Jade
“The Fire of Phlegethon burns differently than normal fire,” Logan explains, positioning himself beside the third bowl. The liquid inside glows orange-red, like molten metal. “It attacks the soul, not the body. You’ll feel it everywhere.”
“Comforting.” I stare at the glowing surface, already feeling phantom heat crawling over my skin.
My electricity crackles in response.
“The pain will feel personal.” His eyes are haunted, as if he’s speaking from experience. “Like it knows exactly where you’re already wounded and is aiming straight for those spots.”
“So, what’s the trick? How do I survive a full minute of soul torture?”
“There’s no trick.” He moves behind me, close enough that I can feel his warmth against my back. “Just endurance. But I’ll count for you, and I’ll be right here, anchoring you the entire time.”
I swallow hard and flex my fingers, trying to psych myself up. “Okay,” I say. “Just stick my hand in the torture bowl and let it burn my soul for an entire minute. Easy. No problem.”
“Jade—”
“I’m joking.” I’m not. But when have I ever been ready for anything at this cursed academy? “Let’s just do this before I lose my nerve.”
Before he can reply, I take a deep breath and plunge my hand into the molten liquid.
The pain hits like a freight train to the soul, a scream tears from my throat, and the ground moves beneath my feet.
“I’ve got you.” Logan’s arms wrap around my waist, holding me upright. “It’s been five seconds so far. You’re doing great.”
Great? I can’t even scream properly. And it’s only been five seconds?
The fire races through me like electricity in reverse, tearing instead of energizing. It finds every doubt, every fear, every moment I’ve hated myself, and sets them ablaze.
“Ten seconds.” Logan’s breath is warm against my ear. “Focus on my voice. Just my voice.”
But focusing is impossible when my soul is being flayed.
The fire finds the rejection letters, the friends who abandoned me, the boyfriend who broke up with me via text and replaced me the next day with the girl I thought was my best friend.
It finds the parents who only loved my potential.
The sister who was everything I wanted to be but never was.
It burns through every moment I’ve felt worthless, bringing them to the surface until they’re the only things that are real anymore.
“Fifteen seconds.” Logan’s voice echoes in my mind, and I’m miraculously able to take a breath that doesn’t char my lungs. “You’re so strong, Jade. Stronger than you know.”
My free hand claws at his arm where it wraps around my waist, needing something real to hold onto as I drown in fire, every breath scorching my lungs until I’m not sure I can breathe anymore.
“I’m here,” he murmurs, and somehow, it’s like he’s shielding the deepest parts of me from the worst of the burn. “Twenty seconds. Almost halfway.”
Halfway? A hysterical laugh bubbles up from my throat. Because I’m going to die. My soul’s going to be burned to ash by dead witch fire while Logan holds my disintegrating body.
“Look at me.” He moves around me, keeping me steady the entire time, and turns my face toward his with his free hand. “Eyes on mine.”
His storm-gray eyes are steady and certain in a way that cuts through the pain. An anchor in the agony. And somehow, impossibly, meeting his gaze lessens the burn. Not the pain—that’s still excruciating—but the feeling that I’m disappearing into it and will never rise again.
“Thirty seconds. You’re doing perfectly.”
I want to argue that I’m a disaster who can’t control her own magic, that there’s nothing perfect about falling apart while ancient soul-fire eats me alive, but all that comes out is a whimper.
“I know it hurts.” His thumb strokes my cheek, and the tenderness almost breaks me. “But you’re halfway done. You can do this. Stay with me.”
“I can’t,” I gasp, and I mean it. The pain is too much, too personal, and too accurate in its cruelty.
“Yes, you can.” His forehead presses against my temple. “Because you’re not alone. I’m right here, and I’m not letting go. Ever.”
His words calm me enough that I’m able to keep my hand in the bowl. And just when I think it can’t get worse, just when I think I’ve hit the bottom of this particular hell, the fire finds new places to burn.
The loneliness of being different. The fear that I’ll never belong. The overwhelming anxiety that everyone who gets close to me will eventually leave, that no one ever cared about me at all, and that when all is said and done, there’ll be no one left in the world I can trust.
Is there anyone right now I can fully trust?
I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t think so.
And that might be what burns the most.
“Forty seconds,” Logan says, and I realize he’s trembling, too. “You’re nearly there.”
My vision blurs. Black spots dance at the edges. Tears stream down my face. But Logan’s arms remain steady around me, his presence somehow sharing the load. It’s like his soul is wrapping around mine, taking some of the pain into himself so it doesn’t burn me quite so much.
“Fifteen more seconds. We’ve got this.”
We. Not you. We.
The distinction matters more than it should. Because when was the last time someone stood with me like this? When was the last time someone saw me break apart and didn’t walk away?
Never. No one’s ever done something like this for me before, stayed with me when I hit rock bottom and didn’t leave.
It makes me grip his arm tighter, lean back into his chest, and trust that he won’t let me fall.
“Fifty seconds.” His lips are near my ear now, his voice soft. “Ten more. Just ten more seconds with me.”
The last ten seconds stretch like hours as the fire finds the deepest hurt—the fear that I’m fundamentally wrong.
That my magic marks me as something that shouldn’t exist. That this secret will slowly eat me alive until there’s nothing left of me.
That everyone I ever cared about will turn against me and leave me isolated and alone.
“Five... four... three... two... one.”
The instant Logan finishes counting, I yank my hand from the bowl so fast I nearly elbow him in the stomach.
The absence of pain is so shocking I gasp, my legs giving out as I sag against him.
“You did it.” His hands cup my face, his thumbs wiping away tears that won’t stop.
The soul burn is gone, but I’m raw and exposed, like all my defenses burned away with the fire’s pain. Shame floods through me at the realization that Logan can see straight through to every ugly, broken part of me. The parts I’ve tried and failed to hide from everyone for my entire life.
But even though he was with me through all of it…
he’s not leaving. At least, not yet. He’s not giving up on me and telling me to forget the trials, and the training, and taking back his offer to help me keep my secret.
He’s not scared of me for the dark thoughts I can’t always control, or disappointed in me for not being the person he thought I was on the surface—the fun, carefree version I try to project to the world.
And most surprisingly? If the way he’s looking at me holds any real weight, he seems to care more because of it.
“That was...” I try to find words, but my brain feels scrambled. “That was fucking awful.”
A surprised laugh escapes him. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Is there another way? Because I’d love to hear the positive spin on soul torture.”
The sarcasm is weak, but it’s there, and that feels like a victory.
“You’ll be okay.” He pulls me against his chest, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other still holding me up. “Just breathe.”
So, I do. I breathe in his scent—cedar and smoke and something uniquely him that makes me feel safer than I have in weeks. I let myself shake against him, let him hold me while I remember how to exist without fire eating my soul.
His heartbeat is rapid against my ear, and I realize he’s not as calm as he’s pretending to be.
“How did you do it?” I ask him. “When you went through this?”
His hand stills in my hair. “I almost didn’t make it through.”
The admission hangs between us, heavy with unspoken history. I pull back enough to look at him, and what I see in his eyes makes my chest tight. Pain. Regret. And something else—something that looks almost like wonder as he stares down at me.
Gratitude for him hits me harder than a truck. “I only made it through because I had you.” The words come out before I can stop them. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“You’ll always have me,” he promises as the torchlight makes shadows dance across his face, and I’m suddenly very aware that we’re still pressed together, his hands in my hair, his skin warm against mine.
“Now I guess it’s time to spirit travel to the Underworld,” I force myself to say, because if he keeps looking at me like I’m precious and worth protecting, I might do something stupid like kiss him again.
“After what I just watched,” he says steadily, “you can do anything.”
The certainty in his voice makes me believe him.
“All right then.” I square my shoulders, trying to look braver than I feel. “Let’s go meet death.”
“Jade...” He catches my hand before I can move toward the last bowl, and the conflict on his face is so raw it takes my breath away. “I’ll be here with your body the entire time. No matter how long it takes. I won’t leave you. I swear it.”
The promise settles something in my chest. Because if I’m going to let my soul descend to the Underworld, there’s only one thing I know for sure—I wholeheartedly trust Logan to protect what’s left behind.