words. Keeps me sane. Keeps me from testing how killable he might actually be. For now.
“I call it incentive,” he says coolly, as the air around him steadies, but his gaze doesn’t. “Your reaction was faster this time. Though you didn’t absorb. You redirected. Interesting.”
I flex my fingers, watching the faint shimmer where his magic kissed my skin. “You could’ve justaskedme to try. You don’t have to be such a psychotic overachiever about it.”
“You learn best when you’re forced to adapt,” he replies smoothly. “And control isn’t granted. It’s earned.”
I snort. “You know, most people use coffee andencouragement. You used attempted homicide. Very on brand.”
He nods toward the center of the room, where a crystalline sphere flickers to life between us, suspended in the air. “Now again. This time with precision.”
I cross my arms, muttering, “You say that like you didn’t just throw lightning at my face.” But I step forward anyway. Because as much as I hate him, he’s right about one thing—control is earned. And I’m not planning on dying stupid.
The sphere pulses in midair, pale light rippling beneath its surface like liquid moonlight. It hums softly, a low, melodic sound that fills the silence between us.
“Pretty,” I mutter. “What is it? A magic stress ball? Because you’re really starting to give me reasons to need one.”
“Focus,” Malrik says, the word cutting through the room like a command carved from ice. “Draw from it. Then give it back.”
I blink at him. “You say that like I have a manual on how to play supernatural hot potato.”
