Chapter 3 Malrik
Malrik
The clearing empties in patterns I’ve learned to read.
Torric leaves first, heat signature blazing, fire barely leashed. Aspen follows—quieter, colder, frost trailing his boots like a threat he hasn’t finished making. Kieran moves last, ancient power wrapped around him like storm clouds, his silence heavier than words.
And Finn.
Finn pretends to linger near the fire, adjusting his pack with movements too careful to be casual. His chaos magic sparks and settles—restless energy pretending to be calm.
He’s watching Kaia without watching her.
I see it because I see everything. It’s what I do. The others burn or freeze or command. I observe. I calculate. I notice the fractures before they break wide enough for anyone else to see.
My shadows coil at my feet, calm but alert. They sense what I sense—tension stretched thin, bonds pulling in directions that don’t align, something building that none of us are ready for.
Kaia hasn’t moved since Kieran left. Mouse stays close, violet eyes tracking every shift in the group. Her shadows form tighter patterns than usual—defensive, but also exhausted. She’s running on fumes and pretending otherwise.
And Finn.
Finn starts walking toward her before he realizes he’s doing it.
I watch the exact moment he catches himself—shoulders tensing, steps faltering, chaos magic flickering brighter like static charge. He adjusts course, angles toward the supply packs instead.
Distance as punishment, not her request.
He doesn’t fool me. His trajectory still curves in her direction. Gravity never asks permission.
Kaia sits by the fire, finally letting exhaustion catch her. She sinks onto a log, spine straight despite everything, hands curling into fists on her thighs.
Finn approaches casually. Too casually. The kind of ease that takes effort.
“Mind if I—” He gestures at the space beside her.
She glances up. Something flickers across her expression—relief, maybe. Or just the comfort of familiar chaos.
“Sure,” she says quietly.
He does. Not close enough to touch, but near enough that his chaos magic sparks softer around her. I notice the shift immediately. The way his power gentles in her proximity, like fire banking itself without conscious thought.
My shadows shift, recognizing the pattern.
“You okay?” Finn asks.
“Fine.”
“Liar.”
The corner of her mouth twitches. Not quite a smile, but close. “You’re one to talk.”
“I’m an excellent liar.” His grin appears—bright, sharp, armor made of mischief. “Years of practice.”
“I know.”
The smile falters. Just for a breath. Then it’s back, locked in place like muscle memory.
Bob shifts position slightly, edges softening. Even he sees it—the way Finn stabilizes her without meaning to. The way she lets him closer than she lets most of us.
Of all of us, he’s the one she lets see the cracks.
I remember when our bond locked. The way Kaia looked at me in the water, choosing me in her moment of need.
The rightness of it settling into place.
And underneath all of it—faint but unmistakable—Finn’s presence flickering through.
Feeling what we felt. Breaking quietly somewhere across camp where we couldn’t see him shatter.
He hasn’t recovered. He just learned to joke around it.
Torric appears at my shoulder, heat signature washing over me before he speaks. “You going to do something?”
“Not this time.”
His golden eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”
“It means if Finn breaks, she breaks. If she breaks, everything breaks.” I keep my voice low, measured. “Let them breathe.”
“You’re playing strategist with people’s lives.”
“I’m always playing strategist.” I meet his gaze steadily. “Someone has to.”
He studies me for a long moment, jaw tight with frustration he can’t quite articulate. Then he exhales, shaking his head. “I hate when you do this.”
“I know.”
He leaves. Fire trailing him like discontent made visible.
I don’t worry about romance. That’s not what this is—not yet, maybe not ever. What worries me is the chaos magic.
Finn feels too much. It’s his strength. The reason his power responds to emotion, adapts, flows. But it’s also his flaw. When he gets too tied to something—someone—his magic destabilizes. Becomes unpredictable. Dangerous.
My shadows deepen, reflecting the unease I won’t speak aloud.
Carl tumbles out of a tree nearby, landing in a heap with what looks like a stick clutched triumphantly in his shadowy grip. He scrambles up, salutes Bob with obvious pride, and presents his “discovery.”
Bob’s form deflates with visible disappointment.
Linda appears, gently redirecting Carl toward actual patrol duties. Patricia’s notebook flares brighter, documenting the chaos with what I suspect is extreme judgment.
The absurdity cuts through some of my tension.
Kieran stops Finn as he stands to leave, golden eyes serious. “I need you on first watch tonight.”
“Sure thing, boss.” Finn’s voice is casual. His shoulders are rigid.
“With Torric.”
“Perfect. Love spending quality time with fire and fury.”
Kieran’s expression doesn’t shift. “Finn—”
“I’m fine.” The smile sharpens. “Really. Totally fine. Never better.”
Kieran looks like he wants to push. Instead, he just nods once and walks away.
Finn glances toward Kaia without meaning to.
I catch the slip. The way his gaze finds her automatically, like checking a compass. The way he forces himself to look away half a second later.
My shadows tighten.
Kaia stands and steps forward before anyone can settle into the plan. “As long as it’s while we’re moving.”
Kieran turns back, surprise flickering across his face. “Kaia—”
“Seren is still out there.” Her voice is steady, absolute. “We need to find her. And that means we keep moving.”
“We need rest,” Kieran says carefully. “The group needs—”
“No.” She cuts him off. “We’re moving. Pack up.”
The clearing goes quiet.
Kieran’s jaw tightens. He looks like he’s about to argue—ancient authority bristling against being overruled.
But Kaia doesn’t back down. Doesn’t soften. Just holds his gaze until something in his expression shifts.
“Fine,” he says finally. “We move at first light.”
“Now, it’s still morning,” Kaia corrects. “We’ve wasted enough time.”
Finn mutters under his breath—“Trouble”—but there’s something almost relieved in the way he says it. Like her pushing forward gives him permission to stop pretending he’s fine.
Kieran exhales slowly. Then nods once. Sharp. Final.
“Pack up,” he calls to the group.
Kaia eventually moves toward her bedroll, exhaustion catching up now that the decision’s been made. Finn moves toward her again, chaos magic sparking brighter as if responding to her proximity.
She sways. Just a little.
Finn’s hand snaps out before she falls, catching her elbow with precision that speaks to instinct, not thought.
She steadies. His hand withdraws instantly, like he touched fire.
“Thanks,” she says quietly.
“Yeah. Sure. No problem.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “You should rest. Before we go.”
“I will.”
“Good. That’s… good.”
The awkwardness hangs between them. Unnamed. Obvious.
Kaia walks away. Mouse follows, tail flicking once in what might be approval.
Finn watches her go, chaos magic dimming as distance grows between them.
My shadows shift, recognition settling cold and certain in my chest.
Chaos always chooses its anchor.
And she has no idea she’s holding the rope.