Chapter Ten #2
“What do you mean?” I blink, looking up.
“Two Realms. Air and water, in sync. It looked like a prism exploded. I’ve never seen that before... Most cadets, stars, most officers, won’t ever get close to that kind of power. How did you do that, how did you learn that?”
My chest slips into a slightly faster rhythm, nerves brushing close.
Shit.
Do I tell them? Admit I’ve got no training, no control, and not a damn clue what just happened in there either? Just hand over that kind of vulnerability like it won’t be used against me?
But if I don’t, they’ll suspect something anyway. And I need allies. I need them close. If they walk now, I’m alone—and alone in here is a death sentence.
I glance past Ezzy. Rowan stands stiff, blocking the door, arms crossed and jaw tight, but his eyes haven’t left me once.
Finn’s more relaxed, but not casual, like he’s trying not to spook something fragile.
They seem decent... but I’ve seen decent turn quick.
Kindness doesn’t mean loyalty, and I don’t know who the hell I can trust in here.
Fingers twitch at my side, magic stirring, recharging.
Neither choice is good. Both could get me killed. But silence, being alone in here? Yeah, that’ll do it faster. And Quinn said Ezzy’s the best in the class. Definitely not someone I want turning against me.
But honestly? I’m too fucking tired to keep fighting. Maybe it’s the wrong call. Maybe I’ll regret it the second the words leave my mouth. And right now? Right now I just want to get out of this room and back to the dorm as fast as I can.
So I tell them. I tell them about my Threads, that I have no idea how to control them, how to use them.
That after my mum died I pretty much taught myself.
Guesswork. Instinct. Failure after failure.
That I always knew there was something powerful under the surface.
... but not like today. Nothing like that.
I risk a glance up, half-expecting regret, some flicker that says they’re already questioning why they bothered with me. But none of them move, no one backs away.
The rush in my chest eases, and my breathing softens with it. I should have stopped there, I’d already said enough, but once it started I just couldn’t keep it in.
Merrin, the deal. How I didn’t come here by choice—how it was dressed up like mercy, but felt more like a leash. One month. Mum’s journals. And maybe, maybe, a way back to Bren. To home. To everything I’d left behind.
Maybe it was stupid. Laying it all out like that in front of people I barely know. People who could use it against me. But maybe that’s also why I did it, because they don’t know me, don’t expect anything from me.
Once I’d finished—whatever it was, a breakdown, a confession, a collapse—I waited for the fallout.
But across from me, Ezzy’s hands just twitched, and she looked like she was two seconds from pulling me into a hug I’d definitely suffocate in.
I stopped her with a look before she tried.
Even Rowan gave me this quiet glance. Not pity.
Just… recognition. Like he knows what it’s like to carry something alone for too long.
For a second, I didn’t know what to do with it. With them. I’ve never had that. I’ve always handled things alone, because I had to. Lost too many, trusted the wrong ones. Even Bren, I kept at a distance. Let him see my skin, not my cracks. Always figured if he saw too much, he’d walk.
Losing control, almost killing someone, that scared the hell out of me. Still does.
But this?
Letting the truth show. Being seen and not discarded? That’s new. And maybe not as terrifying… but it’s fucking close.
Finn finally broke the silence, nodded toward the Rec Hall. Said sometimes, when his head won’t shut up, when things feel foggy, beating the shit out of a training dummy helps.
I gave him half a smile. Said I wasn’t sure I could trust myself to stop swinging. He laughed, then backed off.
Ezzy looked like she wanted to say something else—maybe push, maybe comfort—but in the end, she didn’t.
So before things could get awkward, more awkward, I told them I was heading back to the dorm.
Nodded to my arm, said I should probably patch it up before I bled all over the floor and thank fuck they let me go, no one stopped me.
Back in the room, the door clicks shut behind me and silence wraps around everything, thick and unmoving. No voices. No footsteps. No one asking if I’m alright, no one trying to kill me. Just me.
The sun's almost set but I don’t even bother lighting the candle. The low afternoon light is enough, I just want to patch myself up and sleep. That’s all. No feelings, no questions, no more thinking, just silence.
Pain drags with every step, but it’s the colder thing buried underneath, dread, that finally drops me on to the bed.
The hard mattress does nothing to soften the ache.
My left arm still burns, deep and relentless, and when I shove back the sleeve, it’s worse than I expected.
Above the old scar on my hand, new streaks climb my forearm—thin, raw, blistered in places.
Angry. The kind of burn that swells before it splits.
But they’re not just from Ryven’s attacks.
My Threads did this too.
It looks like something tried to claw its way out of me, maybe it did.
I breathe through the sting and reach for the healing kit Ezzy has stashed under her bed. One of the perks of surviving the Outerlands: you learn to fix what’s broken. Even if it’s yourself, especially if it’s yourself.
The ointment bites as it hits raw skin. I choke down a curse and start wrapping—tight, firm, a quiet promise to hold myself together just a little longer. The pain doesn't fade, but at least it’s contained. A small act of control and for now, that’s enough.
As I place the kit back under Ezzy’s bed, something catches in the corner of my eye.
Mum’s journal.
Still sitting on the desk, still closed, but it feels like it’s watching. Calling me to tear it open, dig through every page for answers. About her, about me.
But part of me is afraid of what I’ll find. Or worse, what I won’t. She trained here. Walked these same halls. Threaded this same magic.
What would she say if she saw me now? Back in the same place she bled to escape. Would she tell me to stay? Would she be proud, or scream at me to run like she did?
Forearms flex as my fists tighten, burn stings. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? I don’t know. I don’t know what she would say, because she’s not here. She should be, but she’s not. And that... That’s on me.
My right hand moves before I can stop it, snatching the journal off the desk, I hurl it across the room. It hits the far wall with a solid, unforgiving thud and drops to the floor.
For a breath, I just stare at it, debating whether to pick it up. Then I exhale, rough, and let myself lay back fully on the bed. Limbs sink into stale sheets, the ache in my arm pulsing steady now, matching the rhythm of my heartbeat.
Fuck. How did I end up here?
Bren always warned me. Said going over the border, smuggling Spice for people like Rhiann, would only end one way.
That it was only a matter of time before I slipped up, before someone saw too much.
I thought I’d be clever enough, quick enough.
I thought I’d make it back. To him, to the quiet, the safety. Just once more.
But this? I could never have imagined this. Merrin, the journals, Ryven, the girl I almost strangled, my Threads, the power... Talen.
God, Talen—the fucking Nightrose.
Pure poison wrapped in perfume.
Ezzy was right. There’s nothing safe about him, he’s the kind of killer who stalks first, then strikes where it hurts most.
I thought if I kept my distance, stayed alert, if I could find his weakness, that I could dodge whatever plan he had. That maybe his brother’s death—the Reassignment Talen thinks I caused, the place he thinks I stole—didn’t mean I had a target stamped on my back.
But today, when he snapped Renn's neck without even blinking. Without breaking a sweat, in front of everyone. No anger, no hesitation, just a flick of a finger and Renn was dead.
I realised he’s not a threat. He’s an inevitability...
I thought I had time. I thought Merrin’s deal meant I was in control. But this place doesn’t give you time. Doesn’t let you breathe. The only way to survive here is to become what they want. A Citadel weapon. Merrin’s project. Something engineered, controlled, obedient.
And I don’t want that.
My arm throbs under the bandage. A warning. Or a countdown. I can't avoid what’s coming much longer, and neither can my Threads.
But fuck... trying to escape? That’s a death sentence.
Still, if I stay? That’s not survival. That’s surrender. That’s bleeding into their plans, their story, until there’s nothing of me left.
And I’d rather bleed fast. At least then it’s my blood, my choice.
I breathe once. Just once. And I make the call.
Time to pay a visit to Ezzy’s friend Brian—the lanky tunnel guard with a Thread theory fetish and no survival instinct. If I die trying to get out, at least it’s on my terms.