Chapter 5
FIVE
EMMA
Classes took on a very different tone in the following days.
Maurice had portaled out to Crown to handle what was officially labeled a “dire political situation.” Which, translated (in the non-magical sense) from bureaucratic nonsense to actual reality, meant way more blood than politics.
James had told me as much, though in typical James fashion, he’d insisted I keep it under wraps.
As if I had anyone to share it with. I was still the Academy’s resident pariah, a social leper with the same number of new friends as a dead guy. If I threw a secret-sharing party, it would only be me and the void.
But whatever—loneliness wasn’t exactly at the top of my list of concerns when James was out there playing Knight in Brooding Armor, fighting Radicals like it was his full-time job.
Nino had tagged along, both to help in the fight against those homicidal maniacs and to hunt down the Amplifier. Probably also to keep James from getting himself killed, though knowing him, he’d find a way to make it difficult.
The longer James was gone, the more the worry gnawed at me, leaving me restless and miserable.
I hated not knowing if he was okay, if he was safe.
Each night was a battle between trying to focus on my training and the sick feeling in my gut something could happen to him out there.
The ache of his absence became unbearable.
The fear of losing him? Even worse. And with every passing moment, it twisted tighter, winding itself around my ribs like it was trying to squeeze the life out of me.
On top of everything, our classes had a new instructor—AJ.
From the second he walked in, I knew he and I were not going to be friends.
He had this kind of fake, smug confidence which instantly grated on your nerves—like he thought he was better than everyone else.
His hair looked like it had its own PR team, and his whole vibe screamed wannabe overlord.
It was instantly clear as day: he wasn’t there to teach—he was there to assert dominance. And for some reason, he’d decided to do it by making me his target.
It didn’t take long to realize he hated me.
He didn’t even try to hide it. From day one, his eyes would narrow every time he looked at me, like I was an insult to his entire existence.
Maybe it was because I was stuck at an interface time of 1.
02 seconds—fastest in the class—or maybe he simply didn’t like my face.
Either way, he took it personally. Like my very existence was some kind of cosmic insult, and he was the poor soul tasked with correcting the universe’s mistake.
AJ didn’t push me—he shoved me headfirst into hell with a godsdamn grin on his face.
He had me sparring with people three times my weight class, fighters who could’ve crushed me with one hand tied behind their back.
Every match felt less like training and more like an attempt to see how many times I could hit the floor before staying down.
And every time I dragged myself back up, bruised and half-conscious, there he was—smirking from across the room like he’d won a bet. Asshole.
And it wasn’t just physical. He humiliated me at every opportunity, barking orders with thinly veiled malice, pointing out every tiny mistake like it was some colossal failure. “What’s wrong, Thompson? Can’t keep up?” he’d say, loud enough for the whole class to hear.
Sympathy was for people he respected. I wasn’t one of them. When I staggered back to my feet, almost unable to stand, he simply stood there, arms crossed, head cocked in a way you’d watch a broken experiment sputter along. Not worth the praise. Not even worth the disappointment.
He never called for a Healer, never gave me a break—just kept pushing, kept making me fight until I was hardly holding it together.
By the third class, I looked worse than James ever had after a real battle. My body was covered in bruises, every inch of me aching from the beatings AJ had orchestrated.
“What the hell happened to you?” James’s voice rang through the Nexus that night, his expression filled with anger when he took in my bruised and battered face.
I sighed deeply, trying to downplay it. “Don’t worry about it; it’s only some sparring with other Superiors. I’ll find a Healer tomorrow.”
“Emma,” he growled, his concern evident, “you need to tell me right now who did this to you.”
“And add them to your kill list?” I said with a hint of sarcasm. “I would’ve thought you would’ve had your fill by now, with all those Radicals you’re dealing with.”
“Them?” James’s tone was sharp, and I could hear the rage behind it.
Crap. “Uhm, yeah. Our new trainer seems to think I need to be able to fight off at least six people at once.”
James’s words came out in a deadly whisper. “Your new trainer?”
I swallowed hard at the icy edge in his tone. “James, it’s fine.”
“Who?” he demanded through gritted teeth.
“James, I’m perf—”
“Who?” he roared.
I winced. “AJ,” I whispered.
James’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “He’s dead.”
“James, I’m fine. Please, let me handle this. They already think I’m sleeping my way up through you and—”
“What?” he hissed.
Great, Emma. Good job on keeping your mouth shut. Gold star for self-restraint. Really nailed it.
Before I could respond, a distant shout cut through the call, urgent and breathless. “James! The Radicals are back! We need you—now!”
James’s posture went rigid, the alarm clear as his expression shifted in an instant. He glanced at me, regret and frustration battling for control in his gaze. “I have to go,” he said, his tone tight with urgency. “I’ll nex you back as soon as I can.”
Without waiting for a reply, he cut the connection. I stared at my Nexus, the sudden silence amplifying the thundering beat of my heart as panic for my boyfriend’s life started to set in.
I began to pace the room, wringing my hands, trying to steady my breathing, but the fear gripped me too tightly.
My mind spiraled into chaos, a torrent of worry and dread swirling out of control.
I could see him in my mind, facing whatever fresh danger the Radicals had thrown at him.
Each imagined scenario was worse than the last.
I dropped onto the edge of the bed. My legs could barely hold me up. My mind spun, running disaster simulations like an overachieving supercomputer. What if he didn’t make it back? What if—
No. Stop. Focus on anything else.
Except the human brain doesn’t work like that. The more I tried to shut it down, the more it clawed back in, more vivid, more brutal. I could see him out there—trapped, outnumbered, stripped of his power because of the fucking Amplifier, fighting for his life while I was sitting here doing nothing.
My heart pounded so hard it seemed like it was trying to break out of my ribcage.
The image of him falling—helpless, overwhelmed—kept playing on a loop in my head.
No matter how hard I tried to shove the panic down, it kept growing, dragging me closer and closer to full-blown hysteria.
And the worst part? It didn’t stop. Not when I finally collapsed into a restless sleep.
Not when I dragged myself through my morning routine the next day, like a malfunctioning zombie.
It stayed, hanging over me like a curtain of gloom, refusing to lift.
Class in the morning was even worse than usual. I hadn’t slept a wink, my nightmares about Coastal and Amplifiers now doubled by worries about James fighting at Crown without me. Every muscle in my body felt leaden, weighed down by fatigue and fear.
AJ, on the other hand, was practically glowing.
Which was deeply offensive, considering there was a fucking war raging between magi for only the second time in their whole history.
Plus, it was seven a.m. No one should be so cheerful at this hour unless they’re getting paid a lot of money to fake it.
But there he was, strolling in like a man who had just won an award for being the most insufferable person alive and, true to form, wasted no time making my life worse.
“Skindos,” he announced, flashing a smug grin so obnoxious it deserved its own dedicated hate club.
“Are the latest addition to your training regimen. Seeing how the first one of you going below the second will receive one, learning to fight with one seems rather necessary. Let’s see how you handle yourselves. ”
Oh, fantastic. More weapons to add to the mix. Right what I needed in my fragile emotional state.
He handed out the small, spiked weapons which looked more menacing than they felt in my hand. I could sense the unease from my classmates, but AJ appeared to relish the challenge he was setting up for us.
Then, because his entire personality hinged on making my life miserable, he turned to me, eyes glinting with barely contained sadism.
“Emma,” he said, slow and deliberate, like he was unwrapping a particularly exciting present. “You’ll fight off Cedric, Anna, Ron, and Liam at once. Let’s see how well you can handle the pressure.”
Motherfucker.
I’d trained with Skindos before. With James. One-on-one. Like a normal person. But four against one? Was he clinically insane? Because I was starting to suspect the answer was a resounding yes.
My heart sank.
I took a steadying breath, trying—and failing—to shove aside the distractions running laps in my brain for the past eight hours. Then I stepped onto the mat, carefully arranging my face into something which portrayed confidence instead of mild existential crisis.
Hopefully, those high school acting classes were still pulling their weight. If not… well, guess we’d find out the hard way.
The moment the fight began, all hell predictably broke loose.