33. Elena
The ride back to the palace is so quiet I can hear the hum of the engine beneath my feet.
No one says it, but the air feels tight, pulled thin as wire.
Across from me, Hannah stares out the window, her reflection ghosting over the darkened glass. Braydon sits rigid beside her, jaw set, fingers drumming once against his knee before stilling. Their eyes meet for half a second, hers apologetic, his unreadable, and then they both look away.
Not because of me.
Because when this explodes, it won’t land on my shoulders first.
It will land on hers.
I mouth the word sorry the moment Hannah glances my way. She gives a careless shrug, the kind that says I’ve handled worse, but it doesn’t settle the weight pressing behind my ribs.
The palace gates yawn open before us, iron and stone swallowing the car whole. Gravel crunches until the car comes to a stop and the doors open. The cool air rushes in, easing some of the tension from within.
We are ushered out and through the towering entrance without ceremony, my security doubling as they fall into step behind us. No time to breathe. No time to regroup.
Straight to Fletcher and my husband, both waiting for me.
The office doors swing open, and Alexei closes the distance in three strides.
His hands land on my upper arms, firm, warm, grounding. His fingers slide beneath my chin and tip my head back. His eyes scan my face with ruthless precision. “Are you alright?”
I brace for anger. For the lecture I know is about to come. For the controlled fury he saves for when I step too close to danger.
Instead, his touch is careful. Almost reverent.
“I’m okay,” I tell him, though my voice betrays me with the slightest hitch.
His thumb sweeps across my cheek. It comes away streaked with dirt. His brows pull together, then smooth as he continues his silent inspection, checking for bruises, for blood, for anything he might have missed.
“I can explain,” I start.
“I know,” he murmurs.
I blink. “You know?”
A corner of his mouth twitches. “That you wouldn’t try to take on Oksana and Wendell without finding a way to even the playing field?” My lips press together. He looks over my shoulder. “Thank you for keeping her safe,” he tells Clara.
Clara inclines her head once. “At this rate, Zurdonia is going to have to hire me full-time.”
“Don’t think I haven’t considered it,” Alexei mutters.
The tension fractures slightly.
“How did you know I would go to the tournament field?” I ask.
“I didn’t,” he admits. “Not at first.”
The door opens behind us. Zoe steps inside, as she belongs in the center of every storm.
“Zoe?” I breathe.
“Girls,” she says brightly, as if we’ve returned from something far less catastrophic.
“You convinced him not to stop us?” Hannah asks.
“I did,” Zoe replies without apology. Then her gaze shifts to me, and something gentler settles there. “Based on everything we know, I suggest it was important for you to complete this quest.”
The room narrows.
“She did?” The words come out breathless.
“You can’t imagine how thrilled we were with that directive,” Fletcher comments dryly.
My eyes find Alexei’s again. “You let me do it anyway.”
It isn’t a question.
He nods once. “I trust you.”
The words hit harder than any reprimand could have.
Trust.
It goes against everything he is, every instinct that drives him to shield, to fortify, to stand between me and anything sharp. And yet he stepped back.
For me.
My chest tightens painfully, like my heart is trying to grow larger than it has room for.
“What happened down there?” Fletcher asks.
Clara, Hannah, and I exchange a look.
Fletcher and Alexei notice too, deepening their worry.
“I’m certain it was connected to the ancients,” I answer carefully. “Their power was still in the walls. I could feel it, like a current beneath my skin. And I heard… something.”
“What did they want?” Alexei asks.
“To give me what I was meant to have.”
Zoe’s eyes close abruptly. “I can feel it,” she whispers. “Your energy is different.”
Alexei’s expression sharpens.
“I’m okay,” I assure him, placing my hand over his forearm. I feel the tension coiled there, ready to spring. “I think… whatever they gave me might neutralize Wendell’s gift. Or at least fight it.”
“Such as?” Fletcher presses.
“We know Wendell manipulates the earth.” I swallow. “When I was down there, it felt like something older was humming through me. Like it recognized me.”
“Because of your visions?” Hannah asks.
I nod. “I’ve only ever brushed the surface before. I touched the stone and caught echoes. But this…” My fingers curl. “This felt like touching the source.”
“What was granted to you?” Alexei asks.
My mouth goes dry. “I think I can manipulate what people see. And feel.”
“You think?” Fletcher arches a brow.
I gnaw on my lower lip. “I haven’t exactly tested it.”
Clara steps forward without hesitation. “Then test it.”
Alexei looks at her sharply. “You’re volunteering.”
“If something goes wrong,” Clara points out flatly, “I’m the best person in this room to handle it.” She stops in front of me. “Let’s get it over with.”
A nervous laugh escapes me. “I don’t even know what I’m doing.”
“Yes, you do,” Zoe encourages softly. “The same way you reach for your visions. Connect to it.”
My palms are slick. I wipe them on my pants and turn back to Clara.
She offers one curt nod.
“You ready?” I ask.
“Just do it.”
I lift my hands slowly and wrap my fingers around her wrist. Her pulse beats steady beneath my thumb.
I close my eyes.
I reach.
The same place I go when the world tilts and visions flood in… I find that inner seam and press against it. Only this time, instead of being pulled under, I push outward.
White. Silver. Blue.
Light blooms behind my eyelids.
Images scatter like ingredients laid across a table, waiting to be chosen. Unlike my visions, they aren’t forced upon me. They wait. For me.
I sift through them, feeling their texture, their weight. Then I find it. A memory from last night. The forest. Ruslan.
I shape it carefully, like molding glass while it’s still molten.
The memory spills outward.
Clara stiffens.
Her arm jerks, instinctively trying to pull free, but I hold firm.
The woods rise around us; dark and damp and thick with the scent of pine. Ruslan’s hands untie the binds at her wrists. She stumbles as she steps forward.
His hands catch her. Strong. Certain.
I don’t force her feelings. I only sharpen them.
The brush of his fingers. The quickening of her pulse.
Her gaze travels up his chest, over his shoulders, until it collides with his eyes, lit with that infuriating, charming spark. The crook of his smile as he murmurs something about always being there to catch her when she falls.
The air tightens.
The emotion crests, and I lose my grip.
The light fractures as we snap back into the office.
Clara rips her wrist from my grasp.
Alexei steps forward instantly. “Are you alright?”
Clara rubs at her wrist like she’s trying to scrub something off. Her expression is composed, but there’s a hairline crack in it. “Fine.”
“Did you see something?” Fletcher asks.
Clara clears her throat. “Yes. The forest. Last night.”
“Did you hear us calling your name?”
Her eyes lock on mine. “No.”
She was nowhere else. She was there.
“Then she’s right,” Fletcher remarks slowly. “If she can get close enough to Oksana and Wendell…”
“She can show them what we want them to see,” Alexei finishes. “Getting close is dangerous,” he adds, turning to me. “Can you do that without touching someone?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. My visions always required connection, place, object, something meaningful. There has to be a thread.”
“Elena and I can experiment,” Zoe offers.
Alexei nods. “Good.”
“What are you thinking?” Fletcher asks him.
He glances at me before answering. “That we do exactly what Oksana wants.” His jaw hardens. “We take the fight to her.”
The room shifts instantly into strategy. Names are thrown into the air: Ruslan. Braydon. Blake. Lance. Plans begin to form, overlap, and sharpen.
Hannah slips out quietly, likely to mend whatever rift was created between her and Braydon.
Clara starts toward Alexei and Fletcher, but I step into her path.
“Wait.”
She stops. The mask is back in place.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She licks her lips, buying time. “Fine. It was a trick. A test. It worked.”
“Was it?” I tilt my head. “I controlled the surroundings. But not all of it.”
Her eyes narrow. “Yes, you did.”
“I didn’t create how you felt.”
Her jaw tightens. “Stop trying to find something that isn’t there.”
“I was inside it,” I pressed softly. “I felt?—”
“Don’t.” The word cuts sharply. “Don’t bloody give it another thought. I haven’t.”
She moves around me before I can respond, stepping into the circle forming around Alexei and Fletcher.
I watch her go. Her stride is steady and controlled.
But I felt it.
That surge in her chest. That flicker of something dangerously close to longing. The vision didn’t plant it. It only held up a mirror.
And I think that might be the part that unsettles her most.
Rain begins as a whisper against our bedroom windows, soft, searching fingertips tapping at the glass.
I lie curled against Alexei, my cheek pressed to the steady rise and fall of his chest. His arm circles my waist, firm and unyielding, as if even in sleep he expects the world to try and steal me.
I trace the ridges of his stomach with lazy fingers, mapping every line I already know by heart.
The heat of his skin seeps into mine, grounding me.
“I can’t believe you knew,” I murmur, watching my fingertip drift over the slope of him. “You knew what I was going to do.”
His chest vibrates with a quiet laugh. His fingers travel up and down my arm, slow and meticulous. Goosebumps follow in their wake.
“I told you,” he says with a quiet laugh, voice thick with sleep and certainty. “I know you. I always know what you’ll do next.”
I tilt my head back so I can look at him. The storm outside flickers faint light across his face, catching the sharp edge of his jaw. I bite my lip. “Then why did you let me?”