Chapter 12
Tess
It should’ve been a comfort, this room, my office. I’d always felt at home in libraries, surrounded by knowledge—and yet, right now, all I wanted to do was scream.
I stared at the small bento box sitting on my desk, its colorful contents neatly arranged: rice shaped into stars, slices of grilled chicken, and a side of pickled vegetables. I'd picked it up at the dining hall, not in the mood to socialize.
It looked perfect. Too perfect.
The sight of it only made me feel more disconnected.
I picked up the wooden chopsticks, twirling them between my fingers. I should’ve been starving after the beating I’d taken in the arena. But as I stared at the food, a wave of emptiness washed over me. There was no hunger, no appetite. Just… frustration.
Theron's words still rang in my ears. You're not ready, Tess. You’re not enough.
I clenched the chopsticks tighter, the wood pressing into my skin. I knew I wasn’t perfect. I knew I had a long way to go. But the way he said it, like I wasn’t even close to deserving this… it felt like a punch to the gut. Every damn time I thought I was making progress, someone had to swoop in and remind me that I was still just human. Still inadequate. Still weak.
I stabbed at the rice, barely managing a mouthful, but the food tasted like ash in my mouth. I set the chopsticks down with a sigh, closing my eyes, trying to breathe—but the pressure in my chest wouldn’t let up.
This wasn’t new. I’d felt this before.
You’re not good enough, Tess. The words weren’t Theron’s. They were my mother’s. Her voice, cold and clinical, always there to slice through any hint of pride I'd ever managed to muster.
And then there was my sister—perfect Madison. The golden child. She never had to be told she wasn’t enough because she always was. Always graceful, always composed, always everything I wasn’t. Whenever I made a mistake, she'd just watch with that look in her eyes—like she pitied me, like I was a stray dog that would never belong.
That feeling... that bone-deep sense of inadequacy... it had lived inside me for years, gnawing at the edges of every success, reminding me I wasn’t supposed to be here. Not in my family. Not in this world.
I thought I’d escaped it. I thought by coming here, I’d finally left that behind. But the weight of it still clung to me, dragging me down. I could hear their voices in the back of my head now, just as clearly as if they stood beside me.
You’ll never be enough, no matter how hard you try.
The familiar sting of tears prickled behind my eyes, but I forced them back, swallowing the lump in my throat. Crying wouldn’t fix this. Crying wouldn’t make me stronger. If anything, it would just prove them right. Prove Theron right.
I needed to be better. I needed to prove them all wrong. Maybe if I trained harder, worked faster, kept my head down and perfected every skill, they’d finally see my value. Maybe then... maybe then I’d be worthy of the dragons. Of the Guild. Of this whole damned life.
I bit my lip, my mind racing already with ways I could adjust. Work harder on my reflexes. Memorize every battle tactic I could get my hands on. Maybe I could ask Kane to show me more, push me harder. I could—
“You’re doing well considering the circumstances,” a voice cut through my spiraling thoughts, deep and certain, like the steady beat of a drum.
Thalon.
“But you’re not letting yourself feel it, Tess. You keep pushing, but you’re not present. What is it you’re really running from?”
His question hit me harder than I expected. I closed my eyes, trying to breathe through the tightness that had formed in my chest.
What was I running from?
I was on the edge of something—something raw and ugly, something I couldn’t quite name. There was the sharp sting of not being enough , that maddening whisper in the back of my mind that no matter how hard I tried, it would never matter.
But edging on that grief was something else, something more volatile—anger. Anger at being judged when I was doing well , all things considered. Anger at being dismissed, as if my efforts were a joke, a game I was failing.
I gripped the chopsticks tighter, the wood pressing into my palms.
“Feel it,” Thalon urged, his voice softer now, but no less commanding. “Don’t push it down. Don’t pretend it isn’t there.”
My breath hitched, frustration gnawing at the edges of my resolve. I wanted to do better, to be better. But maybe... maybe Thalon was right. Maybe I wasn’t letting myself be —wasn’t letting myself feel the fury, the sadness.
I was always too busy trying to prove something.
“It’s okay to feel it, little one,” Thalon said, his presence a constant warmth, steadying me. “You’re not as alone in this as you think.”
I clenched my fists, my gaze lowering to the floor as a tight heat coiled in my chest, building like pressure in a sealed jar. The air seemed heavier now, vibrating faintly as if responding to my roiling emotions.
I looked inward, and there it was—my magic. It churned wildly, untethered, like storm clouds massing just before thunder ripped across the sky. There was power there. Raw, chaotic, and waiting for me to stop ignoring it.
Before I could even fully process the weight of Thalon’s words—a soft knock sounded at the door, pulling me out of my thoughts. But when the door creaked open, and I caught sight of him, my breath hitched. Kane stood framed in the doorway, his presence as sharp and commanding as ever.
He was wearing a perfectly tailored black button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal strong forearms that flexed as he shifted his stance. The fabric hugged his lean, swimmer's build with such precision it was nearly criminal, the faint curve of defined muscles visible through the dark material. His white hair was as impossibly pristine as ever, a stark contrast to the deep blue-violet of his eyes that locked onto mine. Somehow, he managed to look effortlessly composed, yet utterly devastating.
I wasn’t sure if the air actually changed or if it was just me, but the room seemed to hold its breath along with mine. For a beat too long, he said nothing, just standing there, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that bordered on unnerving. Or maybe... thrilling.
When he finally spoke, it was as though his clipped tone shattered the heavy silence. “Tess.” His voice was cool, tinged with irritation.
I raised an eyebrow, my emotions still running high. “Can I help you?”
He stepped further into the room. Everything about him screamed calculated, from the way he held himself to the careful distance he kept between us.
“You skipped lunch,” he stated, his tone making it sound like I’d committed some kind of grave offense.
I stared at him, chopsticks still in hand, feeling a swell of irritation rise in my chest. Skipped lunch? Was he serious? Out of all the things he could be upset about, this was what he chose to focus on?
“Then what is this?” I muttered, stabbing another piece of rice just to give my hands something to do.
Sure, he was hot, in that sharp, painfully sculpted way High Fae seemed to come pre-packaged with—like someone had wished for an aloof, condescending statue to be brought to life. And he was obviously experienced, a strategist who probably out-thought most rooms before even entering them. Plus, he had that whole Supe edge, which added to the allure.
But right now? Right now, I wasn’t in the mood for anyone, no matter how dazzling, to tell me what to do.
His lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m just saying, you have a lot on your plate—more than most applicants. You can’t afford to neglect your health.”
“I think I’ll survive,” I said, my voice coming out sharper than intended.
He didn’t flinch, but his gaze narrowed. “You’re not invincible, Tess. You’re human. You have limits—”
“And I know my own limits,” I snapped, the chopsticks clattering onto the desk. “I don’t need you reminding me every five seconds.”
Kane’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t back down. “Since I’m here, why don’t we start our meeting early while you eat?” His voice had a cool, clinical edge.
I gave him a sharp look. “Fine,” I muttered, grabbing a piece of chicken with my chopsticks. I lifted it to my mouth in what felt like a deliberate gesture of defiance, as if eating this single bite would somehow prove my point. “Go ahead.”
Kane didn’t sit immediately. Instead, he watched me for a moment longer, like he was weighing something in his mind. Then, with a flick of his hand, he pulled out a chair and settled into it across from me, his posture still rigid as ever.
“How do you plan to continue the oral history project now that you’re a Dragon Rider applicant?” he asked, his voice smooth.
I paused, chopsticks halfway to my mouth, before setting my food down. “I’ve already worked it out with Moriyana,” I replied. “She’s helped adjust my schedule so I can keep up with the project, even with the new responsibilities.” I smiled faintly, though I wasn’t sure if he’d notice or care.
Kane gave a slight nod, his expression unreadable. The silence that followed felt heavy, stretching just long enough to push me into speaking again, trying to close the gap. “Actually,” I added, leaning forward slightly, “it’s a huge relief. I didn’t want to abandon something I’ve worked so hard on.”
“Oh.” For the first time, his eyes flicked away briefly, as if processing the information.
I blinked, the memory hitting me like a spark reigniting. “Wait, I almost forgot!” I straightened. “I’ve got a meeting set with Garanth Kreel.”
I was glad I had something positive to focus on between all the drama and chaos these past few days. Finally, a small victory.
His eyes widened, obviously shocked. “You... already booked a meeting with him?”
I nodded, the corners of my mouth lifting into a small, proud smile. “Yep. He agreed to meet.”
Kane didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing in thought, his fingers drumming once on the edge of the desk before going still. His reaction wasn’t what I expected. He should’ve been impressed. Hell, maybe even a little proud. But instead, I could see the wheels turning in his mind, calculating.
Then, just as quickly, his expression shifted into something colder. “You’ll need to cancel it.”
It took a moment for his words to sink in, and when they did, I felt my stomach drop. “What?”
“You heard me,” Kane said, leaning forward, his voice steady but firm. “Cancel the meeting.”
Cancel the meeting ? After everything I’d put into arranging it? After all my careful planning? My newfound sense of accomplishment deflated like a balloon. “Why the hell would I do that?”
The chopsticks trembled in my hand, the small piece of chicken still skewered between them now hovering in mid-air, forgotten. A sharp pulse of anger shot through me, tightening my chest.
Kane’s eyes locked onto mine, cold and calculating. “Because you’re a Dragon Rider applicant now. Your focus needs to be on your training. You won’t have time to—”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” I cut him off, my voice sharp. “Moriyana already set aside time for the project. She wouldn’t have done that if I couldn’t handle it.”
His jaw clenched, the muscle in his cheek twitching slightly. I could tell he was trying to keep his composure, but there was something simmering beneath his calm exterior. “It’s not just about time management, Tess. You have no idea what you’re getting involved in with Garanth Kreel.”
I scoffed, setting the chopsticks down with a clack against the lacquered bento box. The emotions from earlier roared back to life inside of me. “So, what? I should just cancel the meeting because you think I can’t handle it?”
“It’s not about whether you can handle it,” Kane snapped. His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes flashing with something I couldn’t quite place—frustration, maybe. “It’s everything. The Guild, the Riders, Thalon. You’re stepping into a world where one wrong move can end you.”
“So what? You don’t think I deserve to be here—”
“That’s not what I said,” he cut me off, his voice sharp. His hand moved, almost instinctively, reaching out as if to touch me before stopping inches from my arm. His fingers curled into a fist, trembling slightly, before dropping back to his side. “I didn’t say that.”
“Then what are you saying?”
He exhaled sharply, his blue-violet eyes flashing with something raw and unguarded—something I hadn’t seen in him before. “I’m saying...” He hesitated, as if the next words weighed heavily on him. “I’m saying you’re not ready for this meeting, Tess. Not yet.”
The words cut through me, igniting something fierce and defiant in my chest. Not ready. There it was again—the constant reminder that I was somehow lacking, somehow not enough.
I blinked once, twice, in stunned silence. Theron, now Kane. They all seemed so quick to remind me of my inadequacies, to brand my efforts as inconsequential.
“Well,” I said, my voice disconcertingly calm, though I could feel the storm brewing inside. “I guess you're right.” That was what he’d said after all, wasn’t it? That I wasn’t ready. That I wasn’t good enough. I raised my hands, still holding the chopsticks, and made a sweeping gesture, as if swatting away all the carefully laid plans. “I’m probably not.”
Kane blinked, clearly caught off guard by my sudden agreement. His body had been tightly coiled throughout our conversation, but now he shifted slightly, releasing a fraction of the tension that had built between us. He stared at me as if he didn’t quite trust how quickly I’d conceded. Maybe he thought this was a trap, the calm before some kind of explosive outburst.
But no. This was calculated.
I dropped the chopsticks onto the desk, the sound a quiet but emphatic punctuation to my words. "Let’s just move on. I'll focus on interviewing others for the oral project."
The words came easily enough, but inside, the fire still burned. Not ready. I might not be ready now, but I would be. The meeting wasn’t until next month. I had time to prepare. Kane didn't need to know that I wasn't backing down completely. I just wouldn’t tell him about it. Let him think what he wanted, for now.
I sighed, letting the tense energy flow out with the exhale, trying to compartmentalize the gnawing frustration that still itched at the back of my mind.
"Actually," I began, my voice lighter, trying to shift the conversation away from the charged emotions hanging in the air. "While you're here, I wanted to mention... I met with Headmaster Northfall and your father yesterday."
Kane stiffened visibly at the mention of his father. His whole posture—his carefully maintained control—shifted ever so slightly, but enough for me to notice. His jaw clenched, and a cold tension seemed to snap into place within him, like a steel trap.
"What did he say?" he asked.
"Your father? He decided that he'll be overseeing the Guild Trial personally this year. Something about wanting to ensure it was ‘appropriately challenging.’" I shrugged lightly, trying to keep my tone conversational, as though it hadn’t rattled me at all—which, truthfully, it had. Lord Protector Ellesar, with all his cold, ancient Fae grandeur, wasn't exactly a comforting presence. I couldn’t expect him to make things easy.
"I don’t suppose you’d have any insight into how the Trial’s going to go this year?" I asked.
But Kane wasn’t engaging. Not anymore. The moment I mentioned the Lord Protector, it felt like a wall had slammed down between us.
"I need to go," he murmured, standing abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping against the wooden floor. His eyes darted away from mine, those sharp violet-blue orbs suddenly darkened with something heavy, something deep and unresolved. "I forgot I have another... pressing engagement.”
I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. He didn’t even bother with a proper excuse, just one vague statement and he was out.
"I—" I started, but the words trailed off as he turned his back to me, already striding toward the door. His usual controlled demeanor had fractured in a way I hadn't seen before.
I watched him for a moment, trying to process the shift. Was it something I’d said? Clearly, the mention of his father had struck a chord, but this was… different. This wasn’t just the usual family tension. Something else was going on here.
“Kane…” I called after him, softer this time, almost questioning.
He paused, just for a second, without meeting my gaze. His hand hovered on the doorknob as if he was debating something. Then, without so much as a backward glance, he stepped out and let the door click shut behind him.
I sat there in the stillness he’d left behind. The chopsticks still clutched between my fingers felt inconsequential now. I slowly set them down on the edge of the bento box, my mind spinning far away from food.
What the hell had just happened?