Chapter 3
THREE
EMMA
I was in desperate need of some girl talk.
Because when you finally get together with the guy you’ve been obsessing over for a year—the one who’s so perfect it’s borderline annoying—you need to talk about it.
With James and I now officially together, I was bursting with emotions, practically ready to narrate my love life like it was a podcast, but there was no one around to share it with.
When I reached out to Enya, I was stunned to learn she’d left.
Not “taking-a-break” gone, no, she’d straight-up left Cyclos.
I highly doubted the simple prospect of a little girl talk scared her away—though, knowing her, I wouldn’t have been entirely surprised—but there was no other explanation available to me.
After I asked James about it, he was kind enough to investigate. The only thing he could find out was that she was somewhere in Europe, helping with the consensus efforts over there. No goodbye, no "hey, it’s been fun," not even a “don’t forget to water my non-existent plants.” She simply vanished.
Up until then, I’d thought we were friends, but maybe I’d misread it. Or maybe she really hated girl talk. Either way, it left me stranded in the emotional wilderness with no one but James to confide in, and he wasn’t exactly the let’s-gush-about-our-relationship type.
It left me wrestling with a little loneliness—more than a little, to be honest.
So when James suggested I enroll in the Academy for Offensives, a brilliant suggestion, really—nothing says "expand your social circle" like forced camaraderie with people who can throw magical fireballs at your head—I jumped at the chance.
Not because I was dying to start training again (though I was), but because meeting new people sounded like a better option than wandering around Cyclos like a stray cat.
Thanks to James’s relentless training last year, I’d probably start as an Entry or even Moderate—light years from when I first stumbled into my initial training, surrounded by kids who still thought nap time was a basic human right.
Sure, I’d still be miles behind James in skill, but it was personal progress, and I was more than proud of myself.
Meanwhile, James was busy saving the world—or something equally time-consuming. Meetings, briefings, high-level operations,… Which meant I had a lot of free time. Too much free time.
Things with James were great. Fantastic, even.
We were on solid ground for the first time in forever, and the trust we’d rebuilt appeared unshakable.
But trust and stability don’t make up for the creeping loneliness that sneaks in when your boyfriend’s calendar leaves less room than a budget airline seat.
I needed something else. Someone else. A friend, preferably one who wouldn’t ghost me at the first sign of emotional vulnerability.
So, there I was, spending my mornings wandering Cyclos alone, trying not to look like the poster child for isolation. I kept telling myself the Academy would fix everything. It had to. New people, new routines—maybe even a shot at finding the connection I so desperately craved.
Because, honestly, I was tired of talking to myself. And that’s saying a lot, because I was a fucking delight to talk to.
When the day finally came to start my classes, James insisted on walking me to the Summer Palace after breakfast. He even waited patiently as I agonized over which outfit struck the perfect balance between "effortlessly cool" and "please don’t stab me during sparring practice."
As we stopped outside my new classroom, he took my hand gently, before his expression shifted to something more serious. "I might have to go away for a few days."
I blinked, caught off guard. "What? Why?" I asked, as I fought to keep my voice steady even as unease twisted into a knot in my stomach. The fear of being completely alone instantly drowned out any trace of rational thought.
He exhaled deeply, his attention shifting to the polished stone floor for a moment before meeting mine.
"I was called into an early Council meeting this morning. Kanata C, Coastal, Alliance… word’s spread about what happened here with the Radicals and the Amplifier.
They’re preparing to revoke the consensus. "
"What? That’s insane!" My breath caught as I struggled to piece together the potential fallout.
“Yeah. Fucking Radicals,” James muttered, stiff with anger.
“We need to get our hands on the Amplifier and destroy it before it does any more damage. The United Chiefs are still tracking it, but with no new Board in place, they’re barely holding things together.
I’ve got a hunch they’re about to offload the entire search onto our Collective. ”
“What can we do?” I asked, wishing I could find a way to help.
“I’m considering reaching out to Crown,” James said firmly.
“They’re not Radicals, but they do openly resist the consensus, which means they won’t be a target.
I need to convince them to fight on our side.
Their First Offensive, Caden Colt, is… well, ruthless doesn’t quite cover it.
He’s the kind of guy no one wants to deal with directly.
From what I hear, he’s a third cycler—and as likely to welcome you with open arms as he is to slit your throat.
But at this point, their strength might make all the difference. ”
“Crown?” I repeated, then frowned. “Never heard of them.”
James tilted his head slightly. “It’s the Collective for all UK-based magi. They operate out of the Highlands, from a network of castles, each with its own purpose. The most infamous one is Caerleon Manor, home to their ridiculously lethal Offensives.”
I jabbed my elbow into his ribs, a playful grin tugging at my lips. “I thought Cyclos Offensives were the most lethal?”
James didn’t return the smile I was fishing for.
“We are—in terms of rigid training and raw strength, no one matches us. Especially with our Skindos. But Crown’s Offensives…
” He trailed off, exhaling slowly, as if weighing his words.
“They’re on a different level. Their strategy is unparalleled, and their loyalty to one another?
Unbreakable. They’re more than a unit—they’re family.
And that bond is what makes them so deadly.
Cross one, and you won’t only face their First Offensive—you’ll have all of them coming for your throat. ”
As I observed a flicker of admiration shining through James’s eyes, I couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated by the prospect of ever having to meet these Offensives even he clearly respected. “Damn. They sound like powerful allies to have. But they’re resisting the consensus?”
“Not all Resistants are Radicals,” James replied, his tone matter-of-fact.
“They might not want the Great Exposure to happen, but they sure as hell don’t want a nuclear weapon in the Radicals’ hands either.
And Caden Colt…” He paused, as though tasting the name.
“He might be a mean piece of work, but he’s also the most calculated person on the entire continent.
If rumors are to be believed, he’s cold, methodical, and has the shortest interface in the world. ”
My brows lifted in surprise. “His interface is shorter than yours?”
James shrugged. “I’m still a first cycler. No first cycler’s faster than me. But Colt is in his third cycle.”
“But this Caden Colt guy isn’t someone you trust?” I asked carefully, after I’d caught the faint edge of unease in his voice.
James rubbed the back of his neck before replying.
“I’ve never met the guy. All I know is what I’ve heard—hearsay and reputation, mostly.
But I did meet his second-in-command once, Sean McGrath.
We met during a mission, back when I was…
.” The words trailed off again, the memory unmistakably a painful one.
“Reducing overpopulation for the Council?” I suggested gently.
He let out an unexpected, dry laugh. “Yeah. Sure.” His expression softened, and he leaned in to kiss me.
His lips brushed mine with a tenderness so deep it momentarily erased the weight of everything else. When he pulled back, his hand briefly caressed my cheek.
“Sean’s a solid guy though,” James said, his voice steadier now. “Keeps Colt in check—at least, that’s the word. I’ve been trying to nex him, but the bastard’s ignoring me. If it doesn’t change soon, I’ll have to portal out there myself.”
I nodded, absorbing his words and the gravity of what they implied. “Good luck with that. Sounds like he might make you work for it,” I said, half-smiling.
James smirked faintly but didn’t reply. Instead, he leaned in again, this time pressing a quick peck to my forehead. Then, without another word, he turned and left, not bothering with a goodbye—or a good luck.
It stung, a little more than I cared to admit, but I brushed it off. I didn’t need luck. I was a formidable maga, and these classes would be a godsdamn walk in the park.
Straightening my shoulders, I pushed open the door—and walked right into a wall of utter cringe. About fifty bored sixteen-year-olds stared back at me, some frowning in confusion, others smirking like I was the punchline to a bad joke.
I cleared my throat. “Hi.” And that was it. My brain had officially left the building, taking my vocabulary with it.
Shifting my weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, I tried my best not to wave. Fantastic. Day one, and I’d greeted my cutthroat classmates with the charisma of a goldfish auditioning for Jaws.
The following silence was suffocating, the kind so thick you could slice it with a dull butter knife. No one even bothered to reply.
Not awkward at all.
I forced myself to walk toward the center of the room, trying to project confidence—or at least something better than please don’t eat me. But as I took my place, the whispers began. Low at first, like a rustle of leaves, then gradually swelling into murmurs and unmistakable questions.