Page 53 of The Witch They Fear

I turn the other direction.

"Miss Dellaby—"

"I'm going home, Corvin."

He hesitates. Then follows.

We walk back to the cottage in silence. I unlock the door, close it behind me, and stand at the kitchen sink running cold water over my forearms until the sting dulls to a throb. The burns are ugly—raw, blistered, my own fingerprints seared into my skin in perfect detail.

The infirmary could fix them. Vampire blood, healing tonics, whatever this place keeps in its arsenal of making things look like they never happened. But I don't want them to look like they never happened. I want to see them every morning when I roll up my sleeves. I want to remember what I'm capable of—not the power, not the fire.

The choice. The moment I decided to burn myself instead of burning him.

I lay back on the bed and groan.

Maybe I can just stay in my cottage forever. They can’t make me attend classes and training, right?

The fail safe hums in the back of my neck.

Oh, right.

Chapter 10

Aamon never came for me.

I skipped our session yesterday. Sat in my cottage with the stone in my lap and the bandages on my arms and waited for the knock. The vampire-speed arrival. The low, level Miss Dellaby through the door. The professional insistence that my attendance is mandatory, that my training takes priority, that my compliance is not optional.

Nothing.

No knock. No door. No voice. Just the hum of the wards and the mockingbird outside and the slow realization that the man who dropped to his knees beside me and held my magic in his hands had decided, apparently, that I wasn't worth chasing.

Suit yourself.

Maybe that's all it ever was. A dismissal dressed as restraint. Maybe Leyonna's conversation hit home and he's recalibrated—reset to factory settings, thumb back on the button, the mirroring and the hands and the what happens in this room stays in this room filed under temporary lapse in judgment.

I should be relieved. I told him not to touch me. I ran from his office. I left his training room with handprints burned into my own skin because I'd rather set myself on fire than let him close enough to help.

So why does his absence feel like a door closing?

Like he already gave up on me too.

Stop. You wanted this. You got it. Move on.

I wrap the bandages tighter around my forearms—gauze I found under the bathroom sink, wound in careful layers to cover the burns without pressing too hard. The skin underneath is raw and tender, the blisters weeping through the fabric. Every time I bend my arms the gauze pulls and the pain flares and I let it because I chose this.

I chose to keep these wounds rather than cure them and I stand by that decision.

I have to remember how dangerous I can be.

The resonance stone sits on my nightstand. I leave it there.

I grab my bag—new one, canvas, borrowed from Nellie—and head to combat class because Midus doesn't care about my emotional state and the training field doesn't have feelings.

Perhaps I can shove mine down and not think about them either.

The fog is lighter today. The field opens up in pale morning gold, the low stone walls catching the early light, the equipment racks casting long shadows. Students are already assembling. Zeva takes her post at the wall, thermos in hand. Corvin's day off.

Kage is at his usual spot by the weapons rack. Arms crossed. Scar pulling his lip. Storm-blue eyes tracking the students with that wolf-watching-sheep attention. He sees me walk onto the field and his gaze holds for a beat—heavy, unreadable—before sliding away.