Chapter Thirty-Eight #3
Then another. And another. Slow. Careful. Like loosening the ribbon on a corset with one fucking hand.
It’s not dramatic.
It’s not loud.
But god, it’s satisfying.
“It wasn’t your fault, was it?” she taunts. “That’s what you tell yourself. But accidents don’t burn people alive.” Her voice slides under my skin like a scalpel, cold and pointed.
She told me to shut it all down. To bury the emotion, forget it mattered. But Talen said the opposite, to feel it. Just don’t let it break you.
So I let it burn. Let it move through me. I don’t push it down anymore. I use it. I let her voice wind around my ribs like a barbed wire, as I unknot more Threads.
The rhythm under my ribs picks up again—harder, faster, but steady now.
Each breath deeper.
Each Thread looser.
“I bet you killed her,” she whispers, stepping closer. “And now she’s ash. Because of you, because you couldn’t control your own freakish magic.”
More knots give, silently sliding free.
Beth’s magic pulses, ready to strike. But mine is—Mine is listening now.
She steps in closer.
Another knot slips loose, floats away.
No struggle. No shouting.
Just power—quiet and obedient, building behind my skin.
“Tell me, Lyra,” she raises a hand, “did she scream when the flames got her?”
My eyes open and snap into focus. Everything sharpens—sound, heat, the scrape of air itself. I can see more, hear more, feel everything—all of it zeroed in on Beth.
I thought it would be chaos. Thought I’d come undone in a blaze of light and fury.
But this? It’s peaceful. It’s calm, controlled, and it’s mine. All of it.
Beth's eye twitches, like she senses exactly what I’ve just unlocked. She moves fast, hand snapping up—but my Threads are already there, months' worth of power, just coiled at my fingertips, waiting.
They rip from me in a hard, exact line—no more flaring, no more scatter. Just pure, directed force. Like a knife sliding through ribs.
She doesn’t expect the precision. Not from me. Not now. Nor did I.
The magic hits square in her chest. A sound tears out of her—half gasp, half scream—as she’s thrown back. Her body folds around the impact, and she crashes down hard, shoulder blades into the mat.
Pain still flares from somewhere—my hip, shoulder, maybe my side—but it’s distant, drowned under the rush of magic. I move quick—crossing the space in a heartbeat, Threads surging through my body like vipers uncoiling.
The hollowness is gone.
No more brittle edges. No more scraping the bottom. I feel full.
Beth tries to move, too slow. The mat groans as I slam her back down—hard. Threads of air and water lash tight around her wrist, her ribs, her throat, anchoring her to the floor.
She wheezes, tries to rise, but her elbows buckle beneath her weight, fingers slipping on blood, hers, and she crashes back down.
I’m above her now, chest rising hard but ready to strike again. Ready to end it.
“I don’t want to kill you.” My voice too loud in the silence.
Beth coughs once, wet and ugly, and looks up at me with a cracked smile. Her lip’s split wide. One eye swollen nearly shut. But her voice? Steady.
“I know,” she rasps. “It’s one of the many weaknesses I’ve learned about you over the past few months.”
My jaw clenches as magic pulsing at my fingertips, obedient, just waiting for the final call.
Beth strains against my hold—one arm twitching like she might rise—but she’s not going anywhere. Her legs are tangled beneath her, her body pinned tight. I pull harder. Threads cinch down, cruel, precise, easy.
She doesn’t move. But her voice finds its edge again.
“You two deserve each other anyway,” she hisses, breathing tight through a laugh. “You know he's cursed, right? Killed his first girlfriend. His family tried to cover it up. Everyone thinks it’s a rumour, but I knew her sister.”
My spine goes tight. Surprise. I can’t hide it. Beth sees it. She tips her chin up, smiling through the blood.
“They were fucking for the first time,” she grits out, voice rough with pain, but she sees the shock on my face and keeps going, feeding off it.
“Something happened. And he took it, her magic, her Threads.” A tremor pulses through her limbs.
“She told him to stop. Begged him to stop.” I shake my head.
“But he didn’t.” Beth’s voice is quieter now.
Wrecked. “Just kept going until there was nothing left. Until she was drained, dead.”
She’s lying. She has to be. Baiting me, twisting shit to hurt me.
But—
I’ve felt it.
Every time we touch. Every time he gets close.
Something pulls from me—warm, rushing, magic—and flows into him like it belongs there.
Beth coughs, blood flecking the floor between us, and I watch her hand twitch toward her side like she’s still deciding if it’s worth trying. Like she still thinks she can come back from this.
“Don’t,” I growl. My voice barely sounds like mine—scraped raw, full of gravel.
She stops again, her lips split, burned cheek already swelling, eye half-closed. But deep down, I want her to move. To fight back. To give me any reason.
Because if she doesn’t, if she just lies there, broken, then this isn’t justice.
It’s punishment.
And I’m the one delivering it.
Something in me twists, my stomach turns, throat tight and burning. I see my own hands—still raised, still shaking with power—and for the first time in this fight, I’m not afraid of her, I’m afraid of myself.
I step forward.
Her body jerks back on instinct, it would be so easy. One motion. One command. I could end it right here, clean.
It’s her or me, there are no other options.
She called me, nominated me to die. She chose this, not me. But if I end it... What does that make me?
A shaky twitch runs through my fingers; my Threads stay steady, but my heart rate doesn’t. Pressure builds, pressing hard behind my eyes. And for one sickening second, I see it, what killing her would look like. Her body, slack on the mat. The silence, absolute.
Then—movement behind me. I turn to catch Lucien stepping forward.
His eyes catch mine for a split second. No grief, no concern.
Not even a flicker of hesitation for Beth.
Just…something else. Something that makes the back of my neck go cold.
Like he’s already seen how this ends and accepted it.
Like he’s waiting for me to catch up. It isn’t a plea.
It isn’t mercy. It’s, god, I can’t name it—but it’s there, steady as a heartbeat, urging me on without a word.
A jagged rush erupts inside me as the world funnels into a single, blinding point between us and just like that, the last scrap of doubt in me snaps.
I make the call. I came here for answers. I came here for justice. I choose to live, I choose me.
Power coils. My body shifts to strike—
But then Beth moves, desperate. Her Threads flare, raw, unstable magic surging out from her broken form in one final effort.
It should hit.
But it doesn’t.
It ricochets behind me.
Backfires.
The surge doubles back and slams straight into her chest. I feel the impact like a clap of thunder. Her body arches once, Threads sparking out in every direction like broken glass.
Then collapses.
Flat. Limp.
Her head hits the mat with a sickening thud.
My magic recedes, slow and stunned. I stagger back half a step, every inch of me thrumming with magic and disbelief.
I just stare at her, Beth, burned and broken, sprawled across the mat.
Dead.
Not by my hand.
But it still feels like I killed her.
Because I wanted to.