Chapter 74 – Quinton
QUINTON
Ten days of this. Felt like ten years. But she wanted me gone, so I stayed gone. I did what she asked, because it was the only fucking thing I had left to give her. Every day, a little more of me gone. Hollowed out.
The squad noticed. Of course, they did. They weren’t idiots.
Reyna and Zephyr kept up their usual bullshit, but even they faltered when the quiet between me and Azaria stretched too damn long.
Kael was the first to call it out, eyeing the faint shimmer of those warding runes Azaria suddenly wore around her wrist. “A precaution,” she’d snapped.
That was all we got. No explanation, no chance to ask.
And that was it—the end of the conversation. I called it my damnation.
They tried to keep it normal. Bullshit small talk, forced laughs. Thorne grumbling to fill the empty air, Lirael fussing over the kettle, Elias watching too much and saying too little.
Kalias… hells, the man barely showed himself anymore.
He’d rather stay a wolf these days, and that wolf never fucking left her side.
Seeing that—seeing that massive silver beast pressed up against her, all loyal and warm—tore something open in me.
It should’ve been me. Right there, close enough to protect her.
But I was fucking not. Instead, I might as well have been fucking furniture.
Evenings were the worst. We’d sit in the common room, bent over parchment scraps and old scrolls, piecing together whatever prophecy Kalias had dragged in from gods-knew-where.
Azaria was always there, but she hardly spoke.
When she did, it was at the end—quiet, cutting straight through the noise, still brilliant as ever.
Every single time, it was like a knife right to the fucking ribs, because she still had that spark, still had that fire, and she wouldn’t direct a single scrap of it at me.
I started leaving the room first every night. Couldn’t stand the weight of it anymore. Couldn’t stand her refusing to look at me.
Gods above, I would’ve taken the agony of her emotions tearing through me over this emptiness, a thousand times over. At least pain was something, but this? This was slow, fucking death.
Tonight, I almost made it out. I was halfway down the corridor when Elias caught up, quiet as a shadow. He didn’t say shit at first, just walked alongside me, letting the quiet gnaw at my bones. Finally, I snapped, “If you’ve got something to say, just fucking say it.”
He gave me that long, level look I’d grown up with. The one who saw straight through my bullshit. “You can’t keep doing this, Quin.”
I huffed a bitter laugh. “She told me to stay away, Elias. So that’s what I’m doing.”
“And how’s that working out for both of you?” he shot back, voice sharp enough to bleed.
I stopped, turning on him. “What the fuck do you want from me? She doesn’t want me near her. Doesn’t want to hear a word from me. You think I like this? You think I haven’t thought about going to her, begging her to just—fuck, to just look at me? But I can’t. Not when she’s made it that clear.”
Elias’s stare never wavered. “So you’re just going to sit here and let the two of you bleed each other dry?”
“If that’s what she wants,” I ground out, jaw tight, “then that’s what she’ll get.”
He blew out a breath, rubbing a hand down his face. He shook his head, eyes hard. “The pair of you are too fucking stubborn for your own good. And if you keep this shit up, it’s not just you and Azaria that’ll break. It’ll be all of us.”
Two nights later, Kael didn’t let me leave. The common room was all noise and heat, squad banter flying like nothing was wrong. I kept my head down, waited for the first lull, then slipped toward the door, ready to vanish and nurse my misery somewhere quieter.
I didn’t make it far. Kael’s voice cut across the room, lazy as ever but with that edge that said he wasn’t fucking around. “Na-ah, Blood Boy. Not tonight. Get your ass back here and have a drink with us.”
I almost told him to piss off. Would’ve, if Thorne wasn’t blocking the way, arms folded, gaze flat and immovable. No getting past that. I let out a sigh that felt more like a curse and dragged myself back to the table. Kael slid a cup over, grinning. “There. Not so hard, was it?” he said.
Thorne didn’t say a word. He just watched, still and heavy, weighing every fucking thing in the room. Kael leaned in, elbows on the table, all restless sharpness. “So, we gonna talk about why Azaria’s acting like you don’t exist, or do we keep pretending?”
I stared at my drink, jaw clenched tight enough to crack. “Don’t start, Kael.”
He grinned, but his eyes weren’t really laughing. “Come on, Quin. You telling us, or do I get to make up something more dramatic?”
Fuck it. What did it matter anymore?
I took a long swallow, trying to burn down the urge to throw the cup. “My magic—blood magic—it’s attuned to her. I feel everything she feels. It had been attuned for months.”
Saying it out loud made it real all over again. Made it worse.
Kael’s eyebrows jumped up. “You mean everything? Happy, pissed, turned on?—“
Thorne shot him a look. One. That was all it took. Kael rolled his eyes and shut his mouth.
I forced the words out, bitter. “Yeah. Everything.”
Kael gave a low whistle. “Shit. That explains the warding runes.” He flicked the bottle between us. “No wonder she looks ready to scorch you every time you walk in. I’d be twitchy too if someone could read my every mood.”
Thorne finally spoke, voice low, gravel rough. “So why’d you lie to her?”
I stared at the table. “Didn’t want her to know how bad it was. Didn’t want her seeing how much I needed her. When she asked, I panicked and lied. Now she wants fuck-all to do with me.”
Thorne’s voice was flat, but the words cut. “You think she wanted to shut you out? Or are you just giving her what you think you deserve?”
Fuck. He was right. I knew he was right. I swallowed. But saying it out loud—admitting I was punishing myself as much as she was punishing me?—
I couldn’t. Not yet.
Kael swirled his cup, softer now. “Ever think about just telling her the truth, Quin? No magic, no shields. Just the fucking truth?”
A bitter laugh tore out of me. “Bit late for that.”
Thorne’s eyes didn’t move. “You sure?”
I looked at him. There was no judgement in his eyes, just that patience, heavy and unmovable. It pinned me to the ground.
Kael refilled my cup, nudging it over. “Drink up. If you’re gonna haunt the place, might as well be half drunk for it.”
Thorne didn’t add anything else. And for the first time in days, the emptiness felt almost bearable. I didn’t argue. Not tonight.
The night dragged on, bottle by bottle. Kael and Thorne kept the drinks coming, kept the noise level up, like they could drown out the shit storm swirling in my head.
It worked for a while. The first glass burned, second hit easier.
By the third, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or break something.
Thorne actually smirked at one of Kael’s shit jokes, and for a minute, it almost felt like normal. Fuck, I missed normal.
Eventually Thorne stood, rolling his shoulders. “Try not to burn the place down,” he muttered. He lived over on the eastern side, near the old barracks gate, away from the squad’s noise. He left, boots thudding, back straight, a wall you could lean on if you ever admitted you needed it.
Kael knocked back the last of the bottle, wiped his mouth, and jerked his chin at me.
“You’re not dead yet, Quin. Don’t start acting like a fucking ghost.” He stuck around long enough to make sure I got back to my apartment in the barracks, then peeled off for his own quarters, whistling something tuneless down the corridor.
The place was dark. There was nothing but empty air. Elias and Lyra were out cold, doors shut, all that squad warmth sucked out and gone. I kicked off my boots, dropped onto the bed, and stared at the ceiling. The room tilted, settled, tilted again. Everything weighed twice as much.
For a while, I just lay there, listening to the blood beat in my ears, letting my eyes go fuzzy. My hands were numb. Or maybe I couldn’t feel them anymore. Couldn’t feel anything. The liquor dulled things, but not enough.
And then my magic stirred. Not the usual hum. Not the gentle pulse I’d learned to ignore. This was something else—wild, restless, clawing at the inside of my ribs like it was trying to get out. It twisted, burned, lashed against the void where she used to be.
The alcohol made it worse, made my blood sing too loud, made the magic feral and frantic with nowhere to go. No one to reach for. Just me and the fucking emptiness, and the bond thrashing like a caged animal.
I pressed my palms to my chest, breath coming short. I tried to pull it back, wrestle it down, but it wouldn’t listen. It wanted her. Needed her. And she was gone—walled off behind silver and wards and her own godsdamn anger.
The room spun harder. My magic snarled, wild and desperate, and all I could do was lie there and let it tear through me.
She used to be there every hour of the day. Happy, hurting, pissed, lit up with something bright; I’d felt it, all of it, even when I’d tried not to. Now there was nothing. All that was left was the fucking ward on her wrist and a black void where she’d been, chewing through me bit by bit.
Didn’t matter how many times Kael told me I’d be fine, or Thorne said I should just spit the truth. Every day, I felt less. Every night, more numb. The world had gone cold and flat. I’d fucked up, and this was the price—emptiness so thick it might as well have been a grave.
I lay there in the dark and let it all swallow me.
Didn’t fight it.
Didn’t dream.
Didn’t even care.