Chapter Five
For a heartbeat, I don’t breathe. Not because I’m scared, though honestly, maybe I should be, but because what the hell did he just say?
He wants to kill me?
He doesn't even know me!
"Oh shit, well that was quick," Ezzy breaks the silence with a nervous laugh. "I thought you’d survive at least two.. maybe three days…"
My fingers twitch, a reflex. I reach inward, toward my Threads—the hum in my blood, something shifts but it’s quiet, dulled, whatever Merrin did at the border still clings like smoke.
Fuck. One month, that’s the deal. But Ezzy’s right, I might not make it through the next five minutes. I need to figure out how to survive this, and fast.
“Well, that’s one hell of a greeting,” I say, keeping my voice flat as the crowd thickens around us.
Ezzy’s friends hover behind me, wide-eyed, while across from us, the dark-haired girl and the officer who whispered to Talen earlier shift into place at his side.
“Don’t take it personally,” Talen says, amused. “But I’ve been looking forward to this.”
He steps in closer, precise and predator-smooth. I shift back, barely. But he sees it, tracking me like prey. Ezzy’s dagger’s already in my hand. Cold, steady and waiting.
“Good,” he smiles. “I was hoping you’d want to play. Would’ve been such a waste if you just rolled over.”
What the fuck is this guy’s problem?
“Glad I didn’t disappoint.” A flick of my wrist and the blade shifts, just enough to brush his hip. “I don’t roll over for anyone.”
“Even better.” He leans in until his breath brushes my ear.
“Means I get to savour every second before I break you.” Then, louder, almost cheerful as he steps back a few paces.
“You know, this just got a whole lot more fun. I thought I’d be facing some pampered Innerlander brat.
But no, they gave the spot to someone like you.
Don’t think that uniform hides where you’re from,” his stare darkens, my spine tightens.
“It doesn’t. It just makes your face easier to aim for.
We all know what you are.” A beat. “Outerlander.”
A slow, infuriating grin curls across his face, left side first before stretching wider, but I don’t lower the blade. My grip just locks tighter.
“That’s a fucking bonus,” he adds. “Double the pleasure. Double the payback.”
Thoughts tumble fast, scrambling to piece together a puzzle I don’t even have the edges for. I expected people might try to kill me here, that’s not paranoia, it’s math. An Outerlander in a Citadel uniform? That’s politics.
But this? This feels personal.
A tremor races through me, breath hooks in my chest, but it’s off. Dull at the edges, like my fear’s been filtered, muted just enough to feel wrong.
He’s talking about killing me. I should be panicking. I’m not.
Still, if he’s got a reason to come for me specifically, I need to know what it is, fast. Weight shifts to my back foot as I edge the blade forward, calculating, but he sees it, catches the move and smirks.
“Go ahead,” he challenges, “Give them a reason to drag you out of here, I’d love to watch you scream.”
A familiar itch stirs beneath my skin, magic waking up.
He’s baiting me.
Why?
“Payback?” I say, keeping my voice steady. “For what? You don’t even know me.”
"Oh, I know you,” he claims, too fast. Too certain. “I know your type. You Outerlanders think you’re noble because you never signed the Treaty? That doesn’t make you brave. It makes you a coward who walked away while the rest of us stayed and bled.”
"Stayed and bled for who?" I cut in, voice stiffening. "The Citadel? They don’t bleed for anyone but themselves."
He doesn’t flinch.
Doesn’t argue.
Just takes a step toward me. Then another, controlled and measured, like this is a game he’s already won. And god help me, every inch he closes in sets something primal thrumming under my skin.
The dagger now hovers just shy of his stomach, but he doesn’t stop.
Instead, he leans in further, lets the steel tip kiss his shirt, his skin—muscle flexing beneath, tight and defined, the kind forged by years of discipline, not chance.
He’s solid. All of him. Built like a weapon, and it’s impossible not to notice.
Then his hand closes around mine, and he pulls. Not enough to break skin, just enough to feel the blade right there between us.
“Go ahead,” he murmurs, quiet and coaxing. “Try it. Let’s see what happens...”
His eyes hold mine—dark hazel, rimmed in gold and my breath snags, heart jumps against my ribs. But it’s not fear, that’s quiet, muted, this is from something else. Something raw, reckless.
What the fuck, I don’t want to want this—him. But there’s something intoxicating about how unfazed he is, the way he dares my body to act.
Boots shift, someone coughs. Around us, the courtyard continues to hum with low voices. Watching, waiting. I should be fighting, lunging. Hell, even running. Anything. But the part of me that’s meant to panic? It’s gone quiet. Buried under a heat that’s crawling low and slow through my gut.
I guess they don’t call him the Nightrose for nothing. Maybe that’s what this is, not attraction, not instinct, just a beautiful fucking trap I’m already halfway inside.
But, no I’m not getting caught today. One month. One deal. Head down. Survive. Get out. I shift to move, but then—
Just the smallest shift of his wrist, barely a motion, yet the pressure hits hard.
Not from his hand, but from the air around it, like a vice: invisible, but crushing.
Pain lances through my arm as it’s forced to twist, tendons stretching too far, too fast. My fingers snap open before I can stop them and the blade clatters to the ground.
“You know…” he says, easy now, like we’re just making conversation.
“My younger brother was supposed to start here this semester. Waitlisted three years. Survived all the prep. Not like the fifty percent who wash out, or the forty who die trying.” A pause.
“But then two weeks ago, his offer vanished. Revoked. No warning. No appeal. Just gone. Turns out the spot went to someone else.” A beat.
Then, soft, like a knife sliding in: “To you.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. To me? He thinks I took his brother's place here?
"My brother didn’t take it well. Let's just say he's not as strategic or as careful as I am…” Talen’s crooked smile twists, not quite a sneer.
“He confronted them, pushed, asked too many questions and things got…
heated. And we all know the Citadel doesn't like that..." His gaze locks back on mine, hard. I don’t look away. I can’t.
"So they Reassigned him... No warning. No appeal.
Sent him off to the Northern Peaks. He was dead by morning.
Never even got to say goodbye. And now here you are. .."
Straightening, he steps back, like he’s said his piece. Like he’s dropped a match and is just waiting to see if I catch fire. And then it hits me, I don’t even know this guy. But he thinks I’m the reason his brother’s dead...
Something flares, hot, at the base of my throat. My Threads sparking to life, like flint on steel. I’m still standing, just, but my knees want to buckle, and there’s a pounding behind my eyes. Actual panic now, fear maybe finally here.
Shit. Think, Lyra.
If I argue, I feed his rage. If I cower, I look weak. Either way… maybe he still kills me.
I said I’d stay quiet. Keep my head down. Get the journals, get out.
But I’ve survived worse... Right? Standing my ground is what I do and staying silent tastes like surrender.
Fuck that.
I square my shoulders and breathe. I can do this. I do this.
“You think I wanted this?” I take a step forward, gritting my teeth, my magic building. “You think I clawed my way into your world on purpose? You think I chose this over my own people? My own home?”
I shake my head, slow and firm and catch Ezzy’s face in the corner of my eye; it’s pale, frozen. I don’t think she’s breathing. I’m not sure I am either.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I continue, meeting his gaze—smiling, because fury makes terrible decisions, and I need him to think I’m calm. “So if you’re looking for revenge, you’re aiming in the wrong direction.”
Talen doesn’t answer at first. Just watches me, eyes narrowing, like he’s trying to decide if I’m lying or if I’m really that clueless. Then finally, he moves in.
"No one just ends up here, you think the Citadel opens its gates to every bit of trash that blows in? You want me to believe you didn’t know what your seat here cost? You didn’t just take his place, you erased him.”
There’s grief in his voice, undeniable, raw. He tries to bury it under control, but it bleeds through.
“So this is your plan?” I say, lifting my chin, matching his stare.
“Kill me here? Now? In front of half the courtyard. All for revenge... over a brother I never even met?” I nod to the crowd.
“Bit dramatic don’t you think? Unless you need an audience?
Big man, small ego. Can’t pick on someone unless they’re unarmed and outnumbered? ”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t take the bait.
“Oh, I’m not killing you now, here, I’m not that careless.
” He tilts his head, studying me like he’s already picturing the end.
“You won’t know when. Or where. But it’s coming.
And when it does,” his tongue runs over his bottom lip, like he’s savouring the words before he feeds them to me.
“You’ll remember his name. Ezekiel. Veir. Mont."
He steps back, folding his arms and the heat of him vanishes with it.
Veirmont...
The name hits like a slap. Like fire to dry grass. His brother is a Veirmont?
He’s a fucking Veirmont?
I should have recognised him, I’ve seen his parents before. Air Realm royalty ruling like it’s their birthright, always making a show of themselves at public events. But he looks nothing like them.