Chapter Eleven #2
I swallow hard. “No,” I whisper, forcing a breath through locked lungs. “Lead the way, tell me your idea.”
“Okay then, good. The dorm was getting a little cramped with you in it anyway. And let’s just say I like it tidier than you.”
I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth lifts before I can stop it.
“So,” she whispers, leaning in, “here’s the plan…”
She lays it out fast and confident, like she’s done this before. I have to admit, I’m impressed. Ezzy’s cunning. There’s way more to her than I gave her credit for.
A minute later, I’m tucked in the shadows while her footsteps echo down the corridor—light, easy, like stopping to chat with guards in the middle of the night is the most normal thing in the world.
Brian lights up the second he sees her, grin wide, posture tight. Like he’s just been handed a gift he doesn’t deserve.
But she doesn’t stop for him.
Her attention shifts, stepping in close to the second guard. No hesitation. Just a few quiet words, low against his ear. The effect is immediate. He straightens, eyes snapping wide. Ezzy gives him a small, knowing nod and Greg vanishes without a second glance.
Turns out Greg’s been hooking up with a third-year cadet Ezzy knows. There’s been tension lately—some fallout, a string of ignored messages, and, apparently, a frustratingly long dry spell that’s been driving Greg crazy.
So Ezzy just plants a small seed, said she just ran into the cadet on her way here, who asked her to pass along that she’s waiting. In his room. It’s clean, simple, and devastatingly effective.
Now time for Brian, not that he’s exactly a challenge.
Ezzy shifts her stance, tilts her head just enough to catch the candlelight, and starts talking about his research—Thread Resonance Curves, and the supposed potential for Threads to transfer between individuals.
His eyes light up instantly and he launches into a detailed explanation, Threadfields, vibrations and potential energy shifts.
She nods along, just enough to sell it, then, right on cue, her eyes wide with interest. “You know... I’d love to read it.”
His whole face lights up, until it doesn’t. “Oh. I don’t have it on me. It’s in my dorm.”
Ezzy tilts her head, pretending to think, twirling a strand of hair with a shrug. “That’s a shame. I was really getting into it.” She doesn’t overdo it, just enough to land the suggestion. Friendly. Curious. Maybe a little flirty, but still in a very Ezzy way—nerdy and natural.
And it works. God, it works.
Brian blinks like something in his head just glitched. “I—it would only take me two minutes. I can grab it. Should I?”
Her smile lifts, easy. “That’d be amazing. I can keep an eye on things while you’re gone.”
He nods so fast it’s a blur. “Yeah, okay... Umm, if Greg comes back, just, uh, tell him I ran to the bathroom.”
Then he’s off, practically jogging, nearly tripping over his own feet as he goes, throwing a finger up mid-run, mouthing one minute like this is the most important errand of his life.
Ezzy just waves after him, all sunshine and innocent chaos. She holds his gaze until he’s around the corner and out of sight, then drops the act like a coat, and waves me over. I slip out from the shadows, crossing to her.
“Okay, you’ve got a little time.” She’s already hurrying me forward towards the tunnel.
“But they’ll be back soon. I’ll wait here so Brian doesn’t get suspicious, he’s twitchy at the best of times.
You should be able to get in and look around, but…
” She hesitates, a flicker of discomfort crossing her face.
“I don’t know what you’ll find down there.
The protective magic, the Wards, in those tunnels, it’s old.
Treaty-forged. Dark stuff. If anything feels wrong, don’t push through.
Just come back.” She shudders, her voice tightens as she continues, already planning for my failure.
“If you do turn back... well, try and wait for the guard rotation or something. Let’s just say you don’t want Greg catching you. ”
She doesn’t move, and for a second, neither do I. Then her eyes crease, shoulders lift, just slightly—Oh shit. She’s about to go in for a hug.
I stiffen, take half a step back, not sure what to do.
I don’t exactly want a hug. But let’s be honest, chances are I’m never going to see her again.
Not because I’ll be safe and warm in Bren’s bed by morning.
But because I’ll probably die trying. So fuck it.
I step forward and wrap my arms around her, rigid, quick, one hand patting her back.
At first she tenses, almost surprised, but then she exhales and suddenly I’m caught in her full grip, arms tight around me. She squeezes, and for a second, I freeze. It’s weird, but not bad.
“Good luck,” she whispers. “Now go. Before they get back.”
My body’s still tense as she spins me, pushing me toward the tunnel’s mouth.
Shit, do I really want to do this?
Ezzy is here, ready and wanting to help me. Maybe I could just bail out of this, go back to the room with her and make another plan? But no, there is no other plan, Talen is not going to stop. I have to try.
So I step forward.
“The Wards don't kick in right away,” Ezzy calls after me. “I don’t know when, but you’ll probably feel it.
If you do make it through, maybe we’ll see each other again sometime.
But if not, if you feel the Wards, don’t be stubborn.
Come back. It’s not worth dying over. Oh, and when you reach the junction, make sure to take the—Oh! Hey, Brian, you’re back already?”
I get the hint and move fast, hands shaking. Heart pounding.
No second chances—this is it.
I step inside, and the tunnel swallows me whole.
Each footfall carries me deeper, boots skimming slick stone that’s uneven beneath the soles.
And the deeper I go, the darker, the colder it gets.
Lanterns hang along the wall—too far apart, too dim—casting more shadow than light so most of the tunnel stays buried in black.
Claustrophobic doesn’t even begin to cover it.
The smell hits next, not just damp, but rot, thick and wet, bleeding straight through the walls, clinging to my skin like something alive.
Makes sense. We’re under the Citadel now, beneath the moat that feeds the four Veins of Power—splitting the realms, keeping the peace.
Or so they say. But beneath the smell there’s something older. Darker. Magic.
Exhaling hard, I shake my hands out, trying to bleed off the tension before it settles too deep and keep walking. My Threads are still recovering from Ryven, but they’re waking up, prickling under my skin—tight, twitchy, feeding off my nerves.
Okay, Lyra. You can do this. Just get as far as you can without setting off the Wards, or dying.
But every step echoes too loud, too sharp, like the tunnel’s announcing me on purpose.
Fuck, so much for subtle. And I’ve already lost any real sense of direction, I can’t tell how far I’ve descended or how deep this goes.
It’s disorientating; it’s intimidating, and it’s getting worse.
After five minutes—maybe ten, maybe twenty, who the hell knows—the gradient finally flattens, and my boots hit level stone with a jolt that snaps through my knees. Every muscle pulls tighter, adjusting too late. God, I didn’t realise how steep the descent was until it stopped.
Squinting into the dark, I take a step forward and notice that the tunnel ahead splits—one path left, one right.
No markings, no clues. Just a fifty-fifty shot in the dark thanks to Brian—so horny for Thread Resonance and Ezzy, he came running back before she could finish telling me the directions.
Fuck. Which way?
Breath clouds the air as I stall at the split, hesitation bleeding time I don’t have. The cold creeps in the longer I stand still, leeching from the damp stone and sinking deep until it finds the fresh burn on my left arm.
I wince, rub at it.
Well. Guess my arm’s made up its mind.
I follow the pain. Left it is.
But then only three steps in and already I feel it. Tension. Static. That thick, humming pressure, the same I feel every time I cross the border at the Innerlands wall.
Wards.
I push a little, not much, but just enough to test it. Right arm lifts, palm angled down the tunnel. My Threads feel distant, weak still, but there’s something there so I try and coax a single one forward, barely a whisper.
No force, no flourish, just a flicker to feel the resistance.
But my magic never listens. It jumps, sparks lick across my hand, and the air in front of me convulses, not soft but violent. The pulse slams into the Ward like a hammer and rebounds instantly, blasting down the passage behind me—dragging my hair with it in a whip of wind and heat.
Shit.
I glance down, checking my palm for damage, but before I can breathe another gust tugs a strand of hair. Then another.
And another.
Not mine.
The Wards.
I feel it—pressure building, fast and wrong, like something ancient waking up and it’s pissed off and coming this way.
Correction, it's racing this way.
Heart hammering, pounding in my ears now. Fuck, should I move?
Maybe it’ll pass. Maybe it’s a bluff. But I don’t trust that pulse, don’t trust this place.
So when the next wave hits, I bolt. No plan, no direction, just movement. Legs burning, breath ragged, I nearly fall twice but don’t stop, just keep running until I round a bend and the pressure finally eases.
Gasping, I bend over, hands on my thighs. Did I outrun it?
For a moment, I stay there, breathing hard. The Wards are gone... but something’s off. The air shifts.
I straighten, take a few steps forward, but my footsteps sound wrong. Too soft. Like the tunnel’s swallowing the noise. Even my heartbeat feels muffled.
I keep walking but glance back over my shoulder, it’s pointless, the Wards are invisible, but I can’t help it. Is it gone? I don’t know.
I turn around—
— and slam straight into a wall. Rock solid. Hard. Warm?
Staggering back, breath jolting out, I look up.
“Well, well.” His words slide out like a blade drawn slow. “Out a little late for a stroll, aren’t you, Thorn?”
Shit, Talen.
The fucking Nightrose.