Chapter Twenty
Afull-body jolt snaps through me, everything seizing in one tight beat, but I force myself to turn and face Talen. Not because I want to, because I have to. Because if I stand here any longer with my back to him, I’ll look like prey.
Talen’s already towering over me, his smile curved, all crooked and lazy. Fuck, I forgot how tall he is. Black training uniform, sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms tanned, cut sharp with muscle.
I try to breathe, to anchor myself. But the second the air hits my lungs, it’s him. Smoke, leather and something bittersweet I can’t name, wrapping around me, pulling forward memories I don’t want.
His eyes narrow, not just like he knows, but like he’s enjoying it. The way I freeze around him, the way my body so obviously betrays me.
“You know,” he says, grin spreading. “You should’ve just asked. I’m much better in person. But tell me one thing.” He leans in. “Were you on top... or did you finally admit you like the way I hold you down?”
My whole body goes hot, instant, violent. Not just with fury, but with something worse. Something deep and traitorous that tightens between my legs before I can crush it down.
God, I wanted him to trap me. I needed him to.
Let him think he's winning. Because when people feel like they’ve won, they slip, they talk.
And I want answers, and I know he has them.
This was supposed to be the moment I turned the game.
But shit, I’m not ready to be caught. Not like this.
Not without a new duck. Not when I can’t control what happens when his petals snap shut.
Maybe I could hit back now, push him, corner him. Force the truth out of him and damn the fallout. But without the duck, I’d lose control before I got a single word. No answers, no journals—just me, stripped and sent to play with the dragons.
Breathe, I just need to breathe, I need to stall. Because whatever game he’s playing today, it’s not flirtation. It’s predation. The way a cat toys with a mouse, keeping it alive just long enough to enjoy the kill.
But I’m not falling for his tricks. He needs something from me to, I know it. so I keep my face flat, bite down on the inside of my cheek, and hold steady—even as my Threads snarl beneath my skin, scraping for release, wild with the need to burn him out of the air.
“You think I’d waste my sleep on you?” My voice is steady, just. “God, the ego, must be exhausting, carrying that much delusion around. And for the record, if you ever try to hold me down again, like in that cell… It’ll be the last thing you do.”
From the side, the Weasel lets out a low snigger, rubbing his hands like this is a goddamn show.
Talen’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t turn to him.
Just keeps his eyes locked on me as he says, “Why don’t you run back to your daddy over there, Strannt?
This little redhead and I have some unfinished business to discuss.
..” He tilts his head. “...mainly how she got my little brother killed and what I’ve been dreaming of doing to her ever since.
” His grin slips, replaced by something colder and cruel, as he leans in.
“And for the record, Thorn, the next time I hold you down, it won’t be for an interrogation or in your dreams. It’ll be to finish what you started.
And trust me,” a pause, “this time you won’t enjoy a second of it. ”
He holds my gaze, doesn’t blink, doesn’t even seem to breathe. Just stares, like he’s daring me to flinch. Then he finally turns, flicking a look toward Strannt. Sharp and dismissive. A silent question: Why the fuck are you still here?
Strannt’s smirk falters, jaw twitches as his eyes narrow on Talen like he’s weighing a threat he knows he can’t match. Then finally he scoffs and turns, stalking off toward the mat, towards his dad.
Finn, to his credit, uses the moment well and slips off without a word, already halfway across the room toward Ezzy by the time I notice. Smart. I wouldn’t want to be here either.
When I turn back, Talen’s eyes are already on me. But something’s shifted behind them, less blade, more study now.
Still, I keep my posture locked, chin high. Hands loose at my sides. Not because I’m calm, because I know he’s just waiting for a crack.
“If you were so bothered about your little brother,” I question, eyes narrowing. “Why call a truce, why save me from the dragon?”
He doesn’t answer right away, of course he doesn’t. Just tilts his head, dragging a hand along his jaw, knuckles scraping over stubble, brows drawn tight like he’s trying to look beneath my skin.
Then, just before the hand drops, his fingers curl inward, like he’s folding something delicate into his palm and the room falls into silence.
Cadets still move behind me, talking, jostling, finding their seats. I can see the noise: mouths open in conversation, a burst of laughter near the back, chairs scraping against stone. But none of it reaches me, only one sound cuts through.
His.
“I have my reasons,” he says, stepping back as his tone shifts, softer now, the edge blunted. “And I told you, it’s much better for you if people here think you’re called for. Or, would you have preferred it was Strannt’s hands on you yesterday instead of mine?”
God, he’s sickening. Saying it like I should be grateful—like threatening to kill me, touching me in that cell while officers watched outside, is some kind of favour.
My spine goes rigid. I don’t mean to move, but my weight shifts anyway, back, away from him.
Because if he touches me again, if he even brushes me, I don’t know what’ll happen.
Every second that passes, my magic builds, like pressure behind cracked glass.
I tighten my fists, desperate to hold it down, but one more push and it’ll split me open.
It’s a game. It has to be. A minute ago, with Strannt here, his words dripped with venom, with disgust. And now we are alone, he drops his voice, softens the edges and looks at me like I’m something breakable that needs protecting.
But softness isn’t safety.
It’s a tactic.
The fucking Veirmonts built an empire on that illusion, velvet on the outside, blades underneath. Taxing medicine like it’s gold, hoard cures in silk-lined vaults, sipping wine while the rest of us rot.
But he doesn’t get to play that role, not with me.
“You want me to be grateful?” I meet his eyes, letting the fury settle into my spine. “Any points you were trying to score by saving me from that dragon, you lost them at the public body search.”
Talen doesn’t flinch, but his smile slips, just for a second. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t need your gratitude...”
For a heartbeat, it looks like he might say more. But then a shift of red at my side. No footsteps, no breath. No sound to have anticipated their arrival. Talen made sure of that.
Merrin steps between us, his red robes catching bright in the dim candlelight—too rich for the room, too loud against the other professors’ blues.
Beside me, Talen’s arm shifts, and sound slams back into the room all at once.
A blur of voices, scraping chairs—then Merrin’s voice cuts through it, clipped and clear.
“Officer Veirmont,” he nods. “Glad to see you've made a connection with one of our newest cadets. I trust she’s been staying out of trouble?”
Talen’s crooked grin slides into place like a blade returning to its sheath. “Nothing I can't handle.”
Merrin hums, pleased. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Then his attention shifts to me. “Otherwise, I’d be forced to reconsider our little agreement, Cadet.”
His gaze holds just a beat too long, long enough to crawl under my skin. Then he smiles again and turns on his heel, heading toward Professor Strannt and his weaselly son at the centre of the hall.
“Officer Veirmont,” he calls over his shoulder, “if you’d be so kind as to join us.”
Talen nods once, starts to turn, then pauses. His eyes find mine. “I’d say I’ll see you around.” His voice low, just for me, “But let’s be honest... you’ll be seeing me in your dreams tonight anyway.”
That crooked smile lingers, but there’s something different behind it now.
Softer at the edges. Like the thought pleases him more than he meant to show, but then it’s gone, he turns, broad shoulders shifting under the black Citadel uniform, and walks toward the centre of the mat, to the waiting professors.
Fuck.
Him.
He thinks he’s the only one playing this game. That I’m the one chasing answers. But I see it now, he’s just as desperate for something, something he thinks I have.
As soon as I get a new duck, I’m walking straight into that trap of his. And this time, I’ll be the one pulling it shut.
Finn and Ezzy are perched restless in their seats, as I walk up toward them. Halfway up from the mat, far enough to get some distance from Talen, but close enough to still see the bloodstains smeared across the floor below.
With every step, my magic flinches, hot and anxious, like it’s ready to burst. Each jolt from my still-sore ankle knocking something loose, the pressure building, threatening to blow the lid off completely.
Perfect.
Bad ankle, magic bursting at the seams, and a whole damn audience. Double Strannt. Talen. Merrin. All here like it’s a performance and they’re waiting for someone to crack. And given my luck lately, I think I already know who that someone’s going to be.
God, this is Non-Magical Combat, the one place I’m supposed to have the edge.
Yeah, my foot’s a bit fucked, but they grew up relying on magic and learning how to fight.
I grew up fighting. Surviving. And I’ve been watching the other cadets.
Most don’t worry me. Except maybe Beth. There’s something about the way she moves, like she’s already been through hell and didn’t come out clean.
I keep wondering how she got that scar on her face. ..
Still, fighting, hand on hand combat, that part doesn’t scare me.