Chapter Thirteen #2
Beside me, Magda smiles, her silver tooth catching the morning light as she gestures me forward like she’s not casually throwing me to a pack of pissed-off lions.
“I don’t agree with how Merrin handled this,” she murmurs, her voice dropping low enough that it doesn’t carry. “And I’m sorry he put you in this position, but I do think this will be good for you.”
“Thanks,” I manage, as a nervous tick starts pulsing behind my temple and every part of me thinks about running.
But if I’m too scared to stand in front of a room of recruits, I have no bloody chance of facing Serrane. So I suck it up and step to the front, Magda’s footsteps disappearing outside the tent behind me.
“Right, listen up.” I push my voice out and lift my chin. “Today, we start with the fundamentals of Thread Theory.”
At first, no one reacts. Then, one by one, benches start to creak in front of me as bodies lean toward each other, low voices slipping between them.
It spreads—small at first, then catching—heads turning, attention sliding sideways, until the only two faces still on me are Neeve and Ezzy, both seated at the front.
“Thread Theory,” I go on, determined to earn their respect, “is the foundation for everything.”
“And theory is what’s meant to stop Serrane from killing us?” The male recruit with the eye patch scoffs from the back, folding his arms as he glances around, pulling a few nods from the others with him.
“Yes.” I bite out, forcing my arms steady at my side. “If you can’t control your Threads, Serrane won’t have to kill you—you’ll do it for him. This isn’t the Citadel, I'm not going to have you fight each other until only the strongest survives. Theory is what you need first.”
“Lee’s right.” A female with short black hair joins in, turning toward him instead of me. “This is pointless.”
This time the agreement lands louder, and I feel it, control slipping further out of reach.
“Look,” I try to rein it in, keeping my voice steady. “If you want to survive, you need to understand this.”
“We don’t need a lecture.” Lee pushes to his feet. “We need someone who’s actually led. Darren is an officer, a rider. What exactly have you done, Scraplander?”
The question hits like an arrow through my chest, spiking my heart rate, because what exactly have I done? Nothing except get a bunch of people hurt, killed. Still, I drag in a breath that doesn’t quite fill my lungs and lock my focus on Lee, who is still standing.
“Sit down.” I demand, holding his stare and willing it to land.
Lee cocks his head. “Or else what?”
Magic sparks at my fingertips, my Threads waiting just beneath the surface, and I feel how easy, how satisfying, it would be to let them out right here. To blast the smirk off Lee’s face. But if I do, they won’t respect me. They won’t follow me. They’ll only hate me more.
Still, if I back down now, they’ll think I’m weak.
Ahria will think I’m weak—
“Screw this.” Lee decides for me, already moving. “I’m out of here.”
“Lee!” I command after him, my voice sharper than I feel, but it’s too late. He’s already halfway to the exit, and everything unravels fast after that.
Boots scrape harshly against the dry ground, the sound ripping through the tent as people shove to their feet and fall in behind him.
The movement spreads so quickly I barely have time to process it. One second they’re there, the next the benches are empty, leaving only Ezzy and Neeve still seated at the front. And Ahria at the back, watching all of it.
Shit.
For a second, all I can do is stand there, humiliation crawling hot under my skin, then my gaze catches on Neeve.
“Neeve,” I start, forcing myself to face her. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just—”
“Seems like they’ve taken to you already.” The male voice behind me makes me jump, and I jerk my head up to see Darren leaning against a support pole at the entrance, his arms folded. Reya stands beside him.
“Darren!” Neeve scolds, shaking her head at him.
“What?” he challenges, all false sincerity. “I merely came to support Lyra on her first day.” He glances around the empty tent before focusing back on me. “But it seems like I missed it.”
His words land, harsh but true, but I force myself back upright.
“You know I didn’t volunteer for this, right? I was just as surprised as you when Merrin announced it.”
“Yeah, Neeve told me.” His lips curl and suddenly he doesn’t look like Rowan at all, more like a blonde version of Talen, and not in a good way. “But you didn’t correct him. You could’ve turned it down.”
Fury gets the better of me, and I push myself off the bench, eyes narrowing on him as my patience wears thin and the old Ashvale Lyra starts to stir.
He responds by stepping forward, but Neeve’s faster, shoving to her feet and putting herself between us before I say something I’ll definitely regret.
“Come on,” she mutters, her hand closing around Darren’s arm as she tugs him toward the exit. “This isn’t Lyra’s fault, and you know it.”
He resists for a second, long enough to make a point, but when Neeve pulls again, firmer this time, he gives in and stalks outside.
Neeve lingers by the tent flap, glancing back at me with a quick, silent sorry before shifting her focus to Ezzy. “Hey—Lyra’s got training with Reya now, so why don’t you come help me with lunch prep?”
Ezzy doesn’t even nod, she simply stands, quiet as ever, and walks over to her. More like she's obeying than agreeing.
“Thank you,” I mouth at Neeve, the words barely there. She gives a small dip of her head in return, then leads Ezzy out.
“Fuck.” The curse grates out of me as soon as the tent flap falls shut behind them. Dragging both hands through my hair, I force myself to breathe through the humiliation burning under my skin.
I can do this. I know I can. It was only one class. One failed class. I can fix that. I can try again tomorrow. I’m not quitting because of One-eyed fucking Lee.
Reaching down, I grab my pack to head out, but stall halfway through the movement when I realise Reya is still here.
She’s still by the exit, her grey eyes sharp as glass against her dark skin, pinned on me. Tilting her head, she plants her hands on her hips, the motion pulling her black flight gear taut across her body and hugging every curve in a way that’s hard not to notice.
She looks hot. Annoyingly hot.
The rhythm behind my ribs picks back up again before I can stop it. Looking this good would be irritating enough on its own, but thanks to Lucien—to knowing she and Talen were together for so long—I can’t stop imagining, in way too much detail, all the different ways he must have fucked her.
And now she’s standing here, grinning, after watching the entire class walk out on me.
Great.
I can practically feel Reya’s glare burning into the side of my face as we leave the Briefing Tent.
“Don’t.” I cut her off before she has the chance to say anything. I’m not in the mood for her snarky comments. I’m already right on the edge.