Chapter Twenty-Four #2
“You said it, not me....” I shrug as we keep walking.
“Ezzy’s just… she’s kind of perfect, you know?
Everything she touches turns out better than it started.
She wants to help everyone. Fix everything.
And usually, she can...” Finn’s gaze drops to his hands, voice softens.
“Everything except me. She deserves so much better.
I guess my behaviour is just to keep her at bay, self-sabotage.
At least that's what my councillor would call it.”
“You go to counselling?” I ask, raising a brow.
He smirks. “You seem surprised.”
“Well, I guess you just always seem so... annoyingly upbeat.”
He laughs once, chin high. “Yeah, well. That’s what they call high-functioning depression.
But I just call it faking it like a bloody pro.
” At first, he looks proud, then his voice flattens a little.
“Truth is, I'm a mess, and I don't want Ezzy getting caught up in it, in me. I've been going to counselling since I was fifteen, my mum sent me. At first I hated it, resented her for it, but now.” He pauses, “now, honestly it’s a lifeline.”
“Why did she send you?”
“I just felt like my life was being planned out for me; I didn't have any control over it. At first, it started like anxiety, panic attacks, the normal stuff, I guess, but then the Fog rolled in.”
“Fog?” I frown.
He picks at a thread on his sleeve as we turn a corner.
“I call it the Fog, because that’s what it feels like.
Thick. Dull. Heavy. It rolls in and doesn’t just numb the happiness.
It takes everything. No highs, no lows. Just grey.
Days blur. Everything loses its shape. Life doesn’t hurt anymore, but it doesn’t feel like living either.
” He exhales, eyes flicking to mine, then away again.
“When I was seventeen, it all got too heavy. Too much noise in my head and silence everywhere else. And I just didn’t see another way out. ”
Something in my stomach tightens. Not because I don’t get it. But because I do, more than I want to admit.
“My mum found me,” he adds. “She got me help. I’ve been seeing a counsellor ever since.”
“You tried to…” I start, but can’t seem to finish.
“Take my life? Kill myself?” He finishes for me.
“Yeah. You can say it. It’s not a curse.
” He looks at me now. Calm. Not defensive.
“People flinch when they hear it. Like if they say it out loud they’ll catch it.
But talking about it doesn’t make it worse.
Pretending it didn’t happen... that’s what screws people up. ”
I nod once, not sure what else to do with it. I didn’t expect Finn to be so... deep. Troubled. Rowan, maybe—I’d believe that with how guarded he is. But Finn?
“It’s not gone, not cured,” he adds. “I still get hit with it. Still get days where the Fog creeps in. But now I’ve got tools, ways to ride it out. It’s like the weather, you can’t stop it, but you can carry a coat.”
I swallow. “You ever tell Ezzy any of this?”
“Rowan, yeah. Ezzy…” He shakes his head.
“You should.”
He doesn’t answer at first. Then: “She’s just all sunshine and flowers. I don’t want to drag my shit into that.”
“That’s her choice. Not yours.”
He just shakes his head again. “I just want to graduate. Leave this place. Carve some more ducks.”
I don’t really know what to say. In the Outerlands, no one talks like this. If you’re struggling, you shut up and survive. There’s no space for anything else. So I just shift closer and place a hand on his shoulder.
He gives a small nod, like that’s enough, but in true Finn fashion, the moment doesn't last long
“Anyway. Enough about my emotional rollercoaster.” He bumps my elbow, all grin again. “Tell me more about the Nightrose. Keeping you up at night again? Did you figure out how he murdered his ex-girlfriend yet?”
I roll my eyes and shove him back, not hard, just enough to get the point across. “Not talking about it.”
He laughs. “So that’s a yes.”
We hang around the courtyard waiting for Ezzy and Rowan. All I want is to make it through this sermon without Finn prying for more gossip about me and Talen—because the more he digs, the more I have to lie. And I’ve lied enough already.
So when he circles back with more questions, eyes bright with curiosity, I cut him off and ask about his carvings instead.
He takes the bait instantly, grinning as he launches into the apprenticeship program he’s hoping for. Apparently, what he does even has a name, Lacing, weaving Threads into objects.
Finn keeps talking as the courtyard swells louder, cadets pour in from every direction, each year falling into neat clusters organised by Realm, splitting the circular space into four. At the centre, a raised platform waits, high enough to be seen by everyone.
Finn cuts off mid-word, as he lifts a hand in a wave. I follow the motion—and spot Ezzy and Rowan heading our way. Through the press of black uniforms, they’re impossible to miss. That identical bright blond hair catches the morning sun like a pair of beacons.
Rowan’s practically glued to Ezzy’s side, one hand hovering near her elbow like she might collapse any second.
Ezzy’s jaw is tight, lips pressed, and she tries to shake him off with a little flick of her shoulder that says she’s about two seconds from throttling him.
When they finally reach us, I cut in before Rowan smothers her to death.
“So, what’s the deal with these sermons?” I ask the three of them. “Happens every month?”
“Every moon cycle. Like clockwork.” Ezzy huffs, arms crossed tight, like she’s still holding herself back from snapping at Rowan right there.
“Yeah,” Finn adds. “Serrane loves giving his little pep talks. Motivation, wisdom, all that. I’m not his biggest fan.
.. guy’s kind of creepy. No one even knows how old he is.
Heard a rumour once he swallowed his wife when she was dying, and now she lives inside of him.
Totally freaky. But—” he shrugs, “some of the stuff he says is… actually decent. Helpful, even.”
“Swallowed his wife…?” I arch a brow.
Rowan rolls his eyes, shaking his head at me like he’s silently begging me not to encourage Finn.
The courtyard hums—laughter, mutters, the shuffle of boots on stone—until the ground gives a faint shiver. Not enough to stumble, just enough to feel.
Every head turns.
Vaelric Serrane, the Sovereign Minister, steps on to the platform, pristine bone-white robes flowing like smoke around him and the quake stops.
For a moment, he doesn’t move—just lifts his arms, eyes closed, and draws in a long breath among the silence. Around me, a few cadets mirror him, like they’ve rehearsed this a thousand times before. Then, finally, his hands lower, everyone sits and the sermon begins.
The next hour drags like torture.
Serrane talks slow and steady, never raising his voice, but somehow everyone hangs on every word. Half the courtyard looks ready to fall forward on to their hands, but all I hear is the same loop of crap—good and evil, envy and pain.
How we can peel away the dark pieces of ourselves and rise into something brighter, lighter, better.
I don’t buy a single word he’s saying—but there’s something about his voice, like a drumbeat under my skin, that causes my Threads to stir, pulsing faintly, like they’re listening to him, not me. A shiver slips down my spine before I can stop it.
“There is no shame,” he says, arms wide, sleeves like bone-white wings. “In recognising the darkness inside you. The shame is in pretending it’s not there.”
Ezzy doesn’t blink. Finn’s mouth is slightly open. And I swear the guy behind me just mouthed the words along with him.
“But those who choose,” Serrane continues, “to face the shadow and rise above it… those are the ones ready for transcendence.”
I lean toward Rowan without looking at him, voice low. “What’s he going on about?”
He answers just as quietly, gaze locked ahead. “The Inner Circle. He handpicks them. They train under him directly.”
“So… like advanced classes?”
“No.” His jaw flexes. “You give up everything. No contact with anyone. No one knows what happens inside.”
“Let us welcome our latest Initiates,” Serrane calls.
The crowd sighs, actually sighs, and then... movement. Slow and obedient. A handful of cadets stand up and walk toward the platform like they’ve been called home. One of them has bright red hair. Easy to spot. He’s the same cadet Finn faced in Offensive Magic earlier this week.
It’s strange, the Innerlands banned religion the moment the Treaty was signed. In the Outerlands, some people still cling to it, but it’s fading fast—hope burning out one prayer at a time, though we still use some of the words.
And yet here, right now, in the heart of the Citadel, it looks suspiciously like worship. Serrane standing on that platform, white robes glowing, and everyone staring at him like he’s their god.
I try to block him out, focus on counting the cracks in the stone floor, but he just drones on for another hour. When it finally ends, the new initiates file off the platform behind him without a word.
Beside me, Ezzy, Finn, and Rowan get up and head for lunch like this is all completely normal. I don’t have the mental energy to question it, so I just follow.
It’s the usual—stale bread and bland broth—but ever since Ezzy casually mentioned they lace the food with birth control, I swear I can taste it. Chalky and clinical.
Before I’m even halfway through, Rowan’s already pushing up from the table, eyes shifting out the door towards the Rec Hall, clearly on some self-assigned mission to get Ezzy back on her feet.
She doesn’t argue, just follows with that tight smile she wears when she’s too tired to pretend she’s fine but doesn’t want anyone asking. As always, they invite me to come.
I hesitate for a second. I could go, pretend everything’s fine, watch Ezzy train like nothing ever happened. But I can't stomach seeing her on the mat again, not yet anyway. Only two weeks left. I can survive that. They can survive that.
Besides, I'm exhausted, and I have my date with Talen in a few hours. So I make an excuse and keep my distance.
Back in the dorm, I grab Mum’s journal and drop on to the bed. I manage a few lines before my eyelids start to drag. Just a minute, I tell myself. Close them for one minute.
But the Citadel hums steady through the walls, low and constant like it’s rocking me under, and I’m gone before I can stop it.
The dry taste of sleep coats my mouth as I blink into dim light. The room’s darker than it should be, sun already sliding low. How long was I out?
One glance at my watch and my stomach drops. Shit. I’m late. Due to meet Talen at five, and it’s already 5:05. I freshen up and sprint up to the fifth floor.
How am I late? I’m already handing him the chance to play games with me. The one thing I can’t afford. I need answers, and I need them now.
My lungs are burning by the time I reach the top of the stairwell, but two doors wait opposite me—one on the right, one on the left. No markings. No clue. Fuck, which one?
Behind me, the sharp tap-drag of a cane echoes off the stone.
Spinning on my heels, I glance back—Strannt and his father, Weasel Senior, deep in conversation, heading up the steps toward me.
They haven’t seen me yet, but the last thing I need is to get cornered by either of those smug bastards.
Panic kicks in. No time to think. I grab the handle on the right and shove through.
The door slams at my back, cutting off the stairwell.
I’m left on a small balcony with a low railing overlooking the Citadel moat and the eastern sprawl of the Realms below.
Sunset spills across it—orange fire on stone, shadows stretching long.
To my right, a narrow open ledge hugs the wall before curling around a turret. To the left—nothing but empty air.
What the...
Wrong door. I picked the wrong fucking door.
A growl scrapes low in my throat as I slam the heel of my hand into my forehead—once, hard—like I can knock the stupidity out of it. Typical, so bloody typical, Lyra.
Maybe Strannt and his dad are gone, maybe I can slip back in, try the other one.
I grab the handle, twist, nothing. Try again. Still nothing. Locked.
No. No, no, no.
I can’t be stuck five floors up with no way down. No way out.
Think, Lyra.
My watch ticks mockingly. 5:15.
Jaw tight, I rattle the handle again. Slam my hand against it. Nothing. My Threads begin to itch under my skin. Maybe I can force some air through the lock... but out here, with no space, one wrong surge and I’ll blow myself straight off the side. No I need anoth—
“You’re late.”
The voice comes from the shadows at the right end of the ledge.
I spin, chest stutters.
Talen steps into view from around the turret, unfolding from a lazy lean as if he’d been waiting there all along. The ledge widens where he stands, giving him room to lounge like it’s his throne, his golden talisman flicking through his fingers in smooth, restless arcs.
All week I’ve been burying the memory of that kiss, shoving it down, locking it away. But the second my eyes land on him, it slams back into me, full force, breath-stealing and sharp. And for one awful, traitorous second, I swear I can still feel the drag of his hand in my hair.
“Thought maybe you’d stood me up,” he says, “Outerlanders do love running away from things after all... Shame though, I was almost looking forward to chasing you down.” His gaze drags over me and the crooked smile that follows should come with a fucking warning sign.
“So are you going to come over here and join me or what?”