God, I’ve been clinging onto the anger, the guilt, holding onto it like it’s the only thing keeping me steady. But seeing him with Reya—touching her like that,lookingat her like that, something in me cracks open too wide to ignore.
I can’t keep hiding from this, from him. What he’s done, what I’ve done. I need to finally face it. I need to talk to him before he leaves for the Citadel again.
With my pulse picking up again, I take a step forward, and Talen does the same, but before either of us can close the distance, Merrin cuts across his path. He places a hand on Talen’s shoulder, murmurs in his ear, and angles him toward the tent.
Talen goes rigid, the tension snapping back into place as he glances over his shoulder at me—brief and unreadable—then turns and follows Merrin inside.
Disappointment sinks through me, but I force myself to swallow it down. He’s not leaving. Not yet. I can find him afterwards.
“Lyra!”
My name rings out over the crowded Briefing Tentas I step inside. I scan around until I find the source: Neeve’s hand appearing near the back, eagerly waving me over.
Weaving through the bodies, I make my way toward Neeve. The tent is packed so tightly that some people are forced to stand, leaving barely enough room to squeeze between them.
“Thanks for saving me a seat.” I flash Neeve a smile as I slide in beside her, shrugging off Talen’s flight jacket. The sides of the tent are rolled up to fight the midday heat, but it barely helps. It’s still stifling inside, the air thick with the sharp tang of sweat and nerves.
“No worries.” She pulls her long braid forward over her shoulder. “The whole camp's here so I figured it would get busy.”
We’re almost at the back, and it's hard to see past everyone’s heads, but I can still spot Talen at the front, his height giving him away, with Magda nearly matching him as they talk with Merrin.
Whatever they’re talking about seems serious, as Talen has his officer stance locked in place. I wonder if it has anything to do with the private meeting I saw them having this morning. Across from them, however, Darren and Lucien are throwing casual jabs and laughing at each other while Reya scowls at them from the side.
“Did you two manage to fix things this morning?” I ask Neeve, her attention fixed on Darren, who throws her a smile and a quick wink in a way that reminds me way too much of Rowan.
“Yeah… I think so,” she grins, not taking her gaze off him. “He’s been out on recon with Nex all morning, tracking Serrane’s scouts, but he came to find me as soon as he got back and apologised. Said he's just scared, that he’s already lost so much...”
Her fingers find the end of her braid, twisting the strands as she watches him, and my gut twists—yesterday she told me how his family were all killed in one of Serrane’s attacks on the Earth Realm last year.
“I told him we’ll talk properly after the briefing.” She goes on. “He’s really excited about Merrin announcing him as the new recruit lead, been looking forward to it for weeks, so I didn’t want to take that away from him, I’m happy to wait.”
“That’s good,” I reply, trying to sound encouraging. “I’m glad he came back and apologised.”
Maybe it’s because Darren looks so much like Rowan, or maybe it’s because she reminds me too much of myself, but I just want them to be happy.
“Okay, everyone, I will cut straight to it.” Merrin's voice booms over the chatter and everyone pivots to face forward. “Many of you have heard by now that Serrane has moved the Census up.”
The brief silence fractures as voices break out around us, loud and laced with confusion, unease spiking fast.
“Census?” I mutter to Neeve as the nervous chatter continues to rise around us.
“Yeah,” she replies, keeping her face forward and voice down. “Every hundred years the Citadel gathers up all the Innerlanders, realm by realm, to count households, log bloodlines, land, and mark down what each family owes.” Her eyes shift to mine, worry slipping through before she can stop it. “And if they can’t pay, they take people instead—Reassign them.”
“But it’s not due for another thirty-five years!” A recruit with an eye-patch shouts from the centre. “And the last time he held one—what, hundreds of people vanished? And he’s brought it forward?!”
My brows pull in. If Serrane held the last one, how old even is he?
“Correct,” Merrin nods, slipping his hands into his pockets and taking a step forward. “We believe Serrane is going to usethe Census as a way to take more people without the Citadel or the Innerlands becoming suspicious.”
“How long do we have?” Another recruit calls out.
Even from the back I catch Merrin's lips pulling thin. “Ten months.”
“Ten months!?” The recruit blurts as the noise in the room surges again. “And we don’t even know what he’s fully up to—building an army? A weapon? All we know is he’s accelerating?”
Merrin raises a hand and the commotion settles. “Our top riders—and those inside the Citadel—are risking their lives every day trying to uncover what he is doing.”
Beside me, Neeve’s fingers tighten around her braid as her eyes return to Darren.
