Jade
My boots slip on loose gravel as I descend into the Void Pit, and I have to catch myself against the rough stone wall to keep from falling.
Logan moves with the fluid grace of someone who’s done this a thousand times, barely disturbing the dust.
Of course he does. Does the man ever do anything without looking annoyingly perfect?
The pit drops into a circular arena maybe seventy feet across and twice as deep.
The further down we go, the more my magic is buried, until it’s gone altogether.
And the Void Pit feels different at night, with only the stars providing dim light overhead.
Like being trapped at the bottom of a giant well, which is exactly the kind of claustrophobic nightmare I didn’t need on top of everything else that’s happened these past few weeks.
“Attack me,” Logan says without preamble.
I blink. “What?”
“Attack me.” He spreads his arms wide. “Use your dagger. Try to hit me.”
“I don’t want to—“
“And that’s your first problem.” His voice sharpens. “In the tournament, hesitation will be what takes you down. Now, stop stalling and attack me.”
I narrow my eyes at him, tighten my grip on my dagger, and lunge.
He sidesteps easily, not even bothering to block, and I stumble past him like a drunk first-year at a Forge Night party.
“Again.”
I try to be sneakier, feinting left before going right. He still dodges like I’m moving in slow motion, but this time I stay on my feet, which honestly feels like a major accomplishment.
“You’re telegraphing every move.” He circles me, forcing me to turn to keep him in sight. “Your shoulders tense before you strike. Your eyes look where you’re aiming. Even your breathing changes.”
“Sorry I’m not a trained assassin,” I mutter, adjusting my grip on the dagger.
He flinches for a second, as if I struck him with my words. But only for a second.
“Here.” He moves behind me, his hands settling on my hips, and suddenly I forget how to breathe. “Wider stance. Bend your knees more.”
His voice is all business, but his fingers flex against my hips once before going still.
Like he’s fighting the same memories I am.
It’s probably a good thing my magic is suppressed, because I can feel phantom bits of it crackling along my skin, as if my body is trying to respond to him even without access to its electricity.
“Relax your shoulders.” He comes back around to face me, and his hands slide up to adjust my arms, fixing my grip on the dagger. “You’re holding it like a tennis racket.”
“Maybe because that’s the only thing I know how to hold,” I say through gritted teeth.
His eyes darken, his pupils dilating, but he refocuses in a second. “When you strike, rotate from your core. Use your whole body, not just your arm.”
We spend the next twenty minutes on basic stances and strikes.
My footwork is clumsy, my attacks predictable, and my defenses nonexistent.
Every correction requires him to touch me—adjusting my stance, fixing my grip, guiding my movements.
And every touch feels like torture, because I know he’s going to pull away afterward. He always pulls away.
“Again,” he says after I botch a simple parry.
“This is pointless.” I huff in frustration, but reset my stance anyway.
He comes at me with deliberate slowness, giving me plenty of time to react. I bring my dagger up to block, but my angle is wrong. His blade slides past my defense and stops an inch from my ribs.
“Dead,” he says simply. “Again.”
This time when he attacks, something shifts.
Maybe it’s muscle memory from all those tennis lessons, frustration, or the way he keeps looking at me like he wants to say something and can’t, but my body moves without conscious thought as I pivot on my back foot, using the momentum to spin away from his blade while bringing my dagger around in a tight arc.
Logan actually has to step back to avoid it.
We both freeze, staring at each other.
Holy shit. Did I just make Logan Ashford retreat?
“Do that again,” he says, and there’s something in his voice I’ve never heard before. Excitement. Real, genuine excitement.
Of course, trying to recreate whatever I did is like trying to catch smoke.
“I don’t know what I did,” I admit after the fifth failed attempt.
“You stopped thinking and let your body take over.” He’s studying me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
“Great. So, I just need to turn off my brain to not suck at this.”
Maybe it’ll be easier than flipping the emotional switch? Although, I doubt it. My brain doesn’t shut up, either.
“Essentially, yes.” He raises his practice blade again. “Stop trying to be perfect. Stop thinking about the mechanics. Just move.”
We go again. And again. Sometimes I catch glimpses of whatever I tapped into—a dodge that flows like water, a parry that feels natural instead of forced. But mostly I’m still terrible.
After I fail spectacularly at a basic defensive move for what feels like the hundredth time, something in me snaps.
“This is useless.” I throw my dagger down, the blade clattering against the ground.
“Jade—”
“No!” My hands clench into fists. “You want me to not think? Fine. I’m not thinking. I’m just failing over and over again, and—“
Silver static crackles between my clenched fingers, so faint it’s almost invisible in the torchlight.
Logan’s eyes widen, and he grabs my wrists, turning my hands palm up to stare at the crackling energy. “This is...” His voice trails off in wonder, and he looks to me for answers.
Me. For answers about magic.
Who would have thought?
“It should be impossible,” I finish. “The Void Pit blocks all magic. Doesn’t it?”
But the evidence is right here, silver threads of electricity playing between my fingers like they’re mocking centuries of magical law.
Logan’s grip tightens. “How strong were your emotions just now?”
“I was frustrated. Angry. Pissed the fuck off, if you really want to know.” I take a shaky breath. “Also, terrified. About what’s going to happen on Thursday, about everyone finding out what I am, of being sent to the Council, about failing you after you’ve spent so much time trying to help me—“
“You could never fail me.” The words slip out quickly, and his eyes widen slightly, like he’s surprised at himself.
“But if you can manifest electricity here, even faintly, the Void Pit might not fully contain it during the tournament. Which means we need to change tactics.” He drops my arms, then sits on the ground.
Logan Ashford, Mr. Perfect Proctor, is sitting in the dirt. The apocalypse must be approaching.
“Sit,” he says, gesturing for me to join him.
I sink down across from him, grateful for the break. “What tactics did you have in mind?”
“What scares you most about Thursday?”
His question catches me off guard.
“Besides accidentally electrocuting someone, revealing my magic to the entire school, and being shipped off to the Council to have them do who knows what to me?” I ask.
“Besides that.” His tone is patient, genuinely curious. “What scares you in here?”
And then, in the most un-Logan like move ever, he puts his hand on his heart.
I pull my knees to my chest, considering, wanting to give an answer worthy of what he’s asking.
“That everyone will see what I’ve been trying to hide,” I finally say.
“Not just the electricity, but that I’m a fraud.
A rich girl playing at being special. Couldn’t get into a real college, so I got shipped off to magic school instead.
” My voice gets smaller. “And that everyone I’ve ever cared about will leave, and I’ll never belong anywhere. ”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and when I look up, there’s something in his eyes that makes my chest tight. Understanding, maybe. Or recognition.
“I won’t leave,” he eventually says, like it’s a fact instead of something he’s saying to make me feel better. “I promise.”
A breeze stirs around us, and every bone in my body aches to close the distance, to feel his arms around me and his lips against mine.
But then the memory of him telling me that last night was a mistake flashes through my mind, like a whip lashing across my heart that catches my breath and forces me back into focus.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” I try to smile, but it shows up strained. “Anyway, what about you? What scares the great Logan Ashford?”
He’s quiet so long I think he won’t answer.
“Losing control. Not being strong enough when it matters.” His fingers run over the intertwined wedding bands beneath his shirt as he continues to think.
“Failing the people who trust me, losing them because I wasn’t there when they needed me the most, and not being able to fix it, no matter how hard I try. ”
The weight of his admission hangs between us, and I want to reach out, but he’s got that invisible wall up again. The one that says look but don’t touch.
“We make quite a pair,” I say softly. “The girl who can’t control her power and the guy who can’t stop controlling his.”
“Maybe that’s why this works. Maybe we understand each other in ways others can’t.”
“Is that what this is?” I ask carefully. “Understanding?”
“Among other things.” For just a second, his control cracks, and I see heat in his eyes. The fire he works hard to bury deep inside. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone. “Now, come on. We’re not staying here.”
“Where are we going?” I ask, but he’s already standing, offering me a hand up. I take it, and he pulls me to my feet, but lets go immediately.
The absence of his warmth on my skin feels colder than it should.
“The Ember Ring,” he says simply. “If you’re going to learn control, you need to practice where your magic is amplified, not suppressed. Think of it like training with weights. Master the hard version, and the easier one will be a breeze.”
“That sounds like a terrible idea.”