Chapter Forty-Five #2
Brian’s choking now. His boots scrape against the floor, hands clawing at air that won’t move, and behind him, Talen’s fist stays closed. .
I blink. My stomach clenches. What—what is this?
“Information,” Merrin pacing now with deliberate steps, “has always been a valuable tool. But not all knowledge serves peace. Not all stories deserve retelling.”
Heels scramble against the platform as Brian lurches, but his legs buckle before he can get far, face red—no, darker. Purple. Eyes round and wet and frozen.
No one moves. Not a sound from the crowd. Not a shift beside me. The whole courtyard’s gone still, including me.
It’s not real. It can’t be. This is a warning, some kind of lesson. He’ll stop. Merrin will stop him. Any second now—
Brian collapses to his knees, gasping soundlessly. The stage creaks beneath him.
No, no, no. He can’t be doing this. I need to believe there’s still a line Talen won’t cross. That what I felt was real. That I haven’t handed my heart to the monster he said he was.
Still, Talen doesn’t move, hand locked tight at his side in a slow, invisible choke. The same hands that were on me the other night.
“The library exists for a reason.” Merrin’s voice louder now. “And its limits protect you. Books removed from its shelves were taken for your safety. The past is a dangerous thing to resurrect.”
Beside him, Brian’s hands scrabble at his throat, trembling. Fingers twitching. His body leans forward, then folds. My mouth parts, chest rising and falling too fast.
Stop. Please, stop. He’s dying. He’s actually dying.
Merrin glances back.
One nod.
Talen doesn’t flinch, just turns his wrist—clean, mechanical.
The crack splits the air, loud and final and Brian’s body drops like a severed string. Limbs folding, neck wrong.
A collective gasp tears through the courtyard, Ezzy’s hand clamps around mine. Fast. Tight.
Bile crawls up the back of my tongue. bitter, sour, but I can’t swallow it down, because he did it, Talen did it. And he didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second.
“Let this serve as a reminder—” Merrin’s gaze sweeps across our stunned faces “—the Citadel is always watching. No effort goes unnoticed. No action unrewarded…. Or unpunished.”
My stomach lurches. I don’t want to look at him. God, I don’t want to look at him. I want to be sick. But I force myself to because he knew. He knew about Brian.
I told him everything. And he told Merrin.
My head screams for him to look back at me, to just turn, to see me. Because if I can find his eyes, if I can read what’s there—I’ll know. Whether this was orders. Whether it was choice.
A single muscle ticks at his jaw, like he knows I’m watching, like he can feel it. Me. But he doesn’t turn, not even a glance.
Pressure builds under my skin, nails digging into the skin of my palms, grounding or punishing—I can’t tell which.
He warned me.
Told me there were things he’d done, things he would do. And I still let him in. Not just my body, that would’ve been easier. I gave him everything.
Trust.
Hope.
I handed it over like it meant something. Like he meant something.
Air won’t settle right in my lungs, my throat burning with the weight of it. I don’t know where the Citadel ends and he begins. I don’t know if there is a line. Or if I imagined it just so I could sleep beside him.
Merrin’s voice cuts through the spiral like a jolt to the spine.
“Now, for the Second-year Trials.” Brian’s body is still there, sprawled at his feet, lifeless and ignored.
“You’ll receive your instructions upon arrival at your destination.
But let me make myself clear, do not engage in any activity until you’ve read them.
Failure to comply will result in elimination.
” A beat. “Eliminated teams will be executed. We do not advance cadets who cannot follow basic orders into their third year. Now, form groups. No fewer than three, no more than six. You have one minute, if you haven’t decided by then, we will decide for you. ”
One minute.
A shaky rise sweeps through my chest. My head still hasn’t caught up with everything Brian is dead. Talen did it.
I told him, I trusted him.
“Lyra!” Rowan’s voice breaks through the noise. I turn, blinking. He’s already got Ezzy and Finn at his side, waiting. “Are we agreed? Just the four of us?”
Ezzy’s still staring at Brian’s body, face pale, like her brain hasn’t caught up either.
“Shit, umm.” The word scrapes out, my mouth’s gone dry. I blink hard, force my feet to stay planted. Just breathe. Speak. Act. Don’t break. “Okay, well, Talen said it might be smart to have extra bodies, more coverage...” I manage, barely, lungs still too locked up.
“Yeah?” Finn snaps, stepping forward like he’s ready to throw something. “Well, your boyfriend over there just snapped Brian’s neck like a fucking twig, so forgive me if I don’t take his advice.”
The air around me tightens, but before I can speak, Rowan steps between us, cutting off Finn with a look that lands sharp.
Then he turns to me. Eyes steady. “I trust you, Lyra.” A beat. “What’s your call?”
I glance toward the courtyard, chaos everywhere. Shouts. Scrambling. Cadets grabbing at alliances like drowning rats.
Shit.
Do I trust Talen’s advice? Push them to bring in someone else—someone we don’t know—just to gain numbers?
Even after what he just did? If I do, they’ll question me.
Maybe hate me. And they’d have every reason to.
But if we go just the four of us, are we exposed, would we fail? I don’t know which risk is worse.
God, I so desperately want to believe there's a reason: That he didn’t choose this. That he was forced. That Merrin found out about Brian some other way. I want to believe it so badly it hurts.
But I’ve lived too long hoping things turn out better than they do, since the day my mum died, it’s always been the same. That the darker answers—the ones that hurt the most—those are the ones that turn out to be true.
“We go four.” My voice comes out hoarse. “It’s us.”
Rowan nods once—slow, like the weight of it’s still settling, beside him Finn exhales hard through his nose, the edge in him dulled, just a little. Then he gives a tight nod, too. No one says the words, but it’s done.
Just as the last groups pull together, Merrin’s voice booms again.
“Your time is up,” he calls. “The group you are now in will be the group you enter the Trial with.” Then a pause.
Too long, measured. “But that’s not all.
” My gut tightens. “Over the past year, we’ve been watching.
You’ll be paired with another team—one chosen to push you.
” His eyes gleam. “The Trials will test your skill. Your judgment. Your ability to adapt. But above all they will test your loyalty to the Citadel.” His hand lifts. “Good luck.”
The world drops. Everything goes black.
It’s night when I come to—mouth’s dry, spine aching, dirt stuck to the sweat on the back of my neck, tacky and warm. Feels like I’ve been here a while. How long was I out?
Dust gathers under my nails as I shift, slow, sitting up. Everything’s stiff. Head pounding—right side mostly. Merrin’s Magic. Too much of it, too fast.
I blink hard against the moonlight, cold and silver, spilling across the cracked ground, and look around.
A few paces ahead, a cluster of shacks leans sideways into the wind.
Half-rotted. Empty, long abandoned. Beyond that, Outerland scrub runs until it doesn’t.
Until it hits black rock—jagged and sharp, silhouetted clean against the full moon.
The Northern Peaks. Closer than they should be, which means we’re north. Far north.
Shit.
The Trials. Right. Okay. Breathe.
I need to focus, need to figure out what the hell this test is, and how to finish it—preferably without anyone getting hurt or—
“Finn.” Ezzy’s scream cuts through the air, heavy with panic. “Finn, wake up.”
I twist toward her cry, she’s crouched a few feet to my right, hands braced on his shoulders, trying to shake him.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch. Rowan’s already there, one knee in the dirt, fingers pressed tight to Finn’s neck.
My stomach drops. I’m on my feet before I think, dust kicking up as I cross the space between us, every nerve pulled tight.
“Is he breathing?” I ask, dropping down beside them.
Rowan hesitates, then shakes his head once. Ezzy’s already tilting his chin back, voice cracking.
“Come on. Don’t—” She slams a hand against his chest. Once. Twice.
Nothing.
“Stars, Finn, don’t you fucking dare—”
Suddenly, he jolts. A rough, wet gasp tears through him as his body arches back. Ezzy collapses forward, forearm pressed to her eyes.
“Shit,” Finn mutters, voice hoarse, as he tries to sit up. “What the hell, where are we—?”
Ezzy chokes on air and grabs him, hands framing his face, holding him like she might break if she lets go. “We thought you were dead.” She half-laughs, half-sobs.
He blinks up at her, chest still heaving. Then he sees her face—the mess of it, the fear she’s trying to shove down—and his lips twitch.
“…Wait. That’s all it took? All I had to do was nearly die and you’d talk to me again?”
Ezzy stares at him for a beat. Then: “You’re such an asshole.” But her hands are still on his face, and she doesn’t let go.
Beside me, Rowan exhales, shoulders sagging. I sit back in the dirt, pulse still a mess, but a small smile tugs at my mouth. They’re fine. He’s breathing.
“Well, would you look at that.” The voice comes from behind us. Familiar.
I turn as Ryven rises from the dirt, brushing himself off like this is a casual training match and not the start of a Citadel-sanctioned execution puzzle.
Elijah stands to his left, and his sister just behind them, braid hanging over one shoulder.
But that's not all, there’s more. Three other cadets I don’t recognise are also in their group.