Chapter Twenty-Six
I thought I could handle it. That if I followed the rules, kept my head down, did what was asked of me, the truth would come in time. But the more I learn, the less I understand. There are doors I’m told never to open. Questions that aren’t safe to ask, and the people who asked them… they’re gone.
Serrane tells me he believes in me, that he sees what I could become, all the good, the light in me.
I want to believe him. But Merrin… ever since he learned about my third Thread, something in his eyes has shifted.
Not pride. Not trust, something colder. Like he’s already imagining what I could do for him. What they could make me do.
Maybe it’s just fear twisting everything out of shape. Maybe I’m wrong. But I can’t afford to be wrong—not with what’s coming. But if I’m not? If I’m right about what they want from me…
I don’t know if I can stay, but I don’t know if I’m brave enough to leave…
I’m glad Ezzy’s alive, I really am. But fuck do I miss my space. The quiet. Not having to sidestep every damn question, because now that she’s healed and back, there’s no outrunning her.
It’s been twelve days since she came back. Twelve days of her voice cutting through the dorm room in waves, filling up every inch of silence I’d been hoarding like oxygen. Twelve days of dodging lies and Twelve days since my first date with Talen on the ledge.
The only peace I get is when the library finally digs up that book she’s been losing sleep over, Toxic Flora and Fauna of the Outerlands or something, I don’t know. It’s thick, ugly, and full of creatures that kill you in seventeen different ways or maybe spit out a cure if you’re lucky.
But it doesn't take her long to finish it, and then the lies just keep coming, too. The tunnels. The truce. The kiss.
They don’t line up anymore, not really, and Ezzy frowns when the details slip—when my story turns sideways. But then she shakes her head, muttering something about the fight with Elijah messing with her memory.
I let her think it, safer that way, cleaner. Only a few more days left, that’s what I hold on to. After today I just have one weekend to go.
One month, that was the deal with Merrin. Survive, keep my head down, walk out with the journals.
It should make it easier, knowing there’s an end in sight, but instead it makes everything inside these walls feel hollow. The lectures, the drills, even the meals—it’s all just noise now, something to get through until I can leave.
Still, my heart stops every time a name’s called for a Demonstration, bracing for Ezzy or Finn or Rowan. It was a twisted relief on Monday when it was my name instead.
Professor Weasel waved me down in Non-Magical Combat.
The gleam in his eye said it all—he was hoping I’d get torn apart.
But the duck’s been keeping my Threads sealed tight, so at least there’s no chance of torching myself or half the hall.
My opponent was a Water Realm cadet who made damn sure to sneer at me first, just in case I’d missed the part where Outerlanders aren’t welcome.
And, of course, Talen was there, leaning in the corner, arms crossed, watching. Annoying as hell, distracting, too—though I’d cut out my own tongue before admitting that out loud.
The cadet came in wild, fists flying, but I didn’t return the fury—I slipped, deflected, let her waste herself on air until frustration dragged her guard wide.
One twist, a shift of weight, and she was on the mat with my arm locked across her shoulder—tight enough to hold, not enough to break.
Two minutes in total and she was tapping out.
Ryven was there, Elijah too, smug as ever. Our eyes locked as I stepped off the mat. I didn’t bother with a smirk or a line, just held his stare long enough to make the point that I hadn’t forgotten what they did to Ezzy.
I’m not the only one who hasn’t forgotten either. Rowan’s still on Ezzy’s back, making her train every spare minute of the day, though the tension between them still hangs, charged, if you know where to look.
But Ezzy’s getting her sparkle back, bit by bit, and it’s almost enough to make you forget what happened. Finn, though… Finn’s different. Not brooding, just quieter—like someone dimmed a light and never bothered to turn it back on.
Not that it’s my place to ask. I wasn’t supposed to get involved. Wasn’t supposed to care about them.
And yet…
There’s this low ache in my chest I keep trying to ignore. Because come the end of the weekend, I’m out. I get my mum's journals, I get my answers, I disappear. That was the deal.
They stay, I go. That was always the plan.
So why the hell does it feel like I’m leaving something behind?
But this week, I haven’t spent much time with Rowan or Finn, just glimpses in class, the odd overlap at lunch. They don’t sit with me at dinner, and honestly, I don’t blame them because every afternoon at five, I meet Talen in the food hall for our fake dates.
Smile nice, blades hidden, pretending I don’t want to stab him in the throat every time he holds the door open.
He saves me a seat. Always. Same table, same spot, like it’s routine now. Like we’re something normal.
On the first date, I didn’t talk, I’m still pissed he left me on that ledge, took me an hour to finally get back across, thought I was going to have to sleep out there at one point, but still, I made it.
He didn’t speak either. Just slides my tray a little closer, sits across from me, and lets the silence hang.
No smirk, no bite, no smart-ass comment.
I’d braced for arrogance, for teeth, but he gave me nothing to dodge, and somehow that’s worse.
So the next night, I try and test him a little. Harmless questions. Training drills, weather, his penmanship, for fuck’s sake.
He answers in clipped syllables, like every word has been weighed before release.
It’s all surface level, so I try and dig deeper, asking about his Talisman.
He said it was his mum’s, something to remember her by.
The way he said it, you’d think she was dead, but I saw both his parents a few months ago in the Air Realm, smiling onstage as they announced another trade deal that’ll just line their pockets even more.
By midweek, I stopped pressing and just watched, listened. Lucien showed up halfway through eating, loud as ever, sliding in next to Talen with a grin that’s too big for the room. He dropped his tray and leaned in.
Opposite them, I kept my eyes on my food, but every word carried, clear as glass.
Too clear. Either Lucien didn’t know how to whisper, or Talen’s was bending the sound just enough to make sure I caught it; two more dragon breaches—one in the Earth Realm and another south of Ashvale in Ravenscross.
But the Citadel hasn’t reported a thing.
Not in class, not on the bulletins. Nothing.
Talen didn’t look at me, didn’t shift, just kept eating while Lucien talked, like I wasn’t even there.
Which only made me wonder, if he was pulling the sound my way, why?
He’s been clear about shutting me out, not giving me answers, not the ones I want anyway.
So why let me hear that? Or just a slip he hadn’t noticed yet?
I wanted more—the marks on the tailor’s door, the dragon’s eyes, the envelopes—but for now it was enough. Enough to know the Citadel’s hiding something and that the Outerlands need to be ready.
So I kept my head down. If the clarity was an accident, the last thing I needed was him realising I’d caught more than I should’ve.
Professor Strannt, the Weasels’ dad, passed through the hall periodically over the last twelve days. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t speak, but lets his gaze drag over the two of us, cold and flat, like he’s already planning how to get rid of me. Talen just smiles at him.
The rest of the dates fall into the same rhythm. Same table. Same silence. Same little rituals I can’t help noticing. How he stirs his tea in slow circles, tears his bread down the middle every single time.
I expected arrogance, smirks, baited comments I’d have to dodge.
Instead, he keeps his distance. Sits across from me every night, steady and quiet.
He respects my boundaries. Doesn’t touch.
Doesn’t ask questions he shouldn’t. And somehow that restraint is worse than if he’d been an asshole.
At least then I’d know what I was dealing with.
But what throws me is how little digging he’s done. I thought he was after answers too, but he hasn’t pushed. The only time he does voluntarily talk, he just drills me on my Threads, my lack of control, and mocks me about the bloody duck like it’s his favourite pastime.
Doesn’t mean I trust him. But if he wanted to test me, he’s had plenty of chances and he hasn’t taken any.
It should put me at ease.
It doesn’t.
Every night, after these little performances, I go straight back to my room.
No detours. No post-dinner chit-chat. I’m close, so close to getting out of this hellhole with the journals.
The last thing I need is fresh drama dragging me under.
One last training assignment this weekend, and then I’m free.
Which makes today feel heavier. Talen asked me to meet him in the Rec Hall for our Friday date. I don’t know if he realises this is the end of it, that after tonight, the game’s done.
Does he know about the deal I made with Merrin, the one-month leash I’ve been running on? Does he know that after this weekend's assignment I’m gone? If he wanted answers from me, he hasn’t gotten any.
My boots echo down the corridor, stone walls pressing close as I make my way toward the Rec Hall. With each step, my chest pulls tighter, the air thickening as the noise grows—shouts and laughter, a ripple of voices riding the edge of frenzy.
Reaching the doors, I push them open.
And stop dead.