Tamed

Chapter 40 #2

She wanted to deny it. Wanted to say they could separate personal from professional. But the evidence was splattered across the arena floor in the form of their worst defeat ever.

“I know,” she whispered.

“We need to fix this. Find neutral ground. Or- ”

“Or?”

He met her eyes, and she saw her own fear reflected there. “Or we’ll lose more than matches.”

The door closed behind him with quiet finality. Cassara sank onto a bench, Flicker immediately crawling into her lap, purring anxiously.

We lost, he said unnecessarily.

“I know.”

It hurt to watch.

“I know.”

You still care about him.

She buried her face in his soft fur, not bothering to ask which ‘him’ Flicker meant. The answer was the same either way.

“I know.”

The silver pin felt heavier than gold ever had.

Cassara turned it over in her fingers, watching morning light catch on the lesser metal. One catastrophic match, and they’d dropped an entire tier. The Crestboard rankings had been posted at dawn and Auric Vow now sat at a comfortable mediocrity that made her stomach turn.

“Stop brooding,” Oliver said from across their usual table. “It’s affecting your tactical assessments.”

She looked up to find him surrounded by notebooks, each filled with his meticulous observations. When had he started documenting everything?

“I’m not brooding.”

“You’ve been staring at that pin for six minutes and forty-seven seconds.” He pushed his glasses up, fixing her with that unnervingly direct gaze. “Time better spent reviewing these.”

He slid a notebook across the table. Her name was written on the cover, followed by ‘& Flicker - Behavioral Analysis.’

“What is this?”

“Everything I’ve observed since day one.” He opened it to a page covered in diagrams. “Your beast is operating at approximately twelve percent capacity.”

Flicker, curled in her lap, chirped indignantly.

“Twelve percent?” She couldn’t hide her skepticism. “He’s barely combat-functional as is.”

“Exactly my point.” Oliver flipped pages, showing chart after chart. “Look at his resonance patterns during high-stress situations. Here, during the Verena match. Here, when Julian cornered you. And here—” He tapped a spike on the graph. “When Gideon was injured in training last week.”

Each spike was dramatic, the readings far exceeding what a C-rank beast should produce.

“These are instrument errors,” she said, but even she could hear the doubt.

“Seven different instruments? Across four months?” Oliver shook his head. “Cassara, your beast reacts to emotional stimuli in ways that defy classification. He’s holding back.”

Am not, Flicker protested in her mind.

Are too, she shot back.

“We have one match left,” Oliver continued. “One chance to avoid complete mediocrity. I think it’s time you stopped treating him like a pet and started treating him like the weapon he could be.”

The words stung more than they should have. Maybe because she’d been avoiding hard truths all week.

Like how she’d crossed halls to avoid Auren, that careful dance of schedules and routes that kept them from occupying the same space.

She’d caught glimpses, his rigid posture during instructor meetings, the way he never quite looked in her direction during assemblies.

They were strangers again, polite and distant, as if midnight bandages and whispered rejections had been a dream.

And Gideon…

She glanced across the dining hall to where he sat with Barrett and Liri, reviewing formation diagrams. He’d been nothing but professional since their fight. Perfectly correct and captain-like. It was worse than anger would have been.

“Cassara.” Oliver’s voice pulled her back. “Are you listening?”

“Yes. Emotional stimuli. Hidden potential.” She closed the notebook. “What do you suggest?”

“Intensive bond training. Push boundaries. Stop protecting him, and yourself, from discomfort.”

I don’t like him, Flicker announced.

He’s trying to help.

He smells like chalk and judgment.

Cassara stood, Flicker flowing up to perch on her shoulder. “When do we start?”

“Now, ideally. The—”

“Cassara!”

Liri appeared at her elbow, slightly breathless, Barrett a steady presence behind her. “Team meeting in ten minutes. You too, Oliver.”

“About?”

“New formations,” Barrett said quietly. “Gideon thinks he’s found something.”

Of course he had. Something brilliant and logical that would require perfect coordination between two people who could barely look at each other.

“We’ll continue this later,” she told Oliver, who was already packing his notebooks.

“Don’t put it off,” he said. “That twelve percent won’t improve itself.”

The meeting was held in their usual practice room, formation diagrams already projected on the walls. Gideon stood at the center, and for a moment, just a moment, their eyes met. Something flickered there, gone too fast to name.

“Right,” he began, voice carefully neutral. “We’ve been approaching this wrong. Trying to replace what we lost instead of building on what we have.”

He gestured to a new formation, unlike anything in the standard manual. “Oliver’s beast excels at area control. Nym has been growing stronger, more responsive. Barrett can anchor a line if we stop asking him to cover two. And Cassara—”

He paused, and she held her breath.

“Your agility is our greatest asset. We’ve been trying to make you a defender when you’re built for surgical strikes.”

“And Flicker?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.

Another pause. “Oliver’s research suggests untapped potential. We should explore it.”

Cassara nodded.

“One week,” he continued, addressing the group. “We’ll train twice daily. Morning conditioning, afternoon tactics. Questions?”

“What about our opponents?” Liri asked. “Do we know—”

Gideon glanced towards Cassara.

“Julian’s team.”

Of course. Of course it would be Julian.

“They’re ranked gold, riding a five-match winning streak,” Gideon said evenly. “Their formation is aggressive, beast-heavy. They’ll expect us to be defensive after last week.”

“So we won’t be,” Cassara said, understanding. “We’ll attack.”

“Precisely.” For just a second, his professional mask slipped, and she saw a fleeting glimpse of approval. “They won’t expect precision from a wounded team.”

We’re not wounded, Flicker protested.

But they were. Fractured by loss, complicated by feelings nobody would acknowledge, held together by pride and necessity. One week to forge themselves into something functional.

“Dismissed,” Gideon said. “Individual training starts in an hour.”

As she turned to go, Gideon called out. “Cassara. A moment.”

Her heart jumped, but she kept her expression neutral as the others left. When they were alone, he moved to the window, not quite looking at her.

“Oliver’s right about Flicker,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen the readings.”

“Everyone has opinions about my beast lately.”

“That’s not—” He stopped and took a breath. “I’m trying to help.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m just—”

“Frustrated. Angry. Confused.” He turned to face her, and the careful distance he’d maintained cracked slightly. “I know the feeling.”

They stood there, the space between them filled with everything they couldn’t say. She wanted to apologize again, wanted to explain about Auren.

Instead, she said, “One week.”

“One week,” he agreed.

“We’ll win.”

“We have to.”

Neither of them moved to leave. Finally, Gideon cleared his throat.

“Cassara…”

“I should go,” she said quickly. “Oliver’s waiting. Bond training.”

“Of course. Train hard.”

She left before either of them could make things worse, Flicker a warm weight on her shoulder.

That was painful to watch, he observed.

Not now.

You still want to kiss him.

I said not now.

And you’re still angry at the other one.

She didn’t dignify that with a response.

Because Flicker was right, as usual. She was angry at Auren for his noble stupidity, for pushing her away, and for being right about how the secrets would poison everything.

And she did want to kiss Gideon again, wanted to know if that fire was real or just reaction to the feeling of abandonment.

Most of all, she was angry at herself for the mess she’d made, for the hearts she’d tangled and for the team she was failing.

She headed to the bonding chambers, Oliver’s notebook under her arm. If Flicker had hidden potential, she’d find it. If the team needed her to be a weapon, she’d sharpen herself to a killing edge.

And if her heart needed clarity?

Well. That would have to wait until after they proved they weren’t broken.

Silver might be heavier than gold, but she’d be damned if she’d let it drag them down.

The bonding chamber hummed with residual energy, mana particles still dancing in the air from another failed synchronization attempt. Cassara sat cross-legged on the floor, breathing hard, while Flicker paced in agitated circles around her.

“Again,” she said.

No, he protested, sitting down firmly. It hurts when the connection snaps.

“It hurts me too.” She held up her ACS bracer, where warning lights flickered amber instead of steady blue. “But Oliver says we’re at fifteen percent now. That’s progress.”

Three percent in four days. At this rate, we’ll be ready when we’re dead.

She couldn’t argue with his math. Every push forward came with backlash. The ACS was struggling to regulate the surges of power that shouldn’t exist from a C-rank beast. Oliver’s modifications helped, but they were bandages on a breaking dam.

“Cassara?”

She looked up to find Oliver in the doorway, carrying what looked like a portable workshop in his arms. Tools, crystals, and a set of schematics covered in multiple handwriting styles.

“New modification,” he said without preamble, already setting up on the chamber floor. “The current framework is restricting flow. We need a different approach.”

“Different how?”

He produced two mana crystals, each about the size of her thumb, gleaming with internal light. “Direct regulation through synchronized crystals. One embedded in your ACS, one in a collar for Flicker. They’ll create a stabilized channel between you.”

Flicker padded over to investigate, sniffing at the crystals suspiciously. They smell like lightning.

“That’s… is that legal?” Cassara asked, remembering all too well the cold scrutiny of a disciplinary tribunal. “Modified equipment in official matches-”

Oliver shrugged.

The casual gesture was so unexpected from him that all she could do was stare. “Did you just… shrug? At regulations?”

“Perhaps,” he said, but she caught the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Oliver Straton. Did you just make a joke?”

“I never joke about modifications.” But the twitch was definitely there now. “The regulations specify that ACS systems must maintain the original manufacturer framework. These crystals don’t alter the framework, they create a parallel processing path. Completely legal.”

“You absolutely made a joke.”

“I made a regulatory clarification that happened to cause amusement.” He was already disassembling her bracer with practiced efficiency. “Hold still. This requires precision.”

She watched him work, noting how his usual rigid focus had softened slightly. Four days of intensive training together had worn down some of his sharp edges, revealing glimpses of dry humor beneath the analytical exterior.

“There.” He sat back, the first crystal now seamlessly integrated into her bracer. “Flicker?”

Do I have to wear a collar? Flicker’s ears flattened. I’m not a pet.

“He doesn’t want to wear a collar,” Cassara explained.

“It’s a tactical enhancement device,” Oliver said seriously. “Shaped like a collar for practical reasons.”

Still feels demeaning.

“I’ll make it silver,” Cassara offered. “To match your fur.”

…acceptable.

The collar was elegant, more like jewelry than equipment. The crystal sat at the front, pulsing gently with Flicker’s heartbeat. The moment it clicked into place, Cassara gasped.

The bond exploded open.

Where before there had been a narrow channel, constrained and difficult, now there was a river. She could feel Flicker’s emotions with crystalline clarity—his curiosity, his frustration with their limitations, his deep, unwavering loyalty. And underneath it all, power. Waves of it, simply waiting.

Oh, Flicker said, his mental voice clearer than ever. This is better.

“This is incredible,” she breathed, watching her ACS readings steady into perfect blue. “Oliver, you’re brilliant.”

He ducked his head, adjusting his glasses unnecessarily. “It wasn’t entirely my design.”

Something in his tone made her stomach tighten. “What do you mean?”

“Gideon came to me three days ago. He had notes, partial schematics. Said he’d been working on it but couldn’t finish the calculations.” Oliver gestured to the scattered papers. “I just filled in the blanks.”

Cassara looked down at the bracer. Gideon had done this. Had seen her struggling and, instead of approaching her directly, had found another way to help.

“I see,” she managed.

“He specifically asked me not to mention his involvement,” Oliver added, then paused. “Which I’ve now done. Hmm.”

“Why tell me?”

“Because secrets are tactically unsound.” He began packing up his tools. “And because credit should go where it’s due. Even if it makes things… complicated.”

Complicated. That was one word for it.

After Oliver left, Cassara sat in the empty chamber, Flicker curled in her lap. Through their newly opened bond, she could feel his concern, warm and steady.

You should thank him, Flicker said.

I know.

But you won’t.

No.

Because you’re scared.

She stroked his fur, not bothering to deny it. She was scared. Scared that thanking him would mean acknowledging what he’d done. Scared that acknowledging it would mean admitting she’d noticed, that she cared, that despite everything, she still felt that pull toward him.

“Stand,” she said instead. “Let’s test these new crystals properly.”

They moved through forms together, and it was like dancing with a part of herself she’d never known existed. Flicker anticipated her movements, power flowing between them in perfect synchronization. Twenty percent. Thirty. The readings climbed steadily, no backlash, no strain.

By the time they finished, she was grinning despite herself.

Tomorrow they would face Julian and his team in the arena and she’d have to navigate team dynamics and unspoken gratitude and the weight of what they’d lost.

But she wasn’t worried. Now she had this, a bond finally opening like a flower in sunlight, and the knowledge that somewhere in the academy, Gideon Delvanir was still trying to save her, even if it was from a careful distance.