CHAPTER 28 | BREN’S HOUSE #2
But she’s right. How the hell did I know she was here? It’s like I can feel her, always. Normally, I have to focus to sense anything, but with her, she just bleeds through. Slipping under my skin whether I want it or not.
Movement pulls her gaze to the house behind us—tense posture, brows pulled tight. She looks nervous, obviously worried about her friends. Cute, predictable, but I’m not looking at her anymore. My eyes lock on him.
“And since we’re apparently doing confessions—.
” It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid. But I can’t fucking help myself.
“Yes, I kissed her.” Bren’s jaw twitches, so I tilt my head, leaning in, twisting the knife just a little bit more.
“Would you like the full description, or just the highlights, how she tastes like—”
“Talen.” Lyra’s voice slices through mine.
It’s better if she hates me. Easier. Cleaner.
But it still lands like a punch to the gut because, although the jab was meant for him, the memory hits me instead. Because god, what I wouldn’t give to take that kiss back.
I didn’t just take it. I forced it—Not just with my mouth, but with my magic.
I was trying to save her. Stop her from being Reassigned after she interfered to protect Ezzy.
Fucking reckless. Impulsive. So perfectly Lyra it made my chest hurt.
So I locked us into a lie that would keep her breathing and kissed her.
I softened the panic rising under her skin, muted the anger, pushed down all the logic screaming at her to run.
But in the quiet that followed, buried under all that rage, that's when I felt it, raw and undeniable. Want. Not mine. Hers.
I knew she was physically attracted to me, since the courtyard, I’ve seen it in the way she looks at me, holds herself too still around me.
But this wasn’t that; this was deeper, messier. And god, it fucking ruined me. Because I wasn’t supposed to find that, and now that I have, I can’t un-feel it.
“Anyway,” I continue. “Merrin asked me to give you these.” I lift the package slightly. “Said you’re not coming back.”
“Thanks. You can go now.” She moves to take it, but I shift, pulling it back just out of reach.
What the hell am I doing? Drop the package. Walk away. That was the plan, clean and simple.
“Well, technically.” I say, glancing at my watch, voice casual even though my pulse’s doing something it shouldn’t.
“You’re still under my command for another six hours.
And I’ve got strict orders to return these after your training ends.
So…” I shrug, calm, like I’m not barely holding the walls of my own mind upright.
“I think I’ll stick around. Join your little get-together.
Unless, of course, you’d prefer I march you—and your friends—back to the Citadel for deserting patrol? ”
Lyra stiffens, shoulders taut. She turns to Bren, eyes soft and pleading.
Talen, you fucking idiot.
This isn't part of the plan. Hell, this isn't even close. But all my focus—all my bloody effort—has been going into keeping Cal out of my head. And now I’m out here, pulling rank, making threats, acting like some insecure asshole with a power complex.
God, I fucking hate the Outerlands.
“Oh no,” Bren stiffens, jaw tight. “He’s not coming in.”
The fuck I’m not, I’ll come in if I want to.
“It’s just a few hours,” she almost begs, voice tense.
“Then I’m done. Free. Please. I don’t want Ezzy or anyone else getting hurt because of me, and I need the journals.
They’re all I have left of my Mum. Besides—” She looks over at me, long enough to make a point.
“He still needs everyone inside to believe this relationship is real, so he’ll be on his best behaviour. ”
I lift a shoulder in a careless shrug. She’s not wrong, but she clearly can’t see how thin my leash is right now.
Finally, Bren nods.
As soon as we step inside his house, I know this is only going to end badly.
Cal’s still crawling at the edge of my mind, scraping to get in. I can feel his heat building, the sharp edge of fury pressing behind my temples, but I take a breath and scan the room. It’s barely the size of my chambers; kitchen bench, tiny table, one battered armchair that’s seen better years.
Rowan—Ezzy’s brother or cousin or whatever—plants himself by the door, arms crossed. Lyra sits down at the table with Ezzy and the boyfriend, Finn? Bren takes the seat across from her; the table is so small their knees knock. Elbows brush. Close, too fucking close.
She looks comfortable here, an ease I haven’t seen before, like she belongs.
Doesn't surprise me, though, considering how often she stays. My jaw tightens at the thought of the bed upstairs—the one he’s probably had her in.
I shove the image out, cross the room, and drop into his chair like it’s mine.
Because I’m pathetic and I need to take something from him. Even if it’s just this fucking seat.
The worn leather creaks beneath me. I hook one leg over my knee and rest the package at my side.
My gaze doesn’t go to her. That’s how I know I’m screwed.
Because if I look at her, I’ll stare. And if I stare, I’ll slip.
So I lock on Bren instead. Lean back in his chair, spinning one dagger between my fingers—the other’s parked on the armrest, just close enough to make a point.
God. What the hell is wrong with me?
“I was going to ask the same thing.” Cal snarls, voice pissed and laced with judgment.
“I thought I shut you out.”
“I almost wish you had. Especially now, seeing where you’ve ended up. What happened to the plan? Deliver the journals, then leave. Was that so difficult to follow?”
My grip tightens on the blade in my hand as I shift forward a bit, clenching my teeth and forcing him back behind the dam.
“So,” Bren asks, elbows on the table, leaning towards me. “What brings a Citadel officer all the way out here? Reassigning innocent people for fun now?”
Something shifts, and I catch Lyra kicking him in the shin. I bite back a laugh. If only he knew what I was actually doing with the Reassignments.
“Yes, actually. Five today, if you must know,” I say, grinning, honest, not a lie. “Though I’ll admit—I was hoping for more.” I tilt my head. “Could always make it six. Interested?” Still not a lie, though I doubt he would be much use to us at the camp.
Bren’s eyes narrow, but his voice stays even. “You don’t joke about that. Not here.”
“Why not?” I lean back in his chair again, “Your people are practically handing it to us. Coordinating strikes on our supply runs. Patrols hit along the wall. We’ve lost cadets, officers. Every week this month, it’s escalated. And every week we’re back out here getting you lot back in order.”
Across the table, I catch Lyra’s face—surprised. So she didn’t know. Looks like I’m not the only one keeping secrets from her. This has been going on for months, and Bren’s kept it quiet.
He looks rattled, though. His jaw flexes, shoulders tight. Then, finally, he turns to her: “A lot’s changed since you’ve been gone, Lyra.”
She might still think I’m a monster, wouldn’t blame her if she did, but I saw it—a small flicker, cracks forming, edges fraying. Like the world she thought she knew doesn’t quite fit anymore. Innerlands. Outerlands. Who’s good, who’s bad.
Then Bren turns back to me—and yeah, I can’t help it. I’m going to regret it in the morning, but there’s something about rattling him I just like. And right now? All my self-control’s being burned just keeping Cal out of my head.
So I throw another comment. Then another. Each one a little lower, a little closer to the bone.
Starts off like the usual—Treaty politics, the same tired crap. But it doesn’t stay there. Never does with Outerlanders.
It’s just the two of us. Lyra stays quiet, tense. While her friends keep trading looks like they already regret showing up.
Fair. So do I.
I’m not sure how long we’ve been going back and forth, but Bren’s close now, like he’s one second away from losing it. Good. I’d love to see him snap in front of her. I open my mouth to push again, but then—
“Enough.” Lyra's voice is tight and clipped. “We’re not doing this.”
She looks at him first, then me, not so much a threat, more a plea. Don’t.
Fine, I exhale hard through my nose and lean back “He started it,” I mutter pathetically, dagger still in hand.
Beside her, Finn clears his throat—probably about to say something useless just to break the tension. Lyra cuts him a look. He shuts up.
I should just give her the journals and leave, but then I see him looking at her, knowing he's held her, had her, and my fist tightens.
“How’s Rhiann?” Lyra asks, shifting toward him. “And her boy? Charlie? God, they haven't had any Spice all month...”
Oh, shit.
Bren tilts his head, like he’s not sure he heard her right.
“Still not good, though he’s getting better.
But… Lyra—” his brow furrows, confusion clear.
“Someone’s been dropping her Spice each week.
He told Rhiann you’d arranged it? That you’d set it up ahead of time?
‘Charming and drop-dead fuckable’ were her exact words.
She seems pretty taken with him. Which, for Rhiann, is saying a lot. ” He hesitates. “It wasn’t you?”
Charming and drop-dead fuckable. I feel the corner of my mouth pull—can’t help it, especially hearing it come from him.
“No... how could I have?” she asks, voice rough. There’s a pause, like her brain’s still spinning, trying to catch up. Then her eyes flick to me. A fast, unwelcome surge hits low. She’s smart, too smart. But no way she actually believes it. Is there?
Bren pushes back from the table with a shrug and heads for the kitchen. “Anyone want a drink?” Ezzy says yes, Bren nods, turning on the stove.