Chapter Twenty-One #2
I see it, the flush rising in Ezzy’s face, her jaw clenching.
No. No, no, I tense harder, panic rising. I try to yank my Threads away from her, will them toward Elijah and only Elijah.
But they backlash. The force I pushed outward whips back, too fast, too violent, to me. It coils around my neck like burning wire, searing tight. I gasp, no air. My chest locks, lungs folding like crumpled paper, heartbeat thrashing like it’s trying to claw its way out.
Elijah stumbles.
So do I.
The magic’s working. It’s breaking him, but it’s breaking me, too. I try and hold on, holding the pressure, but my vision doubles, then triples. I can’t hear anything but the roar of blood pounding in my ears.
Still, down in front, a blonde blur. Ezzy’s moving, she’s crawling, dragging herself forward. Toward him. Toward an ending. I squeeze my fists tighter. Hold, just hold. God, please—just one more second.
Elijah sways again. So do I. I feel blood in my throat, a sting behind my eyes. Threads grinding through every nerve like shattered glass.
I can’t breathe, my chest won’t rise, air won’t come. But I can’t let go, not yet, Ezzy’s close. So close.
Just.
One.
More...
My Threads snap tight—
And everything goes black.
A sharp, high-pitched ringing cuts through my head as I blink my eyes open.
The floor swims below me, sloped stone, fractured light.
I’m hunched forward, arms wrapped around my ribs like I’m bracing for an impact that’s already come and gone.
My mouth tastes like bile, and my Threads—silent. No, not silent. Empty.
Nausea tears through my gut as I try and sit up, I press a hand to my sternum and squeeze my eyes back shut, willing the room to stop shifting.
Chest rising once, twice, strained and slow.
Finally, it settles, and when I open my eyes, around me, the room is nearly empty.
Most of the cadets are gone, just a few silhouettes slipping out through the doors, their voices warping in and out like echoes underwater.
God, what just—
Ezzy.
I jolt upright. Nausea forgotten, every beat of my heart screaming one thing: please let her be okay.
Head turning, my gaze snaps to the mat, no sign of Elijah, or Ryven and his crew. Just the professors, Talen, and there, in the corner, Finn crouched low, his back curled protectively, arms wrapped around something—someone.
My blood goes cold, no movement, no sound. Just the terrible stillness of a body held too gently.
Is she breathing? God, please—
The ringing in my ears shifts into focus as I get up. Legs unsteady but moving anyway, I take the steps two at a time. Finn looks up as I reach the edge of the mat. His face is pale, hands trembling. Then he shifts just enough for me to see her.
Legs sprawled across the mat, one arm braced awkwardly against the floor, the other clutching Finn’s sleeve. Her lip is split. One eye already purpling, and there’s blood, too much blood.
But her chest rises.
Breathing.
I don’t realise I’m crying until I taste salt.
She’s alive. Broken. Bruised. But alive.
Oh, thank fucking god.
Chest heaving, lungs still catching up, I stop at the edge of the mat. Finn’s eyes meet mine—just a flicker, a nod, the corner of his mouth tugging with quiet relief. She’s okay.
My knees buckle and I drop forward, hands braced on my thighs, head hanging low as the breath I’ve been holding finally tears loose from my chest. Still, my heart won’t slow, it keeps pounding against my ribs like I’m still in the fight, like I’m still trying to stop it from happening. But it didn’t. She’s okay.
I repeat it over and over. She’s okay. She’s okay. Until the rush in my chest begins to ease, until I can inhale without shaking. Then I straighten, slow, legs trembling, but they hold. Just barely.
That was too damn close.
No more lies. No more shielding her from the truth. She deserves the whole of it—the danger, the choice, the power to protect herself. I can’t take that away from her again.
One long breath, then another as I take a step toward her. But something hooks in my chest, a prickle at the base of my neck. The air changes—heavier, tighter. I turn.
Talen.
He stands at the far edge of the mat, dead still, watching. His eyes locked on mine like a drawn bow. I freeze. Since I arrived here, I’ve never seen him look at anyone like this. His gaze isn’t cold—it’s blistering. Controlled, coiled fury, sharp enough to rip skin from flesh.
The heavy thud in my chest slams back to life, a fast surge rising as he paces toward me.
Shit. He knows, he saw me interfere.
Any calm I’d scraped together shatters with every step he takes closer. The world dims, sound bleeds from the room—drawn to him, swallowed whole—until nothing’s left but the beat of my heart and the fury tightening between us.
Then, without warning—
“What the fuck was that?”
His voice cuts clean through the distance between us, slamming into me like an arrow through the chest.
“What the fuck do you think you were doing? That little stunt you just pulled?”
He gestures vaguely toward the other professors behind him.
“Don’t think it went unnoticed.”
Brows pulled tight, he keeps pacing toward me—rage carved into every line of his face, yet his steps are steady, almost casual.
Arms hang loose at his side, unhurried. From behind, he’d look like he was walking toward an old friend.
But, his eyes say otherwise. His hazel gold-rimmed eyes are a fucking warning.
“No interference. That’s the rule. Pretty fucking simple, don’t you think?”
His pace picks up.
“God, you’re a problem, Bloom. A real thorn in my side.”
He’s too close now. Too close.
Every instinct in me screams that he’s about to do something. Something final, but my Threads are empty, and I have nothing left to fight with.
Heat rolls off him as he steps in front of me heavy with smoke, sweat, and something scorched. Muscle flexing, a living reminder of what he is. A weapon.
My breath catches in my throat, chest rising too fast again. But I lift my chin. Straighten my spine. No running, no pleading. I’ll stand my ground. Whatever happens, I’ll take it. As long as she’s safe, Ezzy’s safe.
His gaze finds mine, furious, unflinching as my fingers twitch toward the hilt of Ezzy’s blade. But then—
Something shifts, just for a second, a flicker behind his mask—not rage, not even disappointment. Grief?
He swallows hard. His voice comes low, almost gentle.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “This will be over soon.”
Wait—what?
But I don’t get to ask, because suddenly he’s there.
One hand snaps around the back of my neck, rough and unyielding. The other grips my waist as he yanks me forward—
And then his mouth crashes into mine.