Chapter Two #2
“Luc did his best, but there was no way I was getting out of it alive. We’d been friends since we were kids, yet he knew nothing at the time about the Movement, about my true role.
I didn’t know which side he would choose, but I didn’t have time to find out.
So I called Cal, my dragon. I saw him land beside us, and that’s the last thing I remember before I blacked out.
When I woke, I was down here, in the Southern Peaks, and I knew instantly something had shifted.
Cal had always been a presence in my mind—but it was more than that now.
He had made some kind of oath, a deal with the other dragons, a sacrifice, to keep me alive by merging his essence with mine.
Chaining himself to my human life. That’s when the scales appeared on my back. ”
His voice drops, as though he’s admitting a crime.
“And now, when I choose, I can shift into him, Cal...”
Everything stills—it’s the kind of silence you get in the moment after a weapon's been drawn, and my brain freezes.
“We’re not the same,” Talen adds before my mind can catch up. “He’s separate, Cal’s separate. And inside the Veils, I can usually keep him at bay… But he is always there. You can tell by the gold in my eyes.”
From the side of the bed, he watches as my eyes flick back and forth, searching his.
My heart-rate stays eerily calm, still a pressure starts to rise behind my temples as though my skull’s not built to hold all this. Like if I try to take in one more impossible thing, I’ll split in half.
On instinct, I shift back, barely an inch, though it feels like miles. Not because I’m afraid—though maybe I would be, should be, if he wasn’t suppressing my emotions—because I need space to think. To process.
He shifted. How... How is that even possible?
My mouth opens to ask, then immediately clamps down hard.
No, I can't. I can't go there. Not yet. It's too much. My brain's still clawing to make sense of the Movement... the facade, the role he's played since the start.
What he did.
“Ezzy, Finn, Rowan.” There's no anger in my voice—just grief, solid and unmoving. “You said they wouldn’t get touched. That you wouldn’t hurt them. You promised. I trusted you.”
“I know. I know what I said. I tried. God, I tried to keep them out of it.” The plea comes out broken as he sits up straighter, fingers digging into the fabric of his trousers.
“Ezzy’s here, she’s alive and you can see her soon, but she lost more blood than any of us expected—she’ll be okay, it will just take time. ”
A knot in my chest loosens, knowing she’s okay, that she’s here, yet I don't move closer.
“She didn’t feel anything; I made sure of that.” He adds. “But if I hadn’t done it—Professor Strannt would have, and she wouldn’t have survived that.”
Remorse spreads across his face with the admission, tugging at my heart. I desperately want to believe he’s telling the truth. I saw the hesitation in his blade, I saw the twisted pleasure in Professor Strannt’s expression, the kind that said he would have enjoyed doing far worse.
And that doesn’t answer for everything else.
“And Finn? Rowan?” I press.
“Finn... I don’t know, we are working on it.
And Rowan...” His voice falters on the name as he buries his head into his hands.
“I’m so sorry, Lyra. I know how close you were to him.
Cal arrived—I arrived—too late, and when Luc got there, he was too far gone.
If he could have been saved, Luc would have tried. ”
This time the tug on my heart turns into a yank as I watch his fingers rake through his hair, and suddenly, an overwhelming sense of guilt hits me. Rowan was helping me. Rowan died because of me, because I wouldn’t stop pushing, wouldn’t stop asking questions.
The thought hits too close, and my eyes start to sting, but if I let the tears come, they’ll drag my own mistakes with them, so I swallow them back and keep my focus on Talen.
“What about Brian?” I force my voice steady. “I told you about him—his research. And you told them, you killed him.”
He looks back up at me, his eyes glassy now. “They already knew, long before you ever spoke to me.”
“You didn’t tell them?”
“No.” His head shakes once. “Strannt’s orders were to make an example of him.
Slow. Public. Painful. They wanted him broken before he died.
Everyone was watching, I had seconds to decide, so I made the only choice I had.
I made it look slow, and I took as much of the pain as I could and ended it before they could do worse.
” He holds my gaze and doesn't soften it. “But I still killed him. That part’s on me, and I can’t undo that. ”
Wood creaks as he leans in toward me, close enough for the bittersweet scent of smoke and sweat to sink into my chest.
“Lyra, I’m not asking for your forgiveness, lord knows I don't deserve it, but I do need you to understand that this—” He gestures to outside the tent “—This is bigger than me. Bigger than what I’ve done, bigger than how you feel about me.
And I know you have more questions, about the Movement, about Serrane, why you’re even here.
Merrin is coming tomorrow to speak with you himself; you can ask him anything then.
But right now there’s someone you need to meet before I go back to the Citadel.
” He pauses, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “Will you come with me?”
Talen doesn’t move; he sits there watching me like he’s bracing for a verdict as the space between us pulls taut.
My gaze flicks between his eyes, then holds, and this time I look at him, really look, and all I feel is the weight of it. His. And God help me, it sinks into my chest like a stone and stays there, cold and heavy.
I see what he’s done and I also see the torment beneath it. The part of him that loathed every second.
I should walk away. Draw the line. Call it done.
Tell him some things can’t be justified—no matter how noble the cause pretends to be.
But if I walk away now, I don’t stay clean, I stay ignorant.
I’m cutting myself off from the only path that might lead to the truth. What happened to Ashvale, to Rowan.
No. They can’t have died for nothing. I wanted answers. I wanted justice. I wanted someone to blame. To understand why I’ve been dragged into all of this and now I finally have the chance to see the full truth—and I can’t run from it even if it is ugly, compromised and soaked in blood.
“I understand...” I say, holding up a hand before he can speak again.
“I do. That there is something going on that is bigger than you, bigger than how I feel about you, who you are, what you are, what you’ve done.
But don’t mistake that for forgiveness. I’m listening because I want answers. Not because I accept this, accept you.”
His head dips in a single, weighted nod.
“Ezzy?” I add. “You said I could see her.”
“After,” he murmurs with a small smile. “I promise.”
Pushing back his chair, he stands—and it takes me a second to register why it hits so differently.
He’s not in uniform. No polished Citadel jacket, no high collar or rigid lines.
Instead he wears a loose white linen shirt, sleeves pushed to his forearms, the top buttons undone, enough to expose the edge of the pale birthmark near his heart—and leather trousers that fit him like a threat.
I shouldn’t notice. Shouldn’t care.
But with everything sharp inside me dulled beneath the surface, what’s left behind is the wreckage. The ache. The want.
Wanting his arms around me. Wanting my forehead pressed to his, pretending none of this is real. Pretending he’s the safe thing—the thing I should be running toward, not away from.
For one fragile heartbeat, it feels like he’s right there with me.
His chest rises, heavy and uneven, and my hands clench in the sheets before I can stop them, fingers curling like the silk and wishful thinking might anchor me in place.
Then he swallows, the muscles in his jaw tensing, as he takes a step back.
“There are some clean clothes on the dresser over there,” he says, already turning away. “I’ll wait outside.”
Before I can reply, the tent flap falls shut behind him.
Five or so minutes later, I step outside into the cool summer night.
Across from me, Talen waits, worry written through every line of him as he leans back against a wooden post beneath a flickering lantern.
One hand holds a leather jacket slung over his shoulder while the other turns his talisman restlessly between his fingers.
Then his mouth curves a little, and the creases at the edges of his eyes deepen when they land on me.
“Not bad, Bloom,” he states, looking me up and down.
“Thanks,” I mumble, running my hand down the front of a soft lightweight wool top, then over the fitted black leather trousers.
When he left the tent, I almost didn’t put them on, almost slipped through the back flap without waiting. Almost. But I want the truth—and he’s finally giving it to me. I just want to get it without handing him any more of me in return.
Pushing off the post, he slides his talisman back into his pocket and takes a step toward me, brows drawn in. “How are you feeling? Stable? Any pain?”
“Uh...” Shifting my weight, my boots scuff against packed dirt as I ease pressure onto my heels—no pain, no sting. I flex my arms, testing them too. Still nothing. “Yeah, I feel fine. The healer did a good job.”
“We’re lucky to have her.” The curve of his mouth spreads into a wider smile, and the sight of it sends the rhythm in my chest skipping a fraction. Before I can stop myself, I smile back.
God, no wonder Serrane keeps him close. He just laid it all out, told me every bad thing he’s done and I’m over here fumbling pleasantries and trying to ignore how ridiculously hot he looks in leather.
“You’re really fucking good at this—the emotional control stuff,” I mutter.
“I know.” His crooked grin widens, sending heat crawling up my neck.