Chapter Thirty-Two
The cadet on the stage is shaking. Limbs jerking, eyes wide with that glassy panic that always comes right before unconsciousness—or death. Water Threads flicker, erratic, across his skin, flaring then dimming like a guttering candle.
The other cadet, his opponent, is just standing there, chest heaving, face pale like they can’t believe what they’ve done.
Neither can I. Yeah, last semester there were a few Demonstrations where cadets died, but you don't get used to it; it's always a shock, at least for me.
A sharp clap cuts through the silence.
“Well done, Cadet Fullway. A fine display. Excellent application of your training, and impressive reach into the deeper wells of your Threads.”
Professor Quinn notes, holding his hands together.
The warmth in his voice is in complete contrast to the brutal scene in front of him.
He strolls toward the body with that same absent-minded calm he uses for everything, like he’s observing a specimen under glass, not a half-conscious cadet leaking water from his lungs.
His blue robes shift around his boots with each step, wrinkled straight down the front, stained with ink and something that might be jam. His beard’s a mess, cheeks flushed from the cold or maybe just the walk over.
Fullway doesn’t answer, just stays locked in place, face pale and jaw tight, staring at the cadet on the ground in front of him.
He’s barely moving now after being drowned from the inside out—a shallow rise in his chest and that wet, sucking rasp of someone trying to remember how lungs work.
Quinn ushers Fullway off the stage, then turns to the corner,
“Officer Strannt.” He orders. “Come and clean this up.”
The Weasel doesn’t even blink, just walks up the steps, curls his hand around the cadet’s collar, and drags him off the stage like he’s clearing meat off a butcher’s floor.
The cadet's eyes roll back. His body’s limp, mouth slightly parted—but I can still see his chest rising in shallow jerks, still alive, but it doesn't look like it will be for long.
Strannt doesn’t even bother checking or doing anything to ease his suffering, just leaves him slumped in a heap beside the stairs.
I used to think the Outerlands were brutal. But at least there, cruelty’s got teeth, you see it coming. If someone wanted you dead, they came at you with a blade. But here, it’s institutionalised; they dress it up in uniforms and rules. And none of them see it for what it is.
Something tightens inside me, a quiet pull of anger I have to swallow back down.
I knew coming back would be hard, but still.
.. seeing this stuff... I just want to burn this place down, but I can't; I need answers, and once I get them, I want whoever is responsible for Ashvale to pay. And I can’t do that without learning to control my magic.
I have to survive here, survive Call Week.
Strannt turns back to face us.
“If you want to stay alive and actually graduate, to then get the chance to become the best in your field.” he says, voice soaked in authority, like he gets a thrill from hearing himself lay down rules.
“A scholar, a leader, an officer—then you learn to fight for it. No exceptions. No weak links. Hundreds of families would kill for the honour of their children to stand here, the status it brings. Don’t think for a second you’re not replaceable. ”
As he finishes, his weaselly eyes catch mine. I don’t blink; instead, I let the silence stretch, daring him to hold, but he’s the one who breaks, gaze skittering off to the floor. Coward. Guess he's still sore about losing that fight.
I bet the only reason he’s still here, still breathing, is because of his father. He’s not the strongest. Not the fastest. He just learned early on how to look the part.
Avoiding my gaze, Strannt steps aside for Quinn. The professor starts talking again, something about next week's partner drills, but chairs are already scraping back, voices rise. A few cadets near the back are full-on chatting now, like he isn’t even speaking.
I lean toward Finn; it's just us here, we were late, so we didn't get to sit next to Ezzy and Rowan, who were stupidly early and are in the front row. Still, I keep my voice low.
“Why would anyone send their children here? I get why Rowan volunteered. But Ezzy, you?”
He lets out a short huff, almost a laugh, but not the kind that hits his eyes.
“It’s a privilege, my family was proud, hell, they threw a feast the night I got accepted. Only a few get picked each year. All my brothers made it through, so when my name came up…” He shrugs, but it’s tight at the shoulders. “It was expected. If I walked away, they’d cut me off, disown me.”
There it is. Not pride. Pressure. “And Ezzy?” I press.
“Well…” He shifts, scratching behind his ear, “her parents are scholars, so they didn’t really have a choice.
Not if they wanted to keep their positions, their benefits.
Plus Ezzy is dead set on being one too.” I watch the way he straightens when he says it, spine stiff, like someone might be grading him.
“But it’s not just pride or jobs” he adds, “the Treaty needs us. Peace Through Partition, Order Through Separation, or whatever. That’s what my brothers keep saying, anyway. ”
It comes out too easy, like he’s repeating something he’s heard a hundred times.
“And yeah, maybe it’s brutal at times, but this is the only place that actually shows us what we’re capable of. Back home, you get the kiddie version, but this is the only place you really get to learn your Threads.”
I watch him for a beat, but he’s dead serious, no doubt, no typical Finn jokes. How the hell does he not see it?
I glance at the body in the corner still twitching, water pooling beneath it.
“I get wanting to learn your magic,” I say. “But does it need to come with a body count?”
He tilts his head like that doesn’t even register as a real question.
“Got to weed out the weak somehow.” No hesitation, no guilt.
Then, like that’s not enough, he adds, “I don’t hate it here.
Serrane’s a bit creepy but his sermons..
.. they help. Especially when I’m feeling low. When the fog rolls in.”
I don’t agree with any of it, but that last part? I believe him. He really thinks this place is helping. Helping him.
I open my mouth—maybe to tell him he’s not alone, that if things ever get bad, I’m here—but movement near the front row pulls my focus. Class must’ve ended at some point while we were talking. I hadn’t even noticed.
Judging by how fast everyone’s clearing out, I’m not the only one who tuned him out. A few cadets are already halfway to the door, packs slung over their shoulders.
In the corner, the body is finally hauled off. Dead now. No one looks.
Fuck this place.
Out in the corridor, we find Rowan and Ezzy waiting.
Ezzy grins the second she sees me, all bright and obvious.
I smile back, can’t help it, but a yawn slips out at the same time.
Now that I’m not on the edge of my seat watching a cadet choke on his own lungs while a professor claps like it’s a fucking school play, I realise how tired I am.
Despite the early night, courtesy of the new, stricter curfew posted for our protection, I didn’t get much sleep.
Ezzy and I talked for ages—more Finn drama, obviously—then once she finally dozed off, I just sat there, trying not to think about what and who I left behind. And instead focused on reminding myself I’m here for a reason, that this isn’t a mistake.
And when I'm not thinking about that or reading mum's journals, trying to make sense of Merrin's cryptic comment about reading between the lines, he creeps in. Talen.
Professor Holloway decided it was best if I started training with Talen first, to get some control of my Threads before unleashing me on Beth.
Smart, but something tells me she would have me on my ass before I even blink.
It's the scar on her face, the confidence, or maybe just how good looking she is, probably all of it, but she kind of scares the shit out of me.
I was hoping to keep my distance from him, but now not only do I have to fake date him, but he's also going to be training me. Which only makes it harder to believe the Snare Urchin was him, why poison me and then help me improve my magic?
“You’re not listening,” Ezzy snaps, voice low, clipped—meant for Finn, not anyone else.
“But I said I wasn’t even looking at her, I don't understand what the problem is?” Finn’s arms are crossed tight, jaw clenched.
“That's the problem, ugh,” Ezzy fires back, and then she’s already turning, storming off toward the end of the hall. Finn mutters something under his breath, too quiet to catch, then shoves a hand through his messy hair and stalks off in the opposite direction.
Okay then, I blink towards Rowan, who looks just as amused as me “Library?”
“Sure,” he replies.
It’s probably for the best Ezzy’s not with us.
I want to get answers, but I need to do it without dragging her into it.
She already knows we’re looking into what happened in Ashvale, and she hates it—keeps reminding me the Citadel’s already told us what we need to know, that it’s not smart to go poking where we don’t belong.
I ignore the echo of her voice in my head as Rowan and I cut down the corridor, the air cools the closer we get to the library.
A few minutes later, we shove through the doors and nearly collide with a guard. Tall, all elbows and awkward angles, face I know. Brian. Ezzy’s friend, the one forever going on about his research—Thread Resonance Curves, or transfer, or something equally boring, I never manage to follow.