Chapter Forty #2
“Nothing, forget it.” He just shakes his head and keeps going, “Bloom, believe me, I wanted to tell you so badly, but the Citadel would never approve of this kind of magic between people. It’s not sanctioned, it’s not safe.
And I knew once you got control of your Threads, it would stop.
I thought I could ignore it till then. Keep my distance, avoid touching you.
” A beat. “But after the Rec Hall, when I... felt you and you saw, you saw my reaction. I knew you had figured something out. Then you started asking questions, and I—” He shakes his head.
“I didn’t even know where to start. So I just shut you out. ”
“But I can control it now. See?” I reach out and take his hand. “Nothing’s moving. I can feel them. All of them. My Threads. Where they are, where they aren’t. I can hold them, keep them in.” I meet his eyes. “You don’t have to avoid me anymore. You can touch me.”
Talen exhales, but he doesn’t let go. “It’s not just about that, it’s not just about whatever this connection is between us. I know you want answers—about Ashvale, about everything. And you deserve them.” His thumb brushes across the back of my hand. “But I can’t give you all of it. Not yet.”
My chest tightens. “Talen—”
“I need you to trust me.” His voice softens as his free hand rises, fingertips brushing my cheek.
“I know it’s not much. But if you stay low, stop pushing—if you play along—I promise, I promise you’ll get answers.
” As the last word leaves his mouth, a single thread of light slips from his lips.
It drifts toward me—bright, slow—and lands on my chest.
“You gave me a String,” I whisper, stunned.
“I did.” He smiles, quiet, careful, real.
Then he steps closer. “Lyra…” His thumb strokes across my bottom lip, slow. “Do you trust me?”
The question lands like a blade between my ribs. I freeze, gaze locked on his. His eyes are wide open now—unguarded, for once. Waiting.
Do I? Do I trust him?
Every betrayal begins with a hand held in trust. And the closer they stand, the easier it is to fall.
That’s what my mum wrote in her diary. God, I want to so badly.
“I trust that you’re protecting people,” I say, “I trust that, deep down, you’re good.” His lips twitch, almost a smile. “And I get it now, why you can’t tell me everything. I pushed for answers before and it got the baker killed.”
My throat tightens, I want to stop there. I want to say yes.
“But... if I believed you blindly, I’d be a fool.
” His face doesn’t move, but I feel it. The shift, like I’ve just cut something open between us.
“Especially after Beth, because I don’t know what you’re protecting, how, or what it’ll cost.” I take a breath.
“And I’ve seen plenty of well-meaning men dig holes straight to hell. ”
A beat passes. His hand lingers, just for a second longer, then he pulls it away.
“I understand,” he says softly, stepping back.
The air between us cools instantly. “It’s probably for the best that you keep your distance from me anyway.
I don’t regret it, but that kiss in Ashvale.
.. it was a mistake. Getting involved would be complicated, dangerous.
” Another beat. “More so than it already is.”
No. That's not what I meant. I don’t want distance.
I want him.
I don’t know what he’s doing. I don’t know what he’s hiding, but I know he’s good, and that’s enough. Isn't it?
I don’t need trust to want his hands on me. I don’t need answers to decide what I give. The rest—feelings, attachment—I can keep that out, separate.
But this part?
That’s mine.
My choice.
My boundary.
I open my mouth to protest, to correct—
But Talen drops the silence shield just as a blur of blonde rounds the corner, heading straight for us.
Ezzy. Sobbing.
The dorm room’s quiet and dark, except for the soft amber flicker of a candle on the desk. The music from the ball ended hours ago; all I hear now is the distant sound of water running from the Citadel into the Veins, cutting out through the Realms beyond.
I’m on the bed, blanket tossed over my legs, dress wrinkled and half-slipped off one shoulder. I haven’t changed, haven’t moved much since we got back, and for once, I’m alone.
Ezzy and I talked for what felt like hours. I didn’t want to leave the ball, I wanted to keep talking to Talen, but she needed me. I couldn’t walk away from her. Not tonight, not after everything I’ve done.
Finn basically told her it’s not going to happen. Not now, not ever. The way she said it—flat, like she’d already run out of tears—made something crack in my chest. I was heartbroken for her.
Once she stopped crying, she said she’d head home for the weekend—see her sister, catch up with family.
Leave’s optional after Call Week; many of the cadets are taking it, but I’m surprised more aren’t.
I thought about going home, but then I remembered there wasn't much I’d be going back for and whatever, whoever’s left.
.. I’m not ready to face. Not yet. I don’t want to go back until I have answers—until all of this means something.
My Threads are calm, quiet, but my heart’s still racing. Muscles pulled tight, like I never came down from the fight.
I should be making a new plan. Should be processing the bloodbath of the past week. What happened to Beth, what almost happened to me. But instead, I do what I’m best at, shove it all down and focus on something else. Anything else.
Because I don’t want to think anymore. I want to feel. Something warm. Something that’s mine.
Just enough to take the edge off, just enough to sleep.
I slide lower on the mattress, let my eyes fall shut, and exhale slow. My hand drifts down—fingers brushing along the slit of the dress, gathering the fabric and pulling it up, baring skin inch by inch.
The first touch is light, barely there, just enough to cut the air short in my throat.
Seven months, god, seven months. My head tips back against the pillow, lips parting as I press deeper.
The heat is immediate. Fierce. It doesn’t take much—just the right pressure, the right rhythm—and everything starts to melt.
My jaw slackens, my legs part, and a hard thud slams behind my ribs, rising fast.
This is mine. No one else's. My hands. My pace. My release.
His mouth flashes through my mind, that kiss. And just as my hips roll up into it, just as that first sharp curl of pleasure starts to build—
A knock.
Fuck. I freeze, air stalling in my chest, fingers still caught beneath the dress.
Another knock. Louder this time.
I grit my teeth, pull my hand away, and sit up, heart pounding for a completely different reason now. Not arousal, not release, just cold, crawling frustration.
“Are you serious?” I mutter, shoving the fabric back down. “Goddamn timing.” I don’t even look up from the bed. “Come in,” I call, assuming it’s Rowan coming to check on Ezzy.
The door creaks open, Talen steps through.
Shit.
“You left your pack with your emotional support animal at the Ball.” He holds the duck out like it might bite him, eyes avoiding mine. “Figured you’d want it.”
I try to hide the flush plastered across my face, but god, I’m still warm everywhere. Still aching from what I didn’t finish. Luckily, his gaze is locked on the floor in front of him not on me.
“Thanks,” I say, aiming for calm, casual, missing both. “You can leave it on the desk. I don’t need it anymore.” I nod to my right, directly across the room from him.
He hesitates, but then steps inside. Careful, like he's still not sure if he should be here.
The moment he gets to the table, when his back is to me, I rise.
Throw off the blanket and brush the creases from my dress.
Smooth a hand down the front like it might erase the heat still humming in my skin.
As if I don’t still feel the press of my own fingers.
As if I wasn’t just in this bed fantasising about his mouth.
He sets my pack and the duck down. Doesn’t speak, just turns, quiet and quick, already heading for the door. But before he leaves, he looks up. His eyes lock on me, and something in him stalls.
He shakes his head once, then again, like he’s trying to reset a thought spiralling in his brain. Force it back down. It doesn’t work. “You’ve been wearing that all night?” His voice dips, not teasing. Not safe.
I don’t answer, can’t. Because his eyes are already tracking lower—dragging from the hem pooled at my ankles, up the slit still high on my thigh, over the stretch of fabric pulled tight across my chest. Then back to my face.
And I feel that look—sharp and heavy—landing right between my legs, exactly where my fingers were a second ago before he knocked.
“This was a mistake,” he sighs, gripping the doorframe like he needs something solid to stop him from moving. “I shouldn’t have come.”
“Then why did you?” I ask. “Don’t tell me it was to bring the duck. You hate that bloody thing.”
“You don't think I asked myself the same thing the whole way over?” One hand lifts to the back of his neck, shoulders tight like he’s holding something in, then he lets out a soft breath—not quite a laugh, but close.
“Maybe it’s because I went back to my room and couldn’t stop seeing you walk away with Ezzy. Maybe it’s because the second you were gone, every part of me wished I’d stopped you. That I’d just…reached out and pulled you back.”
He breaks off, swallows hard, then looks up, eyes darker, voice thinning to a rasp.
“Maybe it's because I can’t stop thinking about it.” He continues, straining like the words hurt.
“About the kiss, about you, about the fact that I can touch you now, about all the things I’d do if you’d let me.
All the things I couldn’t let myself want before…
and how I shouldn’t want any of it, and yet still—” He exhales, shaky, defeated.
“Fuck, Lyra, I just wanted to see you. I thought maybe that would be enough to get you out of my head.” A faint, almost helpless shake of his head. “It didn’t.”
His eyes find mine, and everything in me clenches—my throat, my chest, my core. The space between us is thick with it. Burning. The unfinished ache I’ve been dragging around for months. The same ache I tried to work out of my body minutes ago.
“I should go,” he says.
Do I let him leave, end it here? Safer, simpler. No expectations, no aftermath. Just a door that closes, and the weight of him shoved somewhere I don’t have to deal with.
But if I let him stay, am I letting him in? I don’t trust him, not fully. Still, trust and want aren’t the same thing; I can separate them, I have before.
He just doesn’t get to have all of me—my thoughts, my feelings. Those stay mine, locked down. But my body? That’s different. That’s choice, not surrender. It’s control.
I step closer, one breath away, close enough to feel the heat of him. The tension bleeding from his skin.
Then I lean in, just past him.
“Stay.”
I don’t wait for an answer.
Just hold his gaze.
Fingers brush the edge of the door—
And I close it.