CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Two weeks passed faster than I ever thought they could.
Each day without Asher became… easier. Not easy—never that—just survivable.
Some part of me still reached for him like a living thing, tugging and aching in the quiet moments, but the sharpest edges had begun to dull.
Every morning, Ezra dragged me out to train, and gods, I actually improved.
He had this infuriating way of forcing me to slow down—to stop relying purely on instinct and really feel the shape of my flames before I released them.
To breathe before I burned. Somewhere between the bruises, the insults, and the butterscotch lattes, my control started to solidify. And he never let me spiral.
If I got too quiet, he’d crack a ridiculous joke; if I got too sad, he’d just sit beside me without ever asking me to explain.
Ezra and Ember became my constants.
Ember slept beside me every night, tracing slow circles on my back until exhaustion dragged me under.
Other nights, we built blanket forts and talked absolute shit until sunrise.
Ezra usually slept on the floor near the door, like some overprotective guard dog who refused to admit he cared.
I had never been more grateful for anyone. I felt it deep in my soul—Ezra wasn’t just a friend anymore. He was family.
Aether and I fell into our own rhythm, too.
I even convinced him to start meditating with me. He complained the entire first week, claiming celestial panthers did not “sit around breathing like anxious housecats,” but now he showed up before I even asked.
Today was different, though.
Today was the Flame Festival, and my stomach was a pit of dread.
I stood in front of the mirror, fussing with the crimson ribbons Ember had practically assaulted me with earlier.
The Festival belonged to Ignis, and the streets of Zymarra would be drowning in gold and scarlet tonight.
I had to look like fire incarnate.
The gown Ember had chosen shimmered like molten red glass, clinging to my waist before flaring into liquid silk.
The slit ran high along my thigh—scandalous, even by Ember’s standards. My hair was woven into my signature twin braids, threaded with fine gold that caught the light like embers.
Aether sprawled dramatically across the chaise behind me, his tail flicking in slow irritation.
“You look like a sacrificial lamb,” he muttered through the bond.
I shot him a flat glare. “You’re supposed to hype me up, not make me want to burn this dress.”
“Flame One,” he yawned, flashing sharp teeth,
“if you want honesty… you already glow like a pyre. No mortal is going to look at you and survive.”
I huffed. “Better.”
Before I could spiral further, the adjoining bathroom door slammed open.
Ember came barreling through like a comet, and my mouth actually dropped open.
She wore emerald—a strapless dress that hugged her waist before flowing into rich green silk.
The slit mirrored mine, and her hair was pulled into a sleek high ponytail that made her eyes look sharper than ever.
She held her heels in one hand like weapons.
She stopped dead when she saw me.
“Oh my gods, Ava,” she whispered. “You look like the godsdamn queen already.” She smiled, slow and wicked. “Asher would absolutely fucking drown at the sight of you.”
“Well… that’s fortunate. He’s not here,” I said dryly.
I watched her for a moment. She was acting too casual. Too quiet. A dangerous combination for her.
“So,” I said slowly, wiggling my eyebrows, “how are things with Ezra?”
She sighed. Sharp. Immediate. “Fine.”
“Ember Pyreson,” I said, slipping into my most terrifyingly formal voice.
She rolled her eyes so hard I was surprised they didn't combust. “Fine,” she muttered, pushing herself upright. “We’re just friends.”
“Uh-huh. And what happened?”
She stopped and turned, her face hardening as the fire shutters slammed down. “Ava, we don’t have time for this.”
“Deflecting,” Aether murmured helpfully.
I stepped directly into her path and grabbed her shoulders.
“Ember. Don’t do this. I know you. You’ve held me together for two weeks… please, talk to me.”
For a second, I saw the crack. Her eyes fluttered closed. “I… I don’t know,” she muttered finally.
“You fought,” I prompted. “Because?”
Her throat worked. Silence stretched. Then— “He told me he loved me.”
My heart sank. Not because he loved her, but because I knew exactly how terrified Ember was of being loved. And how badly that could hurt them both.
“Love is a battlefield,” Aether muttered dryly. “Some of you are just particularly bad strategists.”
“Oh, Em…” I whispered. “What did you say?”
She didn't believe in love. I'd seen the way her eyes followed him all week, but I knew those walls.
“I…” she started.
A sharp knock cut through the room. Her eyes widened. Ezra.
The door opened before either of us could move. And there he was.
A perfectly tailored suit that made him look older. Sharper. Dangerous. But the shirt beneath the dark fabric was emerald green.
Matching Ember.
Oh gods.
His eyes met mine, raw and unguarded, and somehow I knew exactly what he wasn't saying.
I’m fucking heartbroken.
My skin prickled.
A strange warmth slid slowly up my spine, settling somewhere deep in my chest like something ancient had just stirred from a long sleep.
My brows knit in confusion—but the sensation vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving me hollowed out and reeling.
Then Ember turned.
And gods… his entire world shifted.
His eyes tracked her as if gravity itself had suddenly changed direction. “Ember,” he breathed. The way he said her name sounded like it physically hurt him to pull the air from his lungs.
The look in his eyes stole my breath—hungry, reverent, and absolutely ruined.
It was the same way Asher looked at me when we were alone in the dark.
I could have sworn I heard Ember swallow, the sound loud in the sudden silence of the room.
Ezra was holding himself together by sheer force of will.
His knuckles were bone-white, and his jaw was tight enough to crack stone.
Then, he smiled. Walls.
Fucking Umbra males and their impenetrable masks.
“You’re both about to set Zymarra on fire,” he said lightly, stepping further into the room.
He bowed toward me first, offering his hand with an exaggerated, courtly elegance. “Your Majesty.”
“You are honestly the worst,” I muttered—but I took his hand anyway, a grin tugging at my lips despite the tension.
He winked at me, his familiar mischief returning.
Then he turned to Ember. Slower. More careful. His gaze swept over her again, his pupils blown wide as he memorized every inch of her in the green silk.
“Milady,” he said quietly, offering his hand.
He looked like he fully expected her to bite him.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
The air in the room felt thick enough to choke on, charged with a week's worth of unspoken words and that heavy confession.
Then Ember smiled. And she took his hand.
Ezra’s grin broke wide and reckless, his dimples cutting deep into his freckled cheeks.
“Gods,” he laughed softly, his voice thick with relief. “Am I not one lucky fucking male.”