Too fast.
Too hard.
And straight for one of the makeshift support poles.
Shit, shit, shit.
For a heartbeat I consider letting him go, letting him bleed?—
Let them fear me.
But fear isn’t the same thing as respect.
Before he hits, my Earth Threads lash out on instinct and a wooden chair answers, ripping across the ground, legs scraping dirt, and sliding beneath him at the last possible second.
Lee slams into it with a brutal crack. The impact jars through my shoulder as the chair skids, wood splintering beneath him, but I tense every muscle and hold firm, lungs burning until finally it grinds to a stop.
My chest rises fast and heavy while he sits there, stunned, his eyepatch knocked sideways to reveal the hollow scar beneath,and around us the other cadets stare, just as startled, their silence pressing in like they’re waiting for me to finish the blow.
Lifting his hand to his face, Lee drags his patch into place. “You holding back on me?” he mutters.
Magic still crackling at my fingertips, I hold his gaze. “I’m trying to teach you,” I hiss quietly. “Notbury you.”
His expression flickers—anger, maybe, or shame—but it’s gone too quickly to name. Then, with a huff, he pushes himself upright, shoulders stiff, and limps through the watching recruits without another word.
Filling my lungs, I shake out my hands, trying to bleed off the tension still buzzing through my veins and knot what’s left of my Threads before they can flare again, then turn to face the rest of the tent.
“So.” I exhale. “Who wants to go next and learn hownotto end up like Lee?”
Silence.
It hooks under my ribs and pins the next breath in place.
Fifty sets of eyes stay fixed on me, but no one moves.
Brilliant.
Maybe I did scare them. Maybe now they’re all glaring at me like I’m some crazy person who can’t control her own magic.
Then, right at the front, Neeve slowly raises her hand.
A beat later, the recruit behind her does the same.
“Screw it,” someone in the middle mutters, pushing to their feet.
And just like that, the room shifts.
“That was a good session today, Lyra,”Magda notes, catching me the second the last recruit walks away and bending down until she’s eye level with me. “This isn’t an easy crowd to winover. Then again I suppose a group of rebels was never going to be easy.”
Glancing around the tent, I can’t stop a grin from forming as I watch the last few recruits drift out, each one passing Ahria on their way.
At least five stayed behind after I’d finished, asking more questions instead of slipping away the second they were dismissed. I would have stayed longer, gone through every single one if Magda hadn’t needed the space cleared for a meeting with some of the riders.
Which suits me more than I want to admit.
Because as much as I want to hold onto the fact that people finally listened to me—actually listened—part of my mind has already drifted to the golden metal flower tucked under my bed, and whether Talen has replied.
“Sorry about the mess.” I scratch behind my neck, fingers catching against the itchy wool of the sweater as I notice the potato sacks scattered across the floor.
