CHAPTER 28 | BREN’S HOUSE
“Well, that didn’t go well. Fucking Outlanders.
” I mutter into my mind as I kick a loose stone down the alley, watching it rattle off a rusted pipe before skidding into the gutter.
The stench hits next—rot, smoke, piss. The usual perfume of the Outerlands, but I keep walking.
Head down. Jaw clenched. Because if I stop moving, I’ll turn back.
A voice—low, guttural, too close inside my head, replies.
“I'm surprised you were expecting anything else, turning up looking like that.”
Cal.
His presence burns behind my eyes as I glance down at the white uniform—same one I’ve worn for almost ten years.
It used to feel like a disguise. Now I’m not so sure it’s not just…
me. The line’s so blurred, which side I’m on, what I’m really fighting for.
Serrane’s soldier. Serrane’s weapon. Their perfect enforcer.
Doing their dirty work, keeping up the act.
I tell myself it’s worth it. That in the end, if we save thousands, the cost is justified.
But it doesn’t help at night, when I close my eyes and see their faces.
“They need to realise we are fighting the same enemy.” I reply, the words clear in my head. “They are going to run themselves dry fighting us. Meanwhile, he just gets stronger every day.”
“I fail to see why you bother.” Cal seethes. “They won’t listen. They don’t believe. Not when the words come from you—looking like an Innerlander. The Citadel’s prized officer. Serrane’s loyal enforcer.”
“Yes, thanks for the reminder, don't you think I fucking know that?” I grit my teeth. “God, I forgot how loud you are outside the Veils.”
“And I had forgotten how foolish you become outside the Veils.” Cal snaps. “Dragging yourself back here every week to leave Spice for a child you’ve never even met. And tell me—why must you deliver these journals? Surely someone else could have handled it. Or do you enjoy playing the martyr?”
My fingers tighten around the package, but I don’t answer.
Just keep my head down and keep walking.
Because I know exactly why I’m doing this—and exactly how fucking stupid it is.
But I’m here now, so I just need to drop the journals and leave.
Before Cal starts screwing with my mind and self-control.
“You're playing with fire.” he says, “have you told Merrin that you already—”
“No,” I cut him off. “If he finds out, he will just worry, think that I’m too close.”
“Are you too close?” Cal presses. “It’s been over five years now. You don’t think he should know? You don’t think she should know?”
My boot splashes into a shallow puddle, filthy water soaking up my pant leg, but I don’t stop. Just keep walking, ignore the question and deflect. Focus on the street. On the grey sky. On the drag of winter air across my face—cold enough to bite, but it doesn’t touch me, not really.
“Look,” I say, jaw tight. “Merrin thinks she’s a prodigy.
The missing piece. And after she touched that blade the night I found her trying to escape in the tunnels.
..” I exhale hard, dragging my free hand through my hair.
“…god, I know he’s right. My job is,” I pause, “was, to keep her alive until she was ready to go to the camp. That's all.”
“So your brilliant strategy to keep her alive was to pretend you wanted her dead?” Cal growls. “To place the blame for your brother’s death on her and then lock her into a fake relationship?”
“It was a split-second decision, alright?” I turn a corner, gravel crunching underfoot. A dog barks somewhere far off. “It was the only thing I could think of to keep everyone off her back without telling her everything, which is out of the question. I haven’t even told Luc yet.”
He huffs in my mind—loud, disapproving. Always disapproving. “I don’t understand why you didn’t just take her to the camp. Why even offer her a deal? Foolish human impulse.” A beat. “Now she’s gone. Tell me—how does Merrin intend to get her back?”
“He said she can’t go straight to the camp because the Citadel is vital.
Says she needs to break before she can rebuild.
Otherwise, she’ll never be ready for what’s coming.
” I pause. “I don’t agree. But I do agree she’s emotionally volatile, untrained.
And she's an Outerlander.” My boots splash through another brown puddle.
“They’ll never follow her as she is... And as for the plan to get her back. ..”
I mutter, shaking my head, the cold air sliding down the back of my neck—welcome against too-warm skin.
“...Fuck, I don't know, Merrin is convinced she will read the journals and come back. He said he pushed her mother too hard, and it broke her. He wants, needs, Lyra to choose for herself.” I take a breath. “That’s why he didn’t push her magic either, he wants to wait till she asks for help.
I’ve told Holloway I’ll be ready when she does. ”
“I do not approve of this plan.” Cal says flatly. “And I don’t approve of you dropping these journals either. We should turn back before you do something truly reckless.”
“I’m fine.” I mutter, more for myself than him. “And when’s the last time I did something reckless, might I ask?”
“Moorsend. A fortnight ago. You and Lucien, armed with a bucket… pursued by an exceptionally enraged bull.”
“Yeah, yeah. Point fucking made.” I shake my head, but can’t help the pull at the corner of my mouth. “You don’t like it? Tough. You’re the one who merged yourself to me.”
“If memory serves, it was you who was dying. The choice was simple; this, or we both perished. You are one of the last of your bloodline—I honoured that. I made the bargain. I bear the consequences; I bound my essence with yours. My form. My fire. My cost. Do not mistake your life for sacrifice. You lived, I paid for it.”
Not so sure about that lately. His power’s growing. Stronger. Heavier. Harder to control, especially out here. Maybe this is a bad idea, dropping the journals. Seeing her. I’m already on edge after that shit-show of a meeting.
I turn the final corner—
—and freeze, blood boils, jaw locks, because here—on the ground outside his goddamn house, Lyra. Her red hair flared out like fire against a pristine white Citadel uniform.
But she’s not alone.
She’s with him.
And they’re not talking. They’re kissing.
His mouth—His fucking mouth is on hers.
My lungs seize for a beat. Not because it’s a kiss. But because of the way they kiss. It’s not quick, or shallow, or meaningless. He’s holding her like he knows the shape of her. Like he’s done this a hundred times before. Like he’s going to do it again.
He’s kissing her like she belongs to him.
Something inside me cracks. Heat spikes behind my eyes, pressure building at my temples and my chest burns like I swallowed a fucking razor blade.
Paper creaks in my grip—I’m holding the journals too damn tight. Fuck. I should leave, turn around. Get Merrin to handle this. Easy fix. But the idea of leaving her like this, with him, not speaking to her one last time… shit, it fucking guts me. I hate this. But I can’t leave. Not yet.
Cal growls, loud in my mind. “I thought you said you were fine.”
“Oh, fuck off.” I hiss back, swallowing hard as I block him out. The pressure in my head eases by a thread, but beyond the Veils, it’s like plugging a crack in a dam. Temporary fix, it won’t hold him out for long.
Okay. Mask on. Drop the package. Say goodbye. No stupid moves.
“Well,” I cut in, mouth twisted in something that passes for a smile. “This is awkward.”
And fuck, it is. For me, at least.
She’s on her feet already—too fast, too flustered—and I catch the shift of panic in her eyes before she covers it. God, she’s beautiful. The kind of beautiful that makes you stupid.
My mouth parts a fraction—Another push from Cal.
Like claws scraping against the inside of my skull.
I grit my teeth and slam the door shut again, then smile.
Practised, polite, the one I’ve worn since fifteen when I taught myself how to lie with charm.
Except today, it sits wrong. Probably because I’m two seconds from putting his face through the fucking wall.
“What are you doing here Veirmont?” Her voice cold.
It hits sharper than I expect—clean through the chest. I never want to hear that name from those lips again, but I keep my smile, barely, because she does not look happy to see me.
Why the fuck did I come here? Just to torture myself one last time?
My eyes flick to him, then back to her. Right. Easier if she hates you. Keep the act up and get out clean.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I say, voice low. “I leave you alone for five minutes and you’re already kissing someone else?”
He rises beside her, shoulders squared like he’s trying to look taller. Probably a nice guy. Decent, polite. The type you bring home to meet your mother.
Which just makes me want to break his nose more.
But right as she turns to him, there it is. A flicker in her face—hesitation. Doubt. Then I feel it—warmth. A hit of want. Familiar. Love even, but nothing deeper. No weight. No ache. Interesting.
“Cut the crap, Talen.” She shoots back, eyes narrow back on me now. “Bren knows the relationship’s fake. We’re not in the Citadel anymore. Not playing by your rules.”
Bren’s mouth parts, connecting the dots. “Veirmont? Talen? The Spice tax family? You kissed him?”
Lyra flicks him a look, personal, knowing, a silent not now, and Fuck, I hate it. Then she turns back to me. “How did you know I was here? What do you want?”
“Oh, please, Bloom. I’m a senior officer at the Citadel. You don’t think I notice when four of my fucking second-year cadets vanish mid-patrol?”
Another spike of pressure from Cal punches the side of my skull. I shove back, hard, almost baring my teeth. Stay out.