Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

I’d been promised a future—one without her.

But not like this.

I couldn’t look up. I didn’t have it in me. So I stared down, let the darkness stretch below me like a void I could fall into. Tried to pretend it wasn’t real. Tried to focus on the pressure in my chest, the ache settling behind my ribs. Anything but her.

But the weight wasn’t enough. The denial wasn’t strong enough.

And still—inevitably—my gaze lifted.

Fuck. 

Chapter Text

If he smirks at me one more time, I'm breaking his nose. Again.

Ridoc ducked as my fist cut through the air where his jaw had been a second ago. He laughed. Laughed. The sound of it was equal parts irritating and unfairly charming, like he knew exactly how to piss me off and was doing it on purpose.

Which he absolutely was. "I will break your nose again."

"You say that like it's a threat," he said, dancing back a step just out of range. "But your aim says otherwise."

I lunged, this time going for a sweep of his legs. He jumped, the bastard, and spun mid-air to land with unnecessary flair.

"Stop showboating!" I snapped, breathing hard.

He just grinned wider. Gods, that grin. It had smug written in every angle. "Can't help it. Born this way."

Davina, lounging smugly in the back of my mind like she was watching from a box seat, piped up. "You're going to give yourself a rage stroke if you let him get to you this early in the morning."

"I'm not letting him get to me," I snapped back. 

"You're seething."

"I am composed."

"You're one misstep away from stabbing him with your own fingernails." She huffed.

"Can I do that?"

"Don't tempt me to find out."

I refocused, circling Ridoc. Around us, the sparring gym buzzed with energy. Cadets paired off in every direction, instructors shouting corrections over the clash of weapons and the thud of impact. The air smelled like sweat and steel and morning dew. I hated mornings. But sparring? That I could live with.

Especially when I was paired with Ridoc, because nothing woke you up like wanting to punt that pain in the ass across a room.

He lunged first this time. I blocked, twisted, and managed to shove him back a step.

"Sucked in."

"Don't get cocky," he warned.

"You're the one practically choreographing your dodges. If you break into dance, I'm walking out."

He faked a pout. "That hurts, Maeve. I thought you liked my flair."

"I tolerate your existence. Let's not oversell it."

He lunged again, but I was ready. I dodged, spun him off-balance, and dropped him flat on his ass.

He groaned. "That was rude."

"That was satisfying," I corrected, breathing hard.

Around us, someone whistled.

"Damn, Maeve," Rhiannon called from a few feet away, where she was sparring with Imogen. "Save some humiliation for the rest of us."

"No promises," I called back.

Davina chuckled. "You like them. Even the annoying one."

"They're tolerable," I replied, which was my version of 'I'd take a sword for any of them and probably laugh while doing it.'

Sawyer jogged past us, shirt sticking to his back, hair a mess, and grinning like he'd just robbed the stars. "Ten silvers says Liam gets tossed in under two minutes."

"Make it five," Violet said, appearing beside him, arms crossed, her braid looped tight behind her head.

We all turned to where Liam and Garrick were squaring off, already drawing a small crowd.

"Is betting on your friend's impending doom considered good friendship or treason?" I asked.

"Depends," Rhiannon said. "Are we helping after he gets his ass handed to him?"

"Obviously."

"Then we're fine."

Davina snorted in amusement. "Humans are ridiculous."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Your left shoulder's dropping when you punch."

"Helpful. Thanks."

"Always. Now go. They're watching you."

And they were. Violet had that half-smile she got when she was plotting. Rhiannon winked. Sawyer looked like he was already scheming the next bet. Even Imogen nodded at me like she approved.

Ridoc brushed dirt off his pants. "Rematch later?"

I offered him a hand. "You're on."

He took it, and I tugged him up. Easy. Comfortable. Like always. 

Davina was unusually quiet as we walked off the mat. Which meant she was waiting. And right on cue—

"You've grown soft, Maeve. You used to fantasise about biting through his Achilles tendon."

"That was Threshing Day."

"Speak for yourself. I was divine perfection from the moment I scorched my first target."

My lips twitched. She wasn't wrong.

Bonding with Davina had been chaos incarnate. A vibrant green blur crashing from the sky, fire in her eyes and sarcasm in her mind. Everyone had expected me to die. Instead, she'd landed in front of me, leaned in close, and said, "You look like you bite."

And that was that. Bonded. Two years later and she still had a flair for theatrics and unsolicited advice. But she was mine. And somehow, I was hers.

I caught a glimpse of the Parapet out the window in the distance, shadowed under the rising sun. Hard not to remember the way my knees had shook that first day. The feel of cold stone under my boots. The wind clawing at my clothes. One wrong step and—

Well, it didn't matter now. I was here. Alive. Stronger. Meaner, maybe.

Crossing that cursed death bridge had changed everything. But bonding Davina? That was the moment I stopped surviving and started owning it.

Violet fell into step beside me as we headed toward the barracks. "Still up for Archive time after lunch?"

"Obviously. I want to finish helping you with the venin research."

"You're the only person who says that with excitement."

"That's because I'm the only one with taste. And an unhealthy relationship with both ancient dragon classification systems and the Archives."

Violet grinned. "I appreciate it. Really. It means a lot."

Davina huffed. "If I see one more moldy parchment about wyvern origin patterns, I will torch something."

"No one's stopping you," I said. 

                            -ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The midday sun cast long golden stripes across the sparring gym, catching on the glint of steel and the occasional flash of dragon scales. The wind tugged at the ends of my braid as I stood beside Violet, arms crossed, watching the chaos of second-years and third-years sparring and shouting and shoving each other around like siblings on a battlefield.

Violet said something under her breath about posture—someone's, not mine—but I didn't fully catch it. I wasn't really listening. Not entirely. My gaze was somewhere far off, half-watching a clumsy blade strike, half-rooted in that warm feeling I hadn't quite managed to name.

"Maeve."

Ridoc's voice pulled me back like a tether, lazy and familiar, full of its usual edge of mischief. I turned to see him strolling over with his shirt half-untucked, a new bruise blooming on his cheekbone, and that perpetual glint in his eye that made him look like he was two seconds from saying something wildly inappropriate.

"You're bleeding," I said flatly, motioning to the shallow scrape at the base of his jaw.

"Adds to my charm," he replied, and leaned casually on the stone wall beside me, close enough that I could smell the dirt and leather and whatever soap he stole from someone's stash.

"You mean your idiocy?" Violet asked without looking up from the small journal she'd pulled from her belt. She flipped a page.

"Semantics." He grinned, and my lips twitched despite myself.

There was something so easy about this—Ridoc's banter, Violet's quiet sharpness, the way they both grounded me in entirely different ways. I hadn't expected that when I first arrived here. Gods, I hadn't expected any of this. I'd just wanted to survive. To cross the Parapet without falling. To bond a dragon that wouldn't melt my skin off. To not die in my first year.

But here I was. Alive. Stronger. Not alone.

Davina stirred in the back of my mind, her presence a steady pulse."Maybe next you'll stop letting Ridoc distract you mid-fight."

"Never happening."

"Shame."

Ridoc bumped my arm lightly with his elbow. "You still with us, or did you drift off into one of your dramatic inner monologues again?"

I didn't dignify that with a response. Violet smirked but didn't look up.

A heartbeat later, Sawyer jogged toward us, hair a wind-blown mess, eyes bright. "Alright, who's responsible for Garrick nearly losing a kneecap in the last five minutes?"

"Not it," Ridoc and I said in unison. Violet raised a single brow, which somehow felt more incriminating than any confession.

"Gods, it was brutal," Sawyer said, planting himself beside Ridoc. "I think Liam might've actually growled."

"What the fuck," I snorted. "He's been spending too much time with his dragon."

"And too much time training with Xaden," Violet added without looking up. "He's gotten more aggressive. Focused."

As if summoned by name, Liam and Rhiannon appeared from the training ring, sweat-soaked and flushed, Liam's expression slightly stormy and Rhiannon's positively radiant.

"Did someone say my name?" Liam asked warily.

"Only in concern for the health of your opponent," Sawyer said, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Wasn't my fault Garrick forgot to block." Liam shrugged, then glanced at the cluster of us. His eyes softened a little when they landed on Violet, and I looked away like I hadn't noticed.

"Well, we're all alive, so I'd call that a win," Rhiannon said brightly, squeezing in beside me and stealing half my personal space without hesitation. I didn't mind. I never did, with her.

It was such a small thing, all of it. The banter. The sweat and bruises. The way they leaned into one another without thinking, physically or emotionally. But standing there, I felt it settle over me like something soft and holy. This—this was what it meant to belong. And I hadn't even realised how much I craved it until now.

I let my eyes drift from one face to the next. Ridoc, leaning sideways into Violet's space like a pest. Violet, pretending to be annoyed but not pulling away. Sawyer, grinning like there was no place he'd rather be. Liam, guarded but present. Rhiannon, joyfully elbowing me like she knew exactly what I was thinking and agreed.

And me.

Still here. Still breathing. Still standing after the worst year of my life. Surrounded by people who mattered. Who saw me, even when I tried to hide.

Davina's voice returned, huffing this time. "What is this, a movie?"

"I'll block you out right now."

I didn't say anything else. I just stood there a while longer, letting the warmth of my friends and the weight of the moment root me to the earth. Letting myself believe—if only for now—that maybe this was enough.

That maybe, despite everything, I was exactly where I was meant to be.

Chapter Text

The sun was barely over the edge of the ward when Xaden flagged me down with a clipped, "Blackwood, with me."

I jogged over, still sweaty from morning sparring, and caught Violet's raised brows from across the courtyard. She gave me a subtle shrug, already drifting back to her group. Ridoc mouthed something at me—Sucks to be you—and I shot him a glare so sharp it could've cut through reinforced leather.

"What's up?" I asked, falling into step beside Xaden.

He didn't bother with pleasantries. "You're leading the first years today."

The fuck.

I blinked. "I'm sorry—what?"

He handed me a clipboard, all business. "Third-years need to start showing leadership in smaller group settings. Consider this an assessment. Four first-years. All... spirited."

"You mean terrible."

He gave a noncommittal grunt. "You're smart. Figure it out."

Great. Babysitting duty. 

They were assembled near the western edge of the field, where we usually ran agility and endurance drills. And by assembled, I mean three of them were arguing over who got to hold the practice blade and one of them was sitting on the ground like she'd already given up on life. A familiar sight.

They all looked up when I approached. An older girl with a tight bun and permanently narrowed eyes immediately rolled her gaze skyward.

"They sent you?"

"And you are?"

"Aura."

Fuuuck me. Is this the annoying shit that held a first year at knife-point? And has shit with Violet?

"Beinhsven. Fantastic. Here's how this is going to work," I said, voice flat. "You're going to listen. You're going to follow directions. You're going to try not to embarrass yourselves. And if you don't want to die in your first year, please hesitate to ask me questions. Got it?"

Blank stares.

The kid on the ground muttered, "She sounds like my mother."

Davina stirred in the back of my mind, her amusement curling around my thoughts. "They're delightful. You should bond with them. Maybe knit something."

"I swear to the gods, if you start offering me shit about being patient again—"

"Patience is good for you. You're shaking with irritation."

"Because this is a waste of time. I've been training my signet with Carr for three weeks and this is what I'm stuck with."

"You say that, but I remember a first-year who nearly fell off the parapet because she was too stubborn to ask for help."

I sighed through my nose. She wasn't wrong. Not that I'd admit it aloud.

We started with basic formations. They didn't know which foot to pivot on when turning. One kid—Lynx, I think—had a good swing on him, but every time I corrected him, he gave me a sulky shrug that made me want to scream.

"You're over-extending," I snapped. "Again. Keep your elbow in. Tighten your core."

Gross. I sound like Xaden.

"It feels weird."

"So does dying."

They blinked at me.

"Too far?" I asked. "Maybe. Still true."

They tried again. It wasn't... awful. But it wasn't good, either.

"Why are we even doing this?" another girl complained. "None of the other squads have to run extra drills."

"Because you need them," I said, not bothering to sugarcoat it. "This formation saved my life during a raid last year. So unless you want to end half-dead somewhere with no way of getting yourself up again..."

That actually worked. A little.

An hour later, they were dripping with sweat, grumbling less, and almost working in sync. I made a point of pointing it out.

"That last rotation? Better. Still garbage, but better."

Lynx smirked. "Was that a compliment?"

"Don't let it go to your head."

Lynx exhaled hard and dropped into a crouch. "You're brutal."

"You're alive. You're welcome."

Davina hummed softly. "You're good at this. Even if you hate it."

I looked at them—all four sweaty, exhausted, kind of a mess. But there was a flicker of pride in their eyes. The same flicker I remembered in my own reflection after I made it through my first real training run without falling on my face.

I thought of the first day. Of the Parapet. Of the way my hands had shaken before I stepped onto the stone, and the way they'd stopped shaking the moment I reached the other side.

I hadn't known then that I'd survive. Or that I'd bond with Davina—a sharp, clever, green-scaled menace who matched me beat for beat in stubbornness. I hadn't known I'd make it this far.

And now here I was. Leading this. I'd always wanted to be a professor here, especially after the battles we went through last year. Trainer? Save that for other people please. 

Maybe I didn't hate it as much as I thought.

I looked at Lynx, who caught me watching and scowled.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just... don't trip on your own feet next time, okay?"

Her mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "No promises."

Yeah. I'd been worse my first year.

And maybe—just maybe—I was becoming someone I'd respect.

"Patience pays off," Davina said smugly.

"Don't push it," I warned, but I was smiling as I turned back to the field.

The gathering hall buzzed with the low roar of dinner. The sound of hundreds of cadets talking, shouting, clanking utensils, and laughing made for a chaotic sort of music that felt almost comforting—especially after the day I'd had.

I slid onto the bench at our usual table, plopping my tray down with more force than strictly necessary.

"Well, someone had a day," Rhiannon said, already halfway through her meal, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"Don't ask," I warned, stabbing a hunk of bread like it had personally offended me.

"Oh, I'm definitely asking," Sawyer chimed in, leaning forward. "So? How'd it go with the little shits?"

I groaned and let my head fall dramatically to the table. "I'm exhausted. I swear, I could've told one of them the sky was blue and they'd have argued it was green just to be difficult."

Ridoc leaned over from the other side, a crooked smile on his face. "You mean they didn't immediately fall in line perfectly and worship your superior combat prowess? Shocking."

"I hate you."

"You love me."

"I tolerate you. Barely."

Violet, sitting next to me, passed me a cup of water without comment. Her gaze was calm but knowing. "Did you learn anything?"

I lifted my head enough to glance at her. "That I'm never becoming an instructor?"

"That's a start," she said with a faint smile.

Liam finally joined us, dragging a chair over and dropping into it with a groan. "I heard you scared one of them into crying."

"No, they cried at me! I didn't even yell. Much."

Rhiannon choked on her drink. "Gods, Maeve. You're not supposed to traumatise them."

I groaned. "This proved I am meant to be a professor."

Ridoc smiled at me. "And professor's are agitated this easily? From what I've heard they're usually calm."

I scowled. "I am calm. But they just kept ignoring basic form. I was trying to help. One of them reminded me of—" I cut myself off before the sentence could finish.

Davina stirred in the back of my mind. "Say it."

"No." I shut her out.

Ridoc tilted his head. "Reminded you of who?"

I shrugged, stuffing a piece of bread into my mouth to avoid answering.

But the truth echoed anyway.

Me. They reminded me of me. First year. Lost, trying to prove something. Angry. And gods, I had been so angry. It was weird seeing that reflection in someone else.

I glanced around the table. Rhiannon laughing at something Sawyer said. Liam complaining with full-bodied theatricality. Ridoc leaning back like he owned the world. Violet watching us all like she was cataloguing moments.

And I realised something.

This—this table, this noise, these people—was home.

Despite the chaos and the bruises and the tiny cadet who almost broke down because she couldn't land a punch... I loved this.

I loved them.

And maybe leadership wasn't the worst thing in the world. Even if I'd rather die than admit that out loud.

Davina rumbled with quiet amusement. "Progress."

I kicked Ridoc under the table just for fun.

He yelped. "Uncalled for!"

"Felt called for to me."

And just like that, the world righted itself again.

Chapter Text

The library in the Archives smells like old parchment and ambition. Dust and desperation cling to the high, arched shelves like cobwebs. My favourite escape. Jesinia stands at the centre of it all—bright-eyed—gesturing toward a stack of ancient texts like she's just solved an unsolvable puzzle.

I lean against a column, arms crossed, trying not to look too impressed. The others gather around her: Violet, Rhiannon, Sawyer, Liam. Ridoc's on the opposite side of the circle, of course. Typical. Safe distance and all that.

Jesinia's looks up. "I'm telling you, there are whole volumes that were hidden from us—entire histories of venin and wyvern and relics that don't match what we've been taught. The Codex was edited, redacted. Deliberately."

Sawyer whistles low under his breath. "No offence, but that sounds like treason."

"Only if you get caught," Ridoc signs with a lopsided grin.

I shoot him a look, but he doesn't notice. Or pretends not to. Same difference.

Violet frowns, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear. "But you said you have proof. Actual, verifiable records."

Jesinia nods. "There are original writings buried in restricted sections. Scribes swore oaths not to reveal them, but..."

Her gaze flicks to Violet.

"But you're not just any rider. You're her. The one who fought the venin at Resson."

I suppress a smile.

Rhiannon raises a skeptical brow. "So you're saying the whole structure of Navarre's history is built on lies?"

"No," Jesinia signs softly. "I'm saying it's built on selective truths."

There's a heavy silence. It settles in my chest like smoke.

I hate this part—the realisation that the rules we've bled to follow were designed to keep us blind. Makes you wonder what else we've swallowed without question.

"We need to get into the restricted archives," Violet signs, and just like that, the room shifts. She's a soldier first, always. Mission-mode. "But we do it smart. No unnecessary risks."

"Define 'unnecessary,'" Ridoc signs, leaning on a nearby table, eyes glinting. "Because if sneaking into the most heavily guarded section of the Archives counts as necessary, then I'm going to need at least three shots of something stronger first."

"You always need three shots of something," I say dryly before I can stop myself. I stop signing and cross my arms.

His head snaps toward me. There's that flash in his eyes—surprise, something sharper underneath. He holds my gaze for a beat too long.

Damn it.

Rhiannon's already nodding. "I'll pull some maps. Figure out which hallways they patrol and when."

Jesinia nods. "That's perfect. There's a window—midmorning—when the guards rotate shifts. I've been tracking their schedules."

Sawyer smirks. "Of course you have."

"Obsessively," Jesinia agrees with zero shame.

Violet steps toward the table, spreading out a rough sketch of the archives Jesinia must have drawn. I move closer, studying the lines. There's a narrow corridor behind the southeast wing—one I've used before to sneak out of training lectures.

"It's unmarked," I murmur, tapping the parchment. "But it leads to a supply door near the base of the restricted vault. No guards. Just a locking rune. If you time it right, it's a straight shot in."

Everyone looks at me.

"What?" I shrug. "I have a good memory for escape routes."

Ridoc chuckles under his breath. "You mean you've snuck out of that many lectures?"

"Only the ones with the professor's who drone like sedated dragons."

He tilted his head at me. "There isn't that many. I thought you wanted to be a professor?"

I glare at him.

Jesinia beams at me like I just handed her a key to the kingdom.

Violet offers a nod, her expression thoughtful. "Good. We'll need every advantage we can get."

There's a pulse of energy now—a silent agreement passing between us. We're not just riders anymore. Questioners and inconvenient survivors. And maybe we don't have all the answers, but we're done pretending the ones we've been fed are enough. Coming back to Basgiath was hard enough. We're already on an insanely strict regime on behalf of Aetos' spectacular dad. But we need to do this. I can tell that Violet really needs it too. The more we talk about it, the more it becomes obvious to me.

The meeting begins to unravel, everyone naturally drifting into smaller huddles. Jesinia's now scribbling on a fresh page about runes and restricted wards like her brain forgot the concept of rest.

I'm halfway to telling her to breathe when I feel a presence beside me.

"Got a second?" Violet's voice is low—casual, but not really. There's weight behind it.

"Sure," I say, following her instinctively as she nods toward one of the shadowed alcoves near the back stacks.

She doesn't stop until we're tucked between two massive bookshelves, the kind that look like they could fall over and flatten you with a single poorly timed tremor.

Violet turns to face me, arms folded. "I need to ask you something, and I need an honest answer."

"Okay," I say, matching her posture. "That's ominous. You planning on interrogating everyone today, or am I just lucky?"

A faint smile tugs at her lips, but it doesn't last.

"Jesinia's research—what we're about to do—it's not just about getting answers. If we're caught, it's a direct hit to our credibility. And to our safety." Her voice tightens. "I need to know I can count on you. Not just to follow through—but to keep your mouth shut. Even from people you trust."

A weird ache twinges in my chest. Not hurt, exactly. More like... a recognition of what she's not saying. Of how few people she can trust.

I straighten. "Violet, if I say I'm in, I'm in. I don't half-ass this kind of thing. You already know that."

"I do." Her violet eyes scan mine. "That's why I asked you back here. Because if things go sideways, I need someone who's not afraid to say no. Or drag me out if I get tunnel vision."

A small laugh escapes me. "So I'm your emergency break?"

"Basically." Her expression softens. "You don't get swept up like the others. You watch. You think. You see people for what they are."

"I'm also excellent at pretending not to know anything."

"That too," she says, and finally smiles—really smiles this time.

Something about the moment settles between us like a secret handshake. A quiet contract. I know what it's like to be the one who observes from the edges, the one people underestimate until it's too late. And so does she.

I have a thought, but I hesitate to ask. "Does this have anything to do with Jack? Like maybe more of a reason to why you've kept him alive?"

Fuck that was a little much wasn't it.

Her skin fades whiter then it usually is.

"You know what- Don't worry about it." I brush it off.

Before we can head back, Violet hesitates. "I haven't told everyone everything," she says, carefully. "There are parts... pieces I'm still figuring out."

"Then I won't ask," I reply. "But when you do decide to talk—I'm here. Always am. No judgment."

I can see her expression soften, but her eyes grow sad. She nods once, and we step back into the open.

Back at the table, Ridoc and Sawyer are pretending to argue about who'd make a better lookout.

"Obviously me," Ridoc says, gesturing to his own face. "No one suspects the charming one."

"You tripped over your own feet last week and blamed your boots," Sawyer fires back.

"They were cursed!"

"Sure they were."

I snort and slide back into the circle. "You both know Rhiannon's going to do it better than either of you."

"She already volunteered," Rhiannon says without looking up from her sketch of the patrol routes. "But thanks for the vote of confidence, Maeve."

Ridoc nudges my arm with his elbow. "Et tu, Maeve?"

"Don't start quoting war generals at me," I reply. "We both know you only read that scroll because you thought it was about actual swords."

His grin widens as he looks at me.

Violet's already back beside Jesinia, leaning in to examine a rune sketch, her face focused but calmer. I catch her glancing my way once—just a flicker—and I nod back. Got you.

Chapter Text

The Archives feel different at night.

Not empty—just waiting. Like the stone walls know too much and are keeping secrets in the silence between our footsteps.

I keep to the back of the group, eyes scanning the shadows. Rhiannon leads us with her usual quiet confidence, flanked by Violet and Jesinia. Sawyer and Ridoc hold the rear. I'm somewhere in the middle, heart a drumbeat of tension, hands near the daggers hidden beneath my coat.

"This is incredibly stupid," Davina says dryly in my mind. Her voice is smooth and smoky, threaded with disapproval. "Even for you."

"Glad to know you think I'm consistent," I reply, rounding a corner and pausing when Rhiannon raises a hand. She signals for silence.

"I think you're impulsive, stubborn, and entirely too good at pretending you're not scared."

I glance toward the high-arched ceiling, feeling Davina's presence like a steady warmth behind my ribs.

"I'm not scared," I lie.

"You are. But that's not a weakness."

I don't respond. Not because she's wrong, but because there's no time. Rhiannon waves us forward again, and we slip deeper into the restricted section.

Jesinia's already scanning the carved doors ahead of us. 

The warded door towers above us—smooth black stone etched with unfamiliar runes that shimmer faintly in the torchlight. Jesinia steps forward and pulls a thin piece of copper from her satchel.

"Please tell me that's not going to explode," Ridoc says, peering over her shoulder.

"It's a bypass filament," I reply as she lifts it up. "Completely safe. Mostly."

Sawyer mutters something about needing hazard pay.

The moment the filament touches the rune, the sigils flicker. Then—click—the door gives a shudder and swings inward.

Inside, the air is colder. Still. Dust motes swirl in the torchlight like whispers, and the silence tightens around my throat like a noose.

"Feel free to light those up," Ridoc comments, looking over at me. I glare at him.

He shrugs at me and only once I'm sure he's not looking do I light a group of them, fire pouring out of my hands like liquid. 

We move quickly, each of us breaking off into separate rows. Jesinia practically disappears into the shelves, already scanning spines. Rhiannon pulls out a notebook, sketching layouts and catalog numbers. Violet moves with practiced ease—searching, assessing, always alert.

I wander a row near the left wall. The books here are older than anything I've ever touched—thick with age, the bindings cracked and curling. Titles in ancient languages. A few in barely-legible Navarrian script. One reads Wielding Without Light. Another: The Hollowborn Theory.

I run my fingers along the spine of a black book covered in dust.

"Someone is watching you," Davina says suddenly, her voice sharp.

I freeze.

"Where?"

"Not close. But I can feel it through the tether. A presence. Cold. Heavy. It's like... something is listening."

I turn slowly, scanning the shadows. No movement. No sound. But the back of my neck prickles.

"You feel that?" Violet's voice cuts through the silence.

"Yeah," I reply. "Like we're being followed. But there's no one here."

"Yet," Ridoc says darkly from the next aisle over.

Jesinia pops her head around the corner and walks over to us. "I haven't found anything direct. Just obscure references. A whole section on venin theory, but it's... watered down. Sanitized. Like someone rewrote history to make it boring."

I pick up one of the books and flip through the pages. There's a diagram of a wyvern—a crude sketch—but the pages surrounding it are vague. The margins have been cut in places. Entire sections are blacked out.

"Redacted," I sign.

"We take what we can," Violet says firmly. "Jesinia, grab anything that even mentions venin or wyvern. Doesn't matter how incomplete."

Jesinia nods and starts piling books into her bag.

I move to help her, grabbing two thin tomes and a leather-bound journal. One page catches my eye—a passage describing "energy transference through relic overload." It's brief. Vague. But it feels wrong somehow, like the author was circling something forbidden.

Then I hear it.

A whisper.

So faint I'm not sure if it's real.

I jerk my head up. "Did anyone hear that?"

Everyone looks at me.

"Hear what?" Rhiannon asks.

"Davina," I send quickly. "That wasn't you, was it?"

"No. And I felt it too. You need to leave. Now."

Violet is already zipping up her satchel. "We're done here. Move."

We don't argue.

We retrace our steps in silence, our boots too loud on the stone floor. The shadows feel thicker. Heavier. Like they're watching us go.

Back in the corridor, Ridoc lets out a slow breath. "Well. That was fun. Let's never do it again."

"Agreed," Sawyer mutters.

Jesinia clutches the bag of stolen texts like it's gold. "I'll go through these tonight. Maybe there's something useful buried in all the nonsense."

Violet gives her a curt nod. "Be careful. If there's even a hint of venin truth in those pages, someone went to a lot of trouble to bury it. And they won't like that we dug it back up."

We split at the top of the Archives, slipping into the quiet hush of early morning. The stars above are beginning to fade.

I glance back at the silent silhouette of the Archives behind us.

We didn't find answers.

But we woke something.

And it's not done with us yet.

Violet is rushing the fastest out of all of us. I almost feel like she could've known what it was. But I told her I wouldn't ask.

The heat always starts in my palms.

Not the fire itself—not yet—but the tingling, restless sensation that tells me it's close. That it wants out. That it's hungry.

I flex my fingers as I walk toward the a wide field Professor Carr has designated for me to train at, the morning air still cool enough to bite, but not enough to chase away the weight in my chest.

Carr's going to push me today. I can feel it. He always does. It doesn't help that he's also a fire wielder. So he knows my signet better than I do.

Because he's not the kind of instructor who cares how powerful your signet is. He only cares if you can survive using it. If you can weaponise it without turning it inward. Without blowing your own damn lungs out from the inside.

And I'm still figuring out how to do that.

"He respects you," Davina says quietly, her voice coiling through my thoughts like smoke. "In his own fire-breathing, soul-crushing way."

"He also once told me I had the control of an untrained toddler."

"Yes. And you didn't set him on fire for it. That's growth."

I snort under my breath, tugging my gloves on tighter even though I won't be wearing them for long. They're useless when my hands start to glow. But I like the illusion of safety. The illusion that I can hold this thing that lives inside me.

I've been training with Carr for just over two months now. Two months of burns, blisters, lectures that feel more like verbal ambushes, and the kind of exhaustion that seeps into your bones. But I've also learned more in those two months than I ever did fumbling with my signet alone.

Like how fire isn't just destruction. It's precision. It's patience. It's control.

Or at least, it should be.

Most days, I still feel like I'm just holding it back by the skin of my teeth.

"You're getting better," Davina reminds me gently.

"It doesn't feel like it."

"That's because you're too close to see it. You're not supposed to feel the difference every day. You're supposed to wake up one morning and realise you didn't flinch. That you didn't fear it."

I slow as the arena comes into view, already hearing Carr barking orders at another cadet. Sparks light up the far side of the yard, crackling against stone.

The arena reeks of scorched stone and blistered pride.

The air still carries the residue of magic—faint, metallic, and biting—as if the walls themselves remember every failed competition and uncontrolled outburst. The fire-wielders train in the southeast quadrant, where flame-charred gouges streak the floor like old battle scars.

And standing dead centre, arms crossed and expression thunderous, is Professor Carr.

"Finally decided to show up," he growls as I jog toward him. "Tell me, cadet, do you think your flames will politely wait for you to be emotionally ready before they explode and kill everyone around you?"

"No, sir," I reply, trying not to flinch.

"Then stop acting like they will."

Davina's voice purrs through my mind. "Is it too late to set him on fire? Just a little?"

"Yes," I answer tightly. "He is fire-resistant."

"So? That's just a challenge."

Carr gestures toward the target dummies lining the far wall. They're thick canvas and reinforced with dull metal plates—standard-issue for elemental wielders. Most are already singed to hell.

"Warm up," Carr barks. "And for your sake, try not to light your own hair on fire again."

"That happened once."

"And the stench lasted three days."

I grit my teeth, roll my shoulders back, and breathe.

The flame is already there—coiled inside my chest, waiting. Some days it simmers. Others, it roars.

Today, it's unpredictable.

I stretch my fingers and call the heat forward, feel it gather in my palms like molten breath. I aim at the first dummy.

Breathe in. Focus.

Ignite.

A spiral of flame lashes out from my hands, curling forward like a whip—and slams into the dummy's chest. It blackens instantly, the scorched canvas crumpling with a satisfying crunch.

"Sloppy form," Carr grunts. "Too much scatter. I said focused output. You want to take out a rider at fifty yards, not toast marshmallows."

"I could toast you," I mutter under my breath.

He raises an eyebrow. "What was that, cadet?"

"Nothing, sir."

Carr moves to stand behind me, too close for comfort. "Again. This time, compress your energy. Build it tighter before release."

I inhale and try again. This time, I let the fire build behind my sternum, low and controlled. It pulses, alive and insistent. I grit my teeth as the burn licks up my throat and shoots through my arms.

"Keep your spine loose," Davina says. "You're tensing again. You can't force fire. You have to guide it."

"Easy for you to say. You literally breathe it."

"Yes. Gracefully, I might add."

This time, the fire streaks clean and fast, a piercing bolt that punches straight through the dummy's centre, leaving a glowing hole rimmed in smoke.

Carr grunts. "Better."

Praise, from him, is basically a standing ovation.

I exhale, sweat slicking down my back. The exhaustion is creeping in already. My control is improving—but holding the fire in check takes more than strength. It takes balance.

And today, that balance is off.

Carr studies me. "What's distracting you?"

"Nothing."

He steps in front of me, arms crossed. "I have two kinds of cadets in my quadrant. The ones who burn out, and the ones who burn through. You want to survive, you figure out which you are—and fast."

The words lodge deep. Because I don't know which I am.

I've seen what happens when fire wielders lose control—when grief or rage or pressure tips them over the edge. And I've felt that edge under my feet more times than I can count.

"I don't want to burn anyone," I say before I can stop myself.

Carr's expression doesn't change. "Then don't. But don't kid yourself. Your power's not a pet. It's not a friend. It's a weapon. And when the time comes, you'd better be ready to use it."

Silence stretches.

Then he nods toward a line of steel rings set in the far wall—target hoops meant for precision drills.

"You want control? Prove it. Fire through each of those, centre strike. No misses."

The hoops are narrow. Tight enough that the flame will twist if I'm even a hair off-balance.

Davina hums. "He's testing your focus. Not your strength."

"I know."

I square my stance. Fire builds again—stronger this time, but not wild. I channel it through my fingers, pulse steady.

One.

The flame darts through the first hoop clean.

Two.

Another shot. A tighter thread. My breath burns.

Three.

I miss by an inch. The heat scorches the stone behind the hoop with a crack.

Carr sighs. "Again."

Again.
Again.
Again.

My arms shake. My lungs are tight. Every fibre in me wants to scream.

But on the sixth try, I make it through all five hoops.

Carr finally nods. "Good."

I slump forward, bracing my hands on my knees. "That was brutal."

"Brutal is watching your squad get torn apart because you couldn't keep your aim under pressure," he replies flatly. "This was training."

I nod, too exhausted to argue.

Carr turns away, calling over his shoulder. "You've got potential, cadet. But don't think for a second it's enough. Show up tomorrow. Or don't bother showing up at all."

"Is that what passes for a compliment from him?" Davina asks, amused.

"That was a compliment. I think."

"Then we should throw a party. You can light the cake on fire."

"Tempting."

As I walk out of the training yard, my limbs aching and my hands still tingling from the magic, I can feel the heat simmering under my skin.

It didn't control me today.

But it's still there. Still waiting.

And so am I.

Chapter Text

The dorms were quiet in the way they only ever got after curfew. Not silent—never silent here—but soft, hushed, worn in. The fire crackled low in the hearth, its glow casting gold across stone walls and half-finished mugs of tea. Someone had dragged two chairs into the corner to nap in. I could hear Sawyer humming under his breath across the room while Violet flipped through a thick, time-worn book, curled into one of the deep couches like it was her second skin.

I was on the floor with Rhiannon, leaning against a pillow she'd stolen from Imogen's bed, rolling a pair of dice back and forth between my fingers while we waited for Ridoc to finish rigging the game board.

"You know he's going to cheat," Rhiannon whispered out of the corner of her mouth, her gaze flicking to Ridoc, who was half-listening but very much aware of the conversation.

"Obviously," I muttered, glancing over at him with a raised brow. "But he's cocky enough to think he can get away with it."

From across the low table, Ridoc looked up, that devil-may-care grin spreading across his face as he caught my eyes. "You two do know I have ears, right?"

Rhiannon deadpanned, her tone flat but sharp as a blade. "Yes, but do you use them?"

Sawyer snorted from beside us, joining in with his usual half-hearted commentary. He chewed a purple gummy, not bothering to offer anyone else a handful of the rest he held in his free hand. "My money's on Maeve," he said, tossing one into his mouth with a careless flick of his wrist. "She's the silent assassin."

I flashed him a smile. "Thank you, Sawyer. Finally, someone appreciates my subtlety."

Ridoc frowned, leaning back in his chair with a half-grin, clearly not enjoying the direction the conversation was going. "Hey, I taught her how to play. You can't blame me if she's good at it."

"Exactly," Rhiannon chimed in, her lips curling up into a smug smile. "You gave her all your tricks."

I leaned back against the couch, letting my head tip onto Violet's shin. I felt the warmth of her skin beneath me, the steady rhythm of her breath. It grounded me, in a way. "He did. And I remember every single one," I said, my voice a little quieter now, more amused than anything else.

Ridoc narrowed his eyes at me from across the table, studying me with that slow, calculating look of his. Then, as if to distract himself from whatever thoughts were swirling in his head, he tapped the board with an exaggerated flourish. "All right," he said, leaning forward. "Let's go. If I win, I get your dessert at dinner tomorrow."

"Fine. But if I win, you take my next stable rotation."

His face twisted in mock horror, clearly not thrilled at the prospect. "You really hate stable duty, huh?"

"No," I shrugged, pretending to consider it for a moment. "I just know you hate it more."

He groaned, rolling the first dice with a flourish, the soft clatter filling the room as he stared down at the board with a look that suggested he'd already resigned himself to losing.

The game went on, the hours slipping by unnoticed. We played until the fire in the hearth burned low, the flames casting flickering shadows across the room, and Violet yawned into her sleeve, trying to stifle it as discreetly as possible. Liam wandered in at one point, but after a brief glance at the crowded table, immediately walked back out as if he'd stumbled into the wrong scene.

Cat also joined us briefly, as she always did, stealing a handful of Sawyer's random mix of gummies without so much as a word before disappearing again into the night. The quiet shuffle of her footsteps was the only clue we had to her exit.

The game, predictably, ended in a suspiciously convenient tie, the result both too close to call and too perfect to question. We didn't care. There was no real point in the outcome—it was all about the company, the laughter, the shared moments that made the rest of the world feel far away.

By the time I finally stood, stretching my legs, my knees cracked, and a dull ache rolled through my back. It was the kind of tiredness that settled deep in your bones, a reminder that you'd lived the day fully, if not a little recklessly. But it was a good tired. A comfortable tired.

"You ever think about how weird it is that this is what this is just normal now?" I asked, my voice soft as I looked across the room at Rhiannon, who was gathering up the dice in her hands.

She raised a brow, clearly not expecting the question. "That we're playing board games with dragons in our heads and death threats on our schedules?"

"Yeah."

She thought for a moment, her fingers paused mid-motion as she considered it. "Nope," she replied after a beat, tossing the dice into the box with a casual shrug.

"Fair," I said, nodding as I leaned back against the couch, the warmth of the fire on my face contrasting with the coolness of the night creeping in through the open window.

Davina stirred lazily in the back of my mind, her voice like a soft rumble. "You could do worse than this strange little flock, you know."

I didn't even realise I'd said it aloud until I heard the quiet murmur of my own voice. "Yeah," I murmured, staring into the flames. "I guess I could."

Just then, Ridoc appeared beside me, his presence like a storm cloud rolling in, easy and inevitable. He brushed past just close enough that our shoulders brushed, the contact light but enough to send a jolt through me that I tried my best to ignore.

I didn't move away. And neither did he. There was an unspoken agreement between us that neither of us was willing to name.

He tilted his head, looking down at me with that maddening half-smile of his—the one that always seemed like he was in on a joke I didn't fully understand yet, but one that I couldn't help but want to.

"What?" I asked, my voice a little sharper than I meant it to be.

He shrugged nonchalantly, clearly enjoying whatever secret game was unfolding between us. "You just looked like you were thinking something interesting."

I blinked, caught off guard by his observation. "Don't flatter yourself. It wasn't about you."

Ridoc gave a lazy, dramatic sigh as he leaned down slightly to meet my gaze, the smile on his lips turning a little more deliberate. "Everything's about me, Maeve. Haven't you learned that yet?"

Rhiannon tossed a pillow at him. He caught it, grinning, but his eyes flicked back to mine a second longer than they needed to.

Not a wink. Not a smirk.

Just a look.

And something in my chest tugged—faint and fleeting.

I pushed it down.

"Get some sleep, thief," Ridoc said, backing toward the hall.

"You too, loser."

He chuckled and disappeared around the corner.

The fire cracked one last time behind us.

The sun was still crawling across the morning sky when I slammed into the mat for the third time.

"Again," Xaden said, without so much as a blink.

I groaned from the floor. "You know, I'm starting to think you enjoy this."

His expression didn't change, but Violet—standing behind him with her arms crossed—bit back a smile.

"Oh, he definitely does," Liam said, offering me a hand up.

"Only a little," Xaden replied dryly. "Now stop hesitating before you pivot. You had her."

Her was Imogen, who stood across the mat from me, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet and grinning like she wasn't even winded. Which, of course, she wasn't.

Ridoc leaned against the wall, arms folded. "Honestly? That one was your best fall yet."

"You're not helping," I muttered, brushing sweat-soaked hair from my forehead as I took Liam's hand.

"I'm offering emotional support," he said, straight-faced. "You should be thanking me."

Sawyer chuckled from beside him. "Her pride is already in critical condition, man. Let her breathe."

Rhiannon was perched on a stack of mats, lacing her boot with one hand and drinking from a canteen with the other. "I thought it was a solid move—right up until you hesitated."

"Gee, thanks."

"You're improving," Garrick added, nodding like a proud uncle. "But she's right. You hold back when you're thinking too hard."

I turned to Ridoc, narrowing my eyes. "What's your critique? Let me guess—less thinking, more punching?"

"No," he said, tilting his head, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "More trusting your gut. You've got good instincts."

I blinked. That... wasn't mocking.

Before I could respond, Davina yawned in the back of my mind. "Honestly, watching you flail around like a fish is almost more entertaining than sparring myself."

"You could offer some help," I muttered in my mind.

"I am helping. I'm keeping you humble."

I snorted quietly.

After another round—this time, a draw with Imogen, which I mentally counted as a win—we all collapsed in a lazy sprawl near the edge of the training mats. Violet leaned back against Xaden's chest, his hand absently tracing circles on her shoulder. Liam was lying flat on the ground like he might melt into it. Rhiannon and Violet were in a heated debate about whether lightning wielders had an unfair sparring advantage.

"Not unfair," Rhiannon argued, her voice a touch sharper now, "just... convenient."

"Next time I shock you mid-swing, you'll think otherwise," Violet shot back, her lips twitching into a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes, but the challenge in her voice was unmistakable.

I leaned against Ridoc's shoulder, casually stealing his water bottle from where it rested on the ground beside him.

"Hey—" he protested, his eyes flicking toward me, but he didn't even shift, like he wasn't all that bothered.

I smirked, taking a long swig. "Too slow."

He nudged me gently, a soft press of his shoulder against mine, but I didn't move. "Thief."

"Whiner," I teased, tossing the bottle back in his direction and feeling a spark of satisfaction when he barely caught it.

Ridoc tilted his head toward me, his brow raised slightly, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. "You tired?"

"Exhausted," I admitted, letting out a slow breath. "Mentally. Physically. Emotionally."

He looked me over, the way his gaze lingered a little longer than necessary, before he stretched his legs out in front of him, hands resting casually behind his head. "Want to skip the archives and go nap in the sun?"

I couldn't suppress the grin that tugged at the corner of my lips, the idea of doing nothing in the warmth of the sun far too tempting. "Tempting. But Violet would kill me."

"Fair." He shrugged, his smile stretching just a little more. "But the offer stands."

It was warm in the sparring gym. Warm with laughter, and sweat, and the kind of ease that only came with surviving long enough to know each other's tells. It wasn't just camaraderie. It was family. Found, not forced.

Ridoc turned to say something else, and I caught his profile in the golden morning light—eyes crinkling with something unspoken, the faintest scar cutting through his brow from a fight weeks ago, the smallest trace of worry buried in his smile.

Something fluttered in my chest.

I shoved it down.

Hard.

But even as the group stood and started to gather their things, as Rhiannon slung an arm around me and chattered about lunch options, that flutter stayed. Quiet. Persistent.

I glanced back once at Ridoc as we left the training hall. He was walking behind us, laughing at something Liam said, eyes catching mine for the briefest moment.

My stomach flipped.

Shit.

I looked away.

"Oh," Davina murmured knowingly. "That's new."

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

But she had.

And so had something else. Something in me I didn't want to name yet.

Not yet.

Chapter Text

The storage room we've commandeered smells like mildew and old ink, the kind of space forgotten even by the people who were supposed to remember it. Crates line the walls, some filled with rotting cloth, others with crumbling scrolls no one's opened in years.

Perfect place to plan a little light treason.

Jesinia's already pacing when I step inside, her arms full of parchment and a glint in her eyes that I've learned means she hasn't slept much. Violet sits at the central table, sharp as ever despite the shadows under her eyes. I've noticed they've been getting darker recently, but I'm stuck on why. I know it has to do with the conversation we shared, and I told her I wouldn't ask. But I am worried about her. 

Rhiannon and Sawyer flank the room, speaking low in the corner. Ridoc leans against a stack of crates, one boot propped up like he's lounging at a tavern instead of waiting to uncover possibly world-shattering information.

He spots me and offers a lazy grin. "Look who finally showed up." 

"Sorry," I reply, arching a brow. "Didn't realise you were keeping attendance."

"I'm head of morale," he says solemnly.

I snort and take the empty seat beside Violet.

Jesinia doesn't wait for pleasantries. She dumps the stack of books and parchment onto the table with a loud thud that stirs a puff of dust into the air.

"It's not what I hoped," she signs, tone clipped. "But it's... something."

We all lean in.

"There were entire chapters cut from most of the books we took," Jesinia explains, spreading open a page filled with delicate, painstaking script. "Someone didn't just remove references—they rewrote history. But they missed things. Fragments. Margins. Places they didn't think anyone would look."

She points to a note scribbled in the margin of a torn page: Beware those who twist their relics to devour instead of wield.

"The original author here refers to venin not as a myth, but as a former branch of wielders," Jesinia continues. "It's like... they weren't corrupted by outside magic. They corrupted themselves."

Violet goes still beside me.

Ridoc whistles under his breath. "So they were real. And they chose it?"

"Possibly. It's hard to confirm without the original records, which are—shockingly—gone." Jesinia flips to another sheet. "There's also a mention of 'living gateways'—beings whose power grew past containment. The theory is that they started consuming magic from living things because the wards couldn't feed them anymore."

"That sounds... familiar," I murmur. My thoughts flash back to the Archives, to the whisper that slid beneath my skin like ice.

"It was real," Davina reminds me quietly. "You heard what I did. Something in that place wanted to be remembered."

"Or it wanted to be found," I think back, unease curling in my gut.

Sawyer crosses his arms. "So what does this mean for us? That venin aren't just monsters but... failed wielders?"

Jesinia nods. "And if that's true, their understanding of relics could be deeper—maybe even more evolved. Dangerous, but calculated."

I glance at Violet, expecting her to dismiss the idea.

But her gaze is faraway, haunted.

She's already known this.

Not just suspected—known.

And I'm suddenly aware of just how much she's not telling us.

"Maybe she's afraid if you know the truth, you'll run."

"I wouldn't."

"No. But not everyone is like you, Maeve."

"But she knows me."

Violet exhales slowly and signs. "We keep this quiet. We take what we've learned and figure out how to use it."

"What if someone already knows?" I ask. "Someone besides us. That whisper in the Archives—it wasn't random. It felt like a warning."

Everyone falls silent.

Jesinia breaks it. "There's one more thing."

She pulls out a half-burned page. The ink is smudged, but the heading is legible: Wyvern Subtypes and Bond Corruption.

Jesinia reads, signing slowly. "A theory proposed that venin-created wyvern were drawn to broken or fraying bonds—especially dragons whose riders wield with emotional instability. There's no data, but the implication is... disturbing."

Ridoc straightens. "You're saying wyvern might be targeting riders with weakened bonds? Or that their riders can't bond at all?"

"No rider. No bond. No dragon. Just... consumption. But also, they feed from the earth. They pull energy out from the earth's core. That's supposedly how they turn actually. I know it's all known but this is scary."

"They're parasites," Davina growls. "Maeve, they don't live. They feed."

A heavy silence settles over us.

Then Violet stands. "This stays between us. Until we're sure. Until we have more."

"And if someone's already ahead of us?" I ask.

She looks at me—really looks—and in her gaze is the same fear I've felt since that voice in the dark.

"Then we'd better catch up fast."

The training field is half-shadowed by early morning fog, the mist clinging to the low grass like a warning. Most cadets are still in bed, but I've never been one for waiting when my thoughts won't quiet.

Neither has Davina.

She circles once above me, wings wide and gleaming with hints of green. Even in the pale light, she's beautiful—terrible and magnificent.

"You keep tugging at your sleeve," she observes.

"I'm thinking."

"You're worrying. There's a difference."

I sigh, adjusting the grip on my twin daggers. "You felt it too," I murmur aloud, mostly for myself. "The Archives. The pull."

"A lure," she agrees. "Something born to tempt wielders. The way prey tempts the hunter."

My stomach tightens. "You think it was... venin?"

Davina lands, wings kicking up a gust of dry wind that stings my cheeks.

"I think whatever it was wanted to be seen. And I think whoever tried to hide it... failed."

Her eyes flash, molten amber in the dawn light. I stare at her, my dragon, my bonded soul, and I wonder—could we ever become corrupted?

The thought makes me cold.

"I need to be stronger," I whisper. "For you. For this."

Davina growls softly, lowering her head.

"You are not fragile, Maeve. You're forged. And if they come for us—venin, wyvern, or whatever lurks in the shadows—we burn first."

I laugh, breathless. "Let's see if I'm fast enough to keep up with you then."

She launches into the air with a powerful beat of her wings, and I break into a sprint, running through formations as we've trained: her diving, me rolling, striking upward with precise aim; her spitting flames as I dart between targets to simulate real battlefield chaos. We move together like two parts of a storm. 

After having to run through this with wyvern back in Resson, Davina has been up my ass in making sure I never miss a beat in case the fight comes quicker than we expect it to. It's become an easy task now. 

We're not perfect—but we're damn close.

Still, the unease never leaves. Not even when I land a strike that would've killed, not even when Davina's fire hits dead center.

"If our bond ever frays..." I don't finish the thought.

"Then we rebuild it. Stronger. With blood and stubbornness and love." Her tone is resolute. Fierce.

I nod, heart hammering.

Later, after we've cooled down and Davina's soared back to the peaks for her rest, and I find Violet sitting on the edge of the training platform. Her braid is loose. Her brows pulled tight.

I drop beside her. She doesn't flinch.

"I watched you," she says after a moment. "You and Davina. You move like you've been bonded for years."

"She makes it easy."

Violet offers a small smile. "No. You make it look easy."

We sit in silence for a while. The kind that doesn't demand words, only space.

Then I ask, "What aren't you telling us?"

She stiffens.

"I'm not accusing you," I say softly. "I'm just... I felt something in the Archives. And you didn't even flinch when Jesinia started talking about venin theory. That whisper—Violet, I don't think we're in the dark. I think we're being kept there."

Violet swallows hard. "You're right."

I blink. "I am?"

"There are things I can't explain. Things can't say—not yet." She sighs, pressing her knuckles into her eyes. "Not because I don't trust you. Because some truths change everything. And once you know, you don't come back from it."

"Then I want to know."

She finally turns to face me. Her eyes shimmer, not with power, but pain. "You will. Soon. But promise me something first?"

"Yeah."

"When you find out... don't walk away."

I reach over and squeeze her hand. "You're not getting rid of me that easy."

She laughs, a shaky sound that turns into something steadier.

"You and Davina," she says, "you're going to matter in what's coming. I don't know how yet. But I can feel it."

I swallow, fear catching in my throat. "Let's just try not to die first."

Violet smirks. "Deal."

And for a second—just a second—it feels like we're kids again, before war and relics and whispers in the dark.

But I can still feel them. Even though I know they aren't here anymore.

Eyes.

Watching.

Waiting.

And I know—our time in the shadows is running out.

Chapter Text

The hallway was dim, the soft glow of moonlight spilling through the high arched windows in silver slants that painted the stone floor with patches of pale light. My boots clicked against the cold stone, each step echoing in the quiet night, while the distant hum of laughter and the sharp sounds of clashing blades still lingered behind me like a fading memory.

I was tired. Not the physical weariness from sparring that sank into your bones, but something quieter. Something I couldn't quite name—an exhaustion that weighed heavier the longer I tried to ignore it.

It was a multitude of thoughts out to kill me entirely. The venin. That whisper. Violet. Ridoc. 

I frowned, lifting my gaze.

And low and behold. There he was.

Ridoc.

Leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, looking like he'd been waiting. Waiting for something. Or someone.

Me.

I slowed my pace, my heart stuttering for a reason I couldn't quite place.

"You always walk like you're trying to outrun something," he said softly, his voice carrying a quiet familiarity that made the air feel warmer.

"Maybe I am."

His eyes met mine, a silent challenge that passed between us. "Is it working?"

"No."

He pushed off the wall with a smooth, practiced motion, closing the distance between us in two long strides. The air between us shifted—he always did that. He could change the atmosphere, just by being in it.

"Davina give you a rough time?" he asked, nodding toward the way I stood, like my body carried more than it should.

"She almost killed me," I joked, the words coming out easier than I expected.

A smile tugged at his lips, the kind that was more real than most people ever let show.

"Fortunately, you didn't find me out there," he added, voice lighter. "She definitely would've scorched you."

His laugh was quiet, genuine, and it softened the tension between us, breaking the unspoken heaviness I hadn't realised was there.

"You coming to game night?" he asked, his tone casual but his eyes searching.

I shook my head, exhaustion threading through my response. "Think I'm going to pass. I need sleep."

"Sleep never really clears it, though," he replied, his voice thoughtful, like he was speaking from experience. "Not for people like us."

"People like us?" I raised an eyebrow, uncertain where this conversation was going.

He tilted his head, expression unreadable for a moment before his gaze softened, something almost vulnerable flickering in his eyes. "The ones who carry more than we say."

I studied him then. Really studied him. The easy grin, the casual slouch of his shoulders—it was all a mask, hiding something deeper, something heavier beneath.

"You do that too," I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Do what?"

"Smile like it makes things easier." The words felt strange as they left my mouth, like I was acknowledging something neither of us wanted to admit.

Ridoc didn't answer right away. He just looked at me, and in that silence, it felt like we were no longer just two cadets in a hallway. We were something older. Something more.

"I don't think you see yourself the way the rest of us do," he said finally, his voice quieter now, the words hanging in the air like they weren't meant to be said at all.

I blinked, a moment of confusion followed by a spark of something I couldn't quite name. "What does that mean?"

He took a step back, like he hadn't meant to let it slip. "Nothing."

But it wasn't nothing. It couldn't be. And I felt it then, deep in the pit of my stomach—a realisation I'd been running from, trying to outrun with every step.

"Night, Maeve," he said, already turning to walk away.

I didn't stop him.

Didn't need to.

Because I already knew I'd be seeing him again soon. And the weight of it settled on me, a slow pull that neither of us could avoid for much longer.

Chapter Text

The sparring gym reeked of sweat, singed leather, and bruised pride—a familiar, gritty perfume that clung to skin and stitched itself into the seams of our training gear. Dust kicked up with every step, catching the golden afternoon light like smoke, and the air vibrated with the clash of steel and breathless curses.

Rhiannon's dagger flashed toward my side, coming within a breath of slicing my ribs. I twisted away just in time, boots skidding slightly in the mat, my heart thumping in rhythm with the fight. Adrenaline burned through my limbs, and I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face.

"You're getting faster," I said, panting, sweat slicking my spine.

She snorted, barely winded. "Or maybe you're just tired from staying up late flirting with Ridoc."

I caught her dagger with mine in a sharp clang, the vibration jolting up my arm. We held there for a moment, blades locked, muscles straining.

"Flirting?" I echoed, breathless but trying for nonchalance. "You're imagining things."

Rhiannon smirked, eyes gleaming. "I saw things. You two were practically tangled up during formation drills."

I disengaged with a swift twist, stepping back into a low ready stance, one knee slightly bent. "He was adjusting my grip."

"Oh, is that what we're calling it now?" she teased, circling me with the patience of a predator.

Before I could deliver the biting retort balanced on my tongue, a body slammed into my side—light but with enough momentum to send me sprawling to the ground in a graceless heap. The impact knocked the wind clean from my lungs, and for a heartbeat, all I could do was blink up at the wide sky, stunned.

Rhi's grinning face filled my vision a second later. "Gotcha."

"You absolute troll," I wheezed, dragging air back into my chest.

"Always gotta watch your flank," she said, cheerful as ever, offering me a hand. I grabbed it and rolled to my feet with a groan. "Especially when you're busy swooning over Ridoc."

"Oh my gods, can we please retire that narrative?" I muttered, brushing dust from my pants and trying to look more annoyed than flustered. "I spar with all of you."

"Yeah," came Violet's dry voice from behind me, arms folded as she stepped into the ring, "but you don't smile like that with the rest of us."

I turned, scandalised. "What smile?"

"The one you're trying really hard not to make right now," she said, deadpan.

Rhiannon nudged me with her elbow. "Don't worry. It's cute."

"You're all the worst," I groaned, even as warmth crept embarrassingly up the back of my neck.

"Accurate," Sawyer called from the sideline, where he was lounging with a water flask and absolutely zero shame.

"Fine," I said, pointing my dagger at them with mock menace. "You wanna gossip or train?"

Sawyer shrugged. "Can't we do both?"

I rolled my eyes and gestured toward the centre of the ring. "Get in."

I took on Sawyer next, fast and direct, no time for teasing. That's the thing about sparring: it clears the fog. Forces you into the now. You can't afford to think about the brush of someone's hand or the way their eyes linger. You just move.

Until you look up and he's already watching you.

Ridoc was leaned against the side post, arms folded, looking every bit as smug as usual—but there was a glint in his eye that didn't match the smirk on his lips.

"Enjoying the show?" I asked, tossing a towel over my shoulder.

"You make it hard not too." He straightened, pushing off the post with that familiar ease, like the world bent around his movement. "Impressive footwork, by the way. You always lead right with your hip."

I narrowed my eyes. "That sounds suspiciously like criticism."

"Not at all." His grin widened. "I like watching you move."

"Wow," I said, dry as bone. "Smooth."

"Didn't say I was trying to be."

We stood close enough now that I could see the way a lock of hair curled against his forehead, damp with sweat. Too close for this to be casual. Too far for it to be something else.

"Your form's gotten better too," I said, lifting my chin. "Saw you holding your own against Imogen."

"I always do," he said, a little too fast.

"You didn't last week."

"That was strategy."

"Sure it was."

We smiled at each other, sharp-edged and familiar. Not teasing. Not not teasing either.

"You free tonight?" he asked, offhand like it was nothing. "There's a thing... game night in someone's dorm. Sawyer's trying to teach Liam poker again. It's going to be a disaster."

I nodded. "Yeah. Maybe. If I don't pass out first."

"I could come drag you out of your room."

"Not if Davina roasts you first."

"I like that one," Davina murmured in the back of my mind. "He smells like lightning and poor decisions."

I thought about it for a beat, then said, "We'll see."

He nodded like that was all he needed. It usually was—with him, it never took much.

He turned as if to go, his boots whispering against the stone—then paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

"Maeve."

"Yeah?"

His gaze met mine, and for a moment, it held—steady, unblinking. Just long enough to knot something tight and breathless in my chest.

"You always show your left side when you feint," he said quietly. "Might want to work on that."

And then he was gone, disappearing around the corner with that easy, infuriating grace of his, like he hadn't just completely thrown me off balance without laying a hand on me.

I stood there longer than I should've, eyes fixed on the space where he'd been. My heart was doing something unhelpful—pounding, tripping, too loud in the quiet. Too much for a comment about footwork.

But it wasn't really about that, was it?

"He knows you," Davina said.

"It's nothing."

"And yet...you're not walking away."

I didn't reply, but I hoped she felt my judgment like a curled tail in her mind.

I turned back to the ring and threw myself into drills, again and again, until my legs ached and my arms burned and my mind was quiet—almost.

But even after I left the ring, after I washed the dust from my hair and bruises from my skin, Ridoc's voice still echoed in my head.

"You always show your left side..."

He saw me. Really saw me.

And maybe that's what scared me more than anything.

Chapter Text

Night One.

It had been weeks. Weeks of sparring beside him, laughing at his ridiculous jokes with him, standing shoulder to shoulder in Battle Brief. Of watching the way the corners of his mouth always seemed to curve like he was holding something back—something only meant for me.

I'd told myself it was nothing. That I wasn't interested. That I didn't care.

But I did.

It was there in the way I started noticing the way his hands moved when he was explaining something. Or the way he always bumped my arm with his just a little longer than necessary. Or how I'd started looking for him the moment I stepped into a room.

And now, I was standing outside his door. A line I swore I wouldn't cross.

Davina stirred in the back of my mind. "If you're going to knock, do it. Standing there and imagining it won't change the outcome."

"I'm not imagining anything."

A huff of smoke in my thoughts. "Liar."

I rolled my eyes and knocked.

It only took a moment.

The door creaked open, and there he was.

Ridoc.

He was barefoot, hair slightly tousled like he'd dragged a hand through it again and again, shirt rumpled from wear or carelessness—or both. And then there was that smile. The one that always teetered between trouble and tenderness. The one that threatened, every damn time, to undo something I'd kept carefully held together.

"Fancy seeing you turn up here," he said, voice low, amused, but threaded with something rougher beneath. He leaned casually against the doorframe, but his eyes gave him away. They always did. That smile he wore—it wasn't just play anymore. It was a question. A dare. And maybe a little bit of hope.

My gaze met his, instinctive now. My body knew the rhythm of it. Like muscle memory. Like orbit.

"Mhm," I managed, letting a smile curl at the corner of my mouth, quiet and intentional. I didn't know what I was walking into, not really—but I knew I wanted to. That had to count for something.

He stepped aside, the smallest of invitations. Just enough space for me to cross the threshold.

"I've been looking for you."

I skipped dinner, staying out with Davina until the sun dipped behind the cliffs, bleeding orange and gold across the sky. She'd insisted on dragging me away from the mess of my thoughts with another round of wyvern-attack drills—her version of comfort, apparently.

"So I've heard," I murmured, brushing past him and into the room like I'd done it a thousand times before. Like I hadn't been standing outside the door for three full breaths, trying to calm the storm inside me.

The door clicked shut behind me. The sound felt final. Like a lock sliding into place.

His room was dim, shadows pooling in the corners, everything bathed in the muted warmth of lanternlight. It smelled like cedar and smoke and something else I'd never been able to name. Something that always made me think of him—of heat just waiting to catch.

I turned slowly.

He was watching me again. The way he always did. Like he already knew what I'd come here for, but was waiting for me to say it first. Like this moment had been waiting for us, holding its breath.

I didn't say anything.

I just moved.

One step. Then another.

My fingers curled into the fabric at his collar, grounding myself there as I closed the space between us—deliberate, inevitable. My heart beat too loudly in my ears, but I didn't care. Couldn't care.

I kissed him.

Soft, at first. A test. A memory. A spark.

Then he kissed me back—and everything else fell away.

His hands found my waist like they belonged there. Like he'd imagined this a thousand times and was just finally allowed to touch. Like he'd already memorised the shape of me in every glance, every almost, every time we almost crossed this line and didn't.

This time, we did.

I pulled back just enough to breathe. "You think too much," I whispered.

He looked at me like I'd just unhinged the sky. "Not tonight."

I kissed him again.

And that was that.

No confessions.

No promises.

Just heat and impulse and the reckless rhythm of two people too afraid to name the thing coiled between them.

His skin had been warm beneath my palms, his mouth a lit match against mine. We moved like the world had narrowed to this—this room, this night, this moment. And beneath it all, something sharp twisted just out of reach. A truth neither of us dared touch. Not yet.

When it was over—when the fire dimmed to embers and breath came steady again—I slipped from his bed while his breathing still carried the slow cadence of sleep. The sky beyond the window was softening, morning bleeding in gentle hues of rose and gold, like even the sun hadn't meant to catch me leaving.

Quietly, I gathered my things. Boots in hand, hair a tangled mess, lips still tingling with the ghost of him. My shirt clung to skin still warm from touch, from closeness. From everything I couldn't admit.

The door clicked shut behind me with a softness that felt too loud.

I didn't look back.

Davina was silent for a long time—longer than usual. As if she, too, didn't know what to say.

Then, finally, her voice curled into my thoughts, low and certain."This won't be nothing forever, you know."

My steps slowed. I swallowed hard. "It is now," I thought.

But even I didn't sound convinced.

Night Two.

I told myself I wasn't going to come back.

That the first time was curiosity, indulgence. A fling, like I'd warned Davina. Like I'd warned myself.

But here I was again. Same hallway. Same door. Same pulse tripping in my throat.

I didn't knock right away.

"You're hesitating," Davina said, her voice a curl of smoke in my mind.

"I'm not."

"You are. You're wondering if this means something now."

"It doesn't."

I exhaled sharply through my nose and rapped twice against the wood.

It took a few seconds longer than last time. Then—

The door creaked open, and there he was again. Same wrinkled shirt. Same mussed curls. Same smile.

But this time, his eyes widened just a fraction. Just enough that I saw it. Surprise. Hope.

Relief?

"Fancy seeing you turn up here," Ridoc said, leaning on the frame. That lopsided smirk was still there, but it didn't land quite as cocky this time. A little softer. A little realer.

My heart did something stupid. "You sound less smug tonight."

He chuckled, low and warm. "Didn't expect to see you again so soon."

I stepped forward, brushing past him into his room like I had the first time, even though this time felt different.

"I've been looking for you," I said, automatic. But my voice caught at the end. I couldn't explain why.

He closed the door behind me, slower this time. His brow furrowed, just a little, but he didn't call me on it.

"So I've heard," he murmured, but the teasing edge in his voice had dulled. Still there, but gentler.

The room was quiet, humming with something unspoken. I turned to face him.

He wasn't reaching for me this time. Just standing there, watching, like he wasn't sure what I wanted. Like he didn't want to break whatever fragile thing sat between us.

And maybe that was the problem.

I didn't know what I wanted either.

But I knew what I couldn't stop thinking about.

"You gonna kiss me," I said, "or are we standing here awkwardly all night?"

Ridoc's mouth twitched. "Just trying to read the room."

I stepped in. "I'm the room."

That earned me a quiet laugh, and then he kissed me—soft at first, like maybe he was trying to remember how it had gone the first time, like he didn't want to mess it up.

Like it mattered.

Gods.

I kissed him back harder.

And just like that, the routine returned—hands in hair, breathless sighs, pressed skin—but this time there was a weight beneath it. Not heavy, but undeniable.

Afterward, I lay tangled in his sheets longer than I meant to—wrapped in warmth that didn't feel like mine, in silence too full to be comfortable. Neither of us said a word. We just... existed, suspended in the space between what this was and what it wasn't.

His arm was draped loosely over my waist, fingers resting light against my skin like he'd forgotten to let go. Or maybe he hadn't.

I sat up too quickly, the cold air biting as it rushed in to fill the space he'd been warming. "I should go."

"Maeve..."

His voice was barely above a whisper, rough with sleep or something else entirely. I didn't look at him. I couldn't.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I said, reaching for my clothes like they might anchor me back into the version of myself that had more control than this.

Behind me, the sheets shifted—a rustle of hesitation. He moved like he might follow. He didn't.

"Maeve," he said again, softer this time. Like a question.

I stilled, boots in hand, my heart thudding against a ribcage that suddenly felt too tight.

"It's still nothing," I said, not quite believing it.

"I know," he said.

But he didn't. And so did I.

I left before the silence broke again.

And this time, even Davina stayed quiet.

Night Three.

I don't mean to come back.

At least, that's what I tell myself the entire walk here. That I needed air. That I was restless. That I was just wandering.

But my feet know exactly where to go.
They always do.

And when I reach the familiar stone hallway, lit faintly by the glow of the wards along the wall, my breath hitches before I even see his door. It's cracked open just slightly, like he hadn't bothered to close it all the way.

Like he knew.

I stop just outside it, heart thudding like an idiot. I should leave. Gods, I should turn around, go back to my barracks and pretend this is nothing. Pretend that it doesn't mean anything more than convenience. Then release.

Then heat.

But I knock once anyway. Barely a sound.

The door swings open before I can step back, and there he is.

Barefoot. Shirt wrinkled like he's slept in it—though we both know he hasn't—and hair a mess like he's dragged his hands through it too many times trying to figure something out he won't say aloud. That smile is there too. Lopsided. Unfair. The kind that slips beneath my skin and settles in my chest like it belongs.

He leans on the frame, arms crossed, and lets his eyes drag over me slowly.

"Three's a dangerous number," he murmurs, voice low and rough from disuse. Or maybe something else.

I raise a brow, arms folding across my chest in a poor attempt at keeping distance. "Superstition now, Ridoc?"

He grins a little at that, one corner of his mouth quirking up higher than the other. "Patterns, Maeve. They mean something. Especially when they're this consistent."

"I'm not a pattern," I say too quickly.

"No?" he asks, eyes gleaming. "Then what would you call showing up three nights in a row wearing that expression like you didn't mean to?"

I roll my eyes and brush past him without answering. He steps aside easily—always does. I slip into the room like it's nothing. Like it doesn't make my lungs tighten.

"This again?" Davina's voice hums through my mind, not unkind, just wary.

"Don't start."

"You're not walking away untouched, Maeve. And you know it."

I ignore her.

"Did I interrupt something?" I ask lightly, glancing at the scattered papers on Ridoc's desk. Strategy maps. Notes. Probably some scrawl from Violet he hasn't read yet. Or new information from Jesinia?

"Just the thrilling experience of staring at the same sentence for half an hour," he replies, shutting the door behind me. "You saved me."

"I do that a lot," I say, smirking.

He leans against the desk, watching me. "You like rescuing me?"

I shrug. "You look like you need it most days."

Ridoc's eyes darken just slightly at that. Not angry. Just—quiet. The way he gets when I've said something that digs a little too deep.

"You didn't sleep again," he says.

"Neither did you."

"Did you try?"

"No." I hesitate, then add, "Did you?"

He tilts his head. "What's the point?"

We fall into that familiar silence again. The one that somehow isn't awkward. Not really. But charged. Like the air between us is waiting for one of us to say the thing we keep dancing around.

Instead, I walk toward him. Slowly. Testing.

"Tell me to leave," I say.

He doesn't move.

"I mean it, Ridoc," I push, but it's softer now. "Tell me to stop this."

His jaw tightens, but his voice is gentle. "I can't. You know I won't."

"Why?"

He meets my gaze fully, and for a second—just a second—it's too much. Like I'm standing too close to something I'm not ready to feel.

"Because I'd rather have you like this," he says, barely a whisper, "than not at all."

My breath stutters. Gods, he shouldn't say things like that. Not when I can't—when I won't—give him more than this.

This thing. This need.

And still, I close the distance.

His hands find my waist the second I'm close enough. Like he's memorised every place I fit. Like letting go isn't something he's willing to do, even for a breath.

"This is a bad idea," I whisper, even as I press my forehead against his.

"Then don't kiss me," he says. But his fingers are already curling against my spine.

I kiss him anyway.

And it's slow tonight. Less rushed. Less desperate. Like we're both trying to pretend it's still just physical, even as it's clearly unraveling into something else.

When we part, I don't meet his eyes. I move to his bed wordlessly, pulling the blanket back and slipping beneath it like it means nothing.

Because that's the rule.

No promises.

He joins me a moment later, lying close, but not quite touching. Not until I roll toward him and tug his hand over my waist. Familiar. Easy. Dangerous.

"You'll be gone before morning," he says, not asking.

"Always am."

He doesn't reply.

And I don't ask what he's thinking.

Because if I do...
If I let myself wonder—just for a moment—if maybe I want to stay...

Then this thing between us stops being safe.

Chapter Text

Night Four.

I tell myself it'll be the same.

Same knock. Same smirk. Same easy slide into something that feels like comfort with teeth.

I even rehearse it in my head on the way over: the banter, the silence, the heat. And then the door. Then gone.

But something's different the second he opens it.

He doesn't smile this time.

His eyes rake over me like they always do, but his mouth stays in a flat line. Not cold—never cold—but quieter. Tired, maybe. Or maybe just...expecting something I don't know how to give.

Still, he steps aside, and I walk past him like I always do.

But gods, it feels heavier tonight. My boots sound louder on his floor. My shoulders feel tight, like I've been bracing all day.

He closes the door gently behind us. Doesn't speak.

Neither do I.

For once, the silence between us isn't familiar. It isn't warm.

It's heavy.

"Something's shifted," Davina whispers in my head, soft and slow.

I know.

I sit on the edge of his bed instead of moving toward him. Ridoc watches me, leaning back against the wall like he needs it to hold him up. His shirt's rumpled again—gods, does he ever fold anything?—and his hands are shoved in his pockets like he doesn't trust what they'll do otherwise.

"I didn't think you'd come," he says finally.

My stomach flinches. "You didn't want me to?"

"That's not what I said."

I look up at him. "Then what are you saying?"

He scrubs a hand through his hair and lets out a dry, half-laugh. "I don't know. That maybe this is starting to feel less like a fling and more like a fucking knife?"

I blink, caught off guard by the honesty. The bitterness. The way his voice cracks just slightly at the end.

"Ridoc..."

He shakes his head. "It's fine. Doesn't matter."

"It does." And I hate how fast the words come out. How true they feel. "You matter."

He swallows, hard, and finally pushes off the wall to sit beside me. Close. Too close.

"And yet you still leave every time before I can ask you to stay."

I suck in a breath. "Because staying means something."

His gaze sharpens. "So does leaving."

We sit in that—for too long.

And then he softens. Reaches out and brushes a loose piece of hair behind my ear like it's instinct. Like he can't help it.

"I'm not asking for everything," he says quietly. "I know what this is. I know where your walls are."

"Then why are you still here?" I whisper.

He smiles faintly, but it's the saddest one I've seen from him. "Because even scraps of you feel better than nothing."

And gods—gods—something inside me shatters at that.

I lean into him before I know what I'm doing, burying my face into his neck, breathing in salt and cedar and something that's just him. His arms wrap around me without hesitation, and it's the first time it doesn't feel like a lead-up to something else.

It just feels like being held.

Like safety.

Like home.

And that's the problem.

Because when I finally pull away—when I kiss him like I always do, slow and searching and desperate not to think—it's not lust I feel blooming in my chest.

It's grief.
Because I'm already mourning what we could be.
Because I know I'm still going to leave.

And when I do—just past dawn, slipping through his door with bare feet and a burning throat—

it hurts.

Not my body.
Not from the things we did.

But somewhere deeper.
Somewhere I never let anyone touch.

"So what happens on Night Five?" Davina asks gently.

I don't answer.
Because I don't know if there will be one.
And I don't know if I could survive it if there is.

Chapter Text

Ridoc.

Relationships. Who the fuck has the time for them? Who has the space? Based on the messes I've seen—some of them smoking wreckages still smoldering—I'd say they're more liability than luxury. But then again... none of them were her.

And that's the problem, isn't it?

I don't know what it is about her. I don't think even the gods could tell me. Not that I've asked. Zihnal and I aren't on speaking terms these days.

She's already at my door when I get back. Of course she is.

She's here again. And I should be used to it by now. I should've built better defences, stronger walls. But I never do. Not when it's her.

She knocks, and I open. Every time. Like it's instinct. Like I'd rather be ruined than turn her away.

"Fancy seeing you turn up here," I say, leaning on the frame with that same smile I always wear when it's her. Always a little disbelieving. Always a little too full of her.

Her eyes find mine. They always do. Like they're trained.

"Mhm," she hums, and there it is—that small smile that breaks something open in my chest every time.

I move just enough for her to slip past me into my room. She doesn't hesitate. Never does. "I've been looking for you."

Same line. Every time. I wonder if she knows I mean it more every time I say it.

She moves past me like she belongs here. Like my room—my world—is hers to walk into. And maybe it is.

Her shoulder brushes mine and it's electric. Not just lust, not anymore. I feel it in my teeth. In my goddamn ribs.

"So I've heard," she murmurs, voice light.

I chuckle. "Ah, you've heard."

The routine never changes. Door. Step. Line. Response. But gods, I never get tired of it. Of her.

"You are indecent," Aotrom chimes in, smug as ever in the back of my mind.

"Stop spying on me. Go find someone else to haunt."

"I quite like the view here."

I ignore him and close the door behind me.

"I didn't see you much today," she says as she moves toward my bed, her posture more relaxed than usual. Familiar.

She noticed. Of course she did.

That's the thing about her—she doesn't ask questions, not really. But she notices everything. And sometimes, it's worse. The way she sees me, without asking, like I'm not fooling anyone.

"Out with Aotrom," I say with a shrug, keeping it casual. "Practicing and all."

A lie, technically. I don't think she believes me. Doesn't push it, though. She never does.

"Yeah, because you're indecent."

"Will you go away?"

"I'm comfortable," Aotrom quips. Fucker sounds like he's smiling.

Maeve crosses her legs. Her gaze rests on me like she's trying to decide something. I swallow it down.

"Practicing?" she repeats.

I scoff. "Practicing."

She knows. She always knows. But instead of poking at it, she tilts her head, all playful grace and sharp wit. "Well, while you were out pretending to train, you missed a whole first year breakup. Drama levels: off the charts."

I laugh and finally move toward her. I sit beside her, half-turned, my arm resting behind her without quite touching. "How bad was it?"

"He didn't take it well," she says, eyes sparkling. "He's a water wielder. Emotions, tears, all the fun stuff."

"Bet he lost his shit."

She shifts closer. Barely. But I feel it like gravity.

"Oh, he did. In front of everyone. I don't think I've ever heard that kid swear before, but here we are."

I grin, but my focus isn't on the story. It's her. It's always her. I don't know how I got here—how this thing between us snuck up on me—but now that I have it, I feel like I'm standing on the edge of something that could break me if I let it go.

"If only I'd seen it," I murmur, eyes trailing over her features.

The way she looks at me... gods, it undoes me. And she doesn't even know it.

"Too bad you missed it," she says, voice soft, smile mischievous.

My breath catches. She's close. Too close.

"You're making this hard, you know that?"

"I know," she says with a smirk and leans away—teasing.

I exhale slowly. "Tease."

"Don't I know it?"

She knows exactly what she's doing. Always does. And I let her. Every damn time. Because the sound of her laugh makes something twist in my chest I don't have a name for. Because if I say no, I lose her. And I'm not ready for that. I'll never be.

My gaze lingers on her. "I hate you."

She raises an eyebrow. "You hate me?"

Not even close.

"Show me," she whispers, all silk and fire.

I bite back a curse, jaw tightening as my hand finds her knee. My fingers pause there, just shy of dangerous territory.

"You're playing with fire," I warn, my voice rougher than I'd like.

"So do something about it."

I hesitate. Not because I don't want her—I do, gods, I do—but because if I start, I won't want to stop. And I already want more than I'm allowed.

But she's looking at me like I'm the only thing in the room that matters. Like she knows I'll break, and she's waiting for it.

It would be so easy to stop. Just take a breath, lean away, remember what this is supposed to be. But she looks at me like she wants me. And when she does that, I forget why I ever pretended I could resist her. This isn't casual for me. It never was. But she can't know that.

I shouldn't. But I do.

I move before I think. My mouth crashes into hers, but it's not reckless—not this time. It's need. It's every moment I've spent holding back, unraveled all at once. She meets me halfway, always has, always will. I tilt her head, just the way I know she likes, deepening the kiss. Her taste is familiar, addictive, like something I can't live without and don't even want to try.

I shift, lips trailing down to her neck, breathing her in like I'll forget how if I don't. She gasps—soft, sharp—and I lose myself in it. My hand skims under the edge of her shirt, and I pause, waiting for something—permission, a sign, anything.

"Slow down," she says with a quiet laugh, then pulls me back up to her lips with a kiss that says she doesn't really mean it.

I smile against her mouth. "I don't hear you complaining."

She flips us over—gods, I love her strength—and suddenly she's in my lap, hands firm on my shoulders. Her grin is wicked.

"Now who isn't complaining?" she teases.

I groan, hands at her hips. "Me? Never. You can stay right here, love."

She fits there like she's always meant to. Like she's carved out a space in me without even trying.

And for a second—just a second—I let myself imagine what it would be like if she never had to leave.

Her thumb brushes my cheek and she leans in until our noses touch. "Good."

And just like that, the ground shifts under me. Again.

"Gods," she murmurs into my neck. "I want you."

Those words destroy me. Burn through every wall I've tried to keep up around her.

"Have me," I whisper.

But she doesn't know what that means. Not really. Not the way I do.

Because truthfully? She already does.

She thinks this is simple—bodies, mouths, hands—but I already know better.

She says "I want you." But I want all of her. And I'm scared as hell that I already do. I'd give her anything if she asked. The worst part? She doesn't even have to ask. She says she wants me like it's simple. Like it's physical. But I'd trade my next breath for another hour in her arms. That's not simple. That's worship.

This is the part that kills me. When she takes and takes and I let her, because it's the only time she's mine. Because I know the second she leaves, it'll hurt like hell. And I'll let her go anyway.
Because loving her in silence is still better than not having her at all.

Chapter Text

Ridoc.

I don't know how long we've been lying here, but I know one thing—she's next to me, that alone feels like a miracle I don't deserve.

She's half-asleep, tucked in close, breathing soft and steady. Peaceful. And fuck, she's beautiful. Not in the way you say when someone walks by and turns heads. No, she's beautiful in a way that hurts—like a song you can't stop humming, like a wound you don't want to heal.

And I hate that it's taken me this long to really see her.

My eyes move over her face, drinking her in like I'll forget the details. The slope of her nose. The way her lashes brush her cheek. The way her hair shines a lighter shades of brown in different lighting. The rise and fall of her chest. She's still, but I know she's not fully asleep. Maybe she's listening. Maybe she feels it too.

There's a dull ache in my chest that pulses every time I look at her. It's like there's a thread tied to my heart, knotted and immovable, and she's holding the other end without even trying. I would walk through fire for her. I would carve my way through the fucking world if she went missing from it.

She's it. She's everything.

And still, part of me wonders if this was ever meant to happen. Fire and ice—doomed to burn and melt and ruin each other. Maybe that's the warning. Maybe we're the tragedy.

"See something you like?" she whispers, voice heavy with sleep, and it sends a quiet warmth spreading through my chest.

I shift slightly, letting my cheek settle deeper into the pillow, and lift a hand to brush the hair from her temple, fingers lingering a little too long.

Is this what it would be like? Waking up to her every morning? Falling asleep with her breath in my ear and her warmth at my back? Then again, she never stays. It kills me more and more each night. But I somehow never find the nerve to tell her. To admit it.

"If you keep touching me like that," she murmurs with a sleepy smile, "I might drag us back to where we were an hour ago."

I huff a quiet laugh. "Not exactly a threat, love."

Her eyes flutter open, just enough to catch mine. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

I don't answer with words. I just smile, lean in, and kiss her—soft, slow, full of everything I can't say out loud.

"Goodnight, Mae," I whisper against her lips.

She exhales softly and takes my hand, guiding my fingers to her mouth and pressing a kiss there. "Goodnight, love."

And gods, if this could last—if this could mean something—I'd fight tooth and nail to keep it. But if it doesn't, if it's not the same for her... I'll be the one to let go. Even if it kills me. Even if I'd spend the rest of my life wishing on stars and stray candle flames that it could be real again.

Because if she wants freedom, I'll be the one to give it to her.

Even if I never stop wanting her back.

Chapter Text

The morning light barely spilled in softly through the half-drawn curtains, brushing across Ridoc's bare shoulder where the sheets had slipped down. His breathing was even. Peaceful.

I should've left hours ago.

Quietly, I sat up, trying not to wake him. The room was still dark. My shirt lay discarded on the floor, and his blanket still clung to my hips like it had a say in whether I stayed or not.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

I told myself I wouldn't cross that line. That whatever this pull between us was—it could stay harmless. Fun. Controlled. I wasn't supposed to fall asleep in his bed, wasn't supposed to wake up here with the taste of him still clinging to my mouth and something warm curled low in my chest.

And yet.

I glanced over my shoulder.

He looked younger in sleep. Less like the cocky sparring partner who always had a retort ready, and more like the version of him he tried to hide—unguarded, quiet. Real.

I didn't regret it. That was the worst part.

I was supposed to regret it. That would've made everything simpler.

But instead, I sat there with my heart trying to claw its way out of my ribs and the memory of his hands like a ghost over my skin, and all I could think was: Maybe this isn't nothing.

Davina stirred faintly at the edge of my thoughts, but she didn't say a word. For once, she let me sit in the silence.

Because maybe she felt it too.

Maybe something had shifted, and there was no undoing it now.

I closed my eyes.

Just breathe.

I was pretty sure the sun had it out for me, aiming directly for the blinds above Ridoc's desk like it was on a mission. My eyes fluttered open after three failed attempts to stay asleep, and for once, I didn't feel the need to fight it.

The space next to me was empty—temporarily, I guessed—until the bathroom door clicked open and in stepped Ridoc, flight leathers already on, tying the laces of his boots like the world wasn't crumbling around us daily. Even bent over, he looked too good for this hour. I burrowed deeper into his blanket and watched him shamelessly.

He straightened up with a stretch and a quiet sigh, then turned—like he felt me watching. His breath caught, eyes softening when they landed on me.

"Good morning," I murmured, my voice still sleepy.

His lips curved. Gods, that smile should be illegal. He came over and without even glancing down, found my hand and pressed a kiss to my knuckles. "Morning, love."

"You're letting him call you that now?" Davina drawled in my head. "Gods help us, next you'll be writing his name on your flight jacket."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Don't start. It's too early for your dramatics."

I glanced at the dusty clock on his desk. 6:20. Why. "Where are you going?"

He ran his thumb over my hand like he didn't even notice he was doing it. "Flight drills. Aotrom's being needy."

"Like rider, like dragon," Davina muttered.

I gave a small hum. "When do you have to be there?"

"Ten minutes." His voice was low, almost reluctant.

I smirked but didn't say anything. Ridoc, of course, didn't let that last long.

"You're suspiciously quiet today," he said, eyebrow raised.

I dragged my eyes lazily over his chest. "You should wear less clothing more often," I teased, reaching up to kiss him slowly—just long enough to be remembered.

"Are you trying to distract me?"

Obviously.

I just shrugged, eyes squinting with mischief.

He narrowed his eyes, pointing at me. "I know that look."

Gods, I can't make him late. Aotrom will absolutely roast me. But he's not helping my case.

"If you keep looking at me like that, I might skip drills and stay here with you."

I tilted my head, all innocence. "Don't threaten me with a good time."

His jaw clenched like he was barely keeping himself together. That's when I knew I'd won.

"Keep that position for me, alright, love?"

Gods, why does he have to leave?

He grinned and kissed my forehead. "See you at breakfast."

So simple. So casual.

The door clicked shut behind him, and I just... stood there. His shirt hung loose over my frame, brushing mid-thigh, still warm from his skin. The sheets were a mess, the sun had barely crested over the rooftops, and his room smelled like cedar and worn leather and sleep.

And it felt... normal.

Stupidly, achingly normal.

Like mornings could be this. Forehead kisses and shared space and the echo of laughter from a few hours earlier still clinging to the air like dust in sunlight.

I glanced around—his boots haphazard by the door, a deck of cards half-splayed across his desk, a scribbled note pinned above his bed that read don't be late again, dumbass in Rhiannon's handwriting.

This was him. Messy and warm and lived-in.

And somehow, I didn't feel out of place in it.

My fingers toyed with the edge of his blanket as I sat back on the bed, drawn by something quieter than desire. Something steadier. More dangerous.

I wasn't supposed to want this.

But gods, wouldn't it be nice if I could?

If this—waking up tangled in his arms, forehead kisses, breakfast waiting—wasn't terrifying, but safe?

If for once, I didn't have to armor myself before stepping into the world?

The thought rooted deep in my chest, subtle and stubborn.

Maybe this wasn't just a moment.

Maybe, just maybe... this was the start of something I didn't need to run from.

I watched him grab his gear and bolt like the ground was on fire beneath him. I laughed quietly into the pillow.

About thirty minutes later, my stomach staged a full mutiny. I stopped by my room to change—earning one extremely judgmental eyebrow raise from Rhiannon, who said nothing but said everything—and headed for the gathering hall.

Chapter Text

The place was mostly full, but I found them quickly. Our usual crew: Rhi, Violet, Liam, Sawyer... and Ridoc. I slid into my seat like I hadn't just walked in with the world's worst poker face.

He was suspiciously quiet until I got up to grab food. Then he struck.

"Didn't sleep well?" he asked, just loud enough for me—and apparently Rhi—to hear.

I froze. Seriously?

I sat down across from him and raised an unimpressed brow. "Someone was snoring really loudly."

Rhi snorted into her juice.

Ridoc smirked, clearly not letting this go. "That all that kept you up?"

I didn't blink. Just met his eyes and took a long, deliberate bite of food. His smirk deepened, and so did my regret.

"I can't believe you're letting him get under your skin," Davina said.

"He's not that bad."

"You're lucky I like his dragon."

"You told me you liked him."

"Yeah that was before I had to block out your festivities."

I tuned her out, shooting Ridoc a warning glare. He muttered something too low for the others to hear, and I whipped my eyes up.

"Eat. Your. Food," I mouthed.

He laughed like he wasn't the reason I was seconds from spontaneously combusting.

"You're insufferable," I muttered.

"Correction: I'm charming as hell."

Rhi rolled her eyes without looking up. "Debatable."

"Is that doubt I hear, Rhi?" he asked, grinning.

I crossed my arms. "Better be. Don't give him the satisfaction."

He turned his attention back to me. "And you, love? Still doubting?"

His hair was tousled from practice—messy, hot, and entirely unfair. I tried not to stare.

"Far more than doubting," I said, dry.

Rhi gagged dramatically. "You two make me sick."

Ridoc turned to her with a grin. "Well, if you don't like the show, you can always relocate."

I wrapped an arm around Rhi's shoulders. "Don't leave me with this stranger.'"

Ridoc feigned a look of betrayal. "Stranger? That's not what you called me this morning."

I nearly choked. "Ridoc."

He blinked innocently. "Yes, love?”

"You'll be the death of me."

His eyes glinted. "Was that a threat?"

"Not yet."

"That's an ominous phrase."

Rhi threw her hands to the sky. "Gods, if you're real, save me now."

She moved to sit beside Violet, who was already smirking. Liam had a shit-eating grin like he was watching the best drama unfold. Probably was. 

I mean, don't get me wrong I'm not ashamed of myself. But I don't exactly want our friends to know what we've been doing. Not yet at least.

"You good?" I asked, a little too brightly.

Violet nodded, biting back a smile. "Totally."

"Great." My cheeks were way too warm.

"You're blushing," Davina said, "which means I'll have to do something reckless later to restore your dignity. Maybe light his flight jacket on fire."

"Please don't."

"Then stop acting like this."

Liam clapped his hands. "Archives. Let's go. Unless you two wanna keep flirting over porridge or whatever."

I laughed. "We're coming."

I followed the others, my boots echoing softly on the stone floor, the scent of parchment and ink filling the air as we walked toward the archives. The walls of the hall were lined with tapestries and statues, and the soft hum of voices and laughter bounced off the stone. It was a warm, familiar kind of chaos that always made my chest feel lighter. 

It always did.

Liam and Sawyer were already in the lead, joking about something that I only half-caught. Rhiannon had her usual look of disinterest, but I knew better—she was listening, just pretending not to. Violet was walking beside her, a smirk dancing on her lips as she whispered something into Rhi's ear that made her roll her eyes again.

Then there was Ridoc, walking next to me, always just close enough for me to feel the heat of him without actually touching. His presence was like an extra layer of warmth, even when we were walking in the cold stone halls. I could practically feel him grinning from the side, though I hadn't even looked at him yet. He knew exactly how to make me feel like I was losing my composure without saying a word.

"So," Ridoc started, his voice smooth and teasing, "how's your day going? Any new threats to your dignity, or is it safe for now?"

I shot him a side glance, barely containing a smile. "I'm surviving," I replied, rolling my eyes. "But if you keep up with this 'charming' routine, I might have to start planning my escape."

He chuckled lowly, and I could feel the vibration of it in my chest. "Escape? Where would you go?" He leaned in just a little, his breath warm against my ear. "You know you're not getting away from me that easily."

I had to fight the smile threatening to tug at my lips, and I could hear Rhiannon snickering behind us. Probably watching our little dance like it was some sort of entertainment for her.

"Don't even think about it. You're not fooling anyone."

"Not this again. I'm just focusing on the books."

"You say that, but I see how your cheeks are a little flushed. Are you sure it's not him you're focusing on?" Davina asked dryly.

"I swear, Davina, you're worse than Ridoc. Way worse." I countered, irritated but somehow amused.

"Better me than him. At least I'm trying to get you to face reality instead of hiding in books."

"I am facing reality. I just... need space."

"Space? You mean from him? Or from yourself?"

"Who says I'm trying to escape?" I said, trying to sound as disinterested as possible. "I'm just making sure I don't burn out on you too quickly."

Ridoc raised an eyebrow. "Burn out? I'm like a fine wine, Maeve. I only get better with time."

I snorted. "You're more like a wild fire that keeps burning everything down and then acting surprised when there's nothing left."

He laughed, a deep, amused sound that made something in me flutter. "A wild fire, huh? I like that."

"Of course you do," I muttered, rolling my eyes again, but I couldn't help the grin that slipped out.

We reached the heavy wooden doors to the archives, the familiar scent of old books and the quiet rustling of pages filling the air. I could feel the tension leave my shoulders just being in the presence of all that knowledge, the endless shelves of untouched mysteries waiting to be uncovered. It was a place where my mind could focus and the world outside of this—him—could fade into the background.

"Honestly, you're making this harder on yourself than it needs to be. Just talk to him already."

"I did talk to him. In case you didn't notice, Davina, I'm not an idiot."

"Oh really? Because last I checked, the words you've been exchanging with Ridoc are more like a battle of wits and less like feelings. When's the last time you told him anything real?" She huffed.

"I... don't know. Not yet, I guess."

"There you go. It's about time you admit it. What's the worst that could happen? He already knows you're a mess."

"You're not helping."

"I'm always helping, you just don't realise it yet."

"Finally," I breathed, pushing the door open and stepping into the cool, shadowy space. The air was thick with history and the weight of thousands of untold stories. It was one of my favourite places in the whole damn world.

"Well, someone's excited," Ridoc teased, following me in, his voice carrying across the high ceilings.

I glanced back at him, my smile softer now. "There's nothing better than the archives. You wouldn't understand."

"Oh, I think I'd understand just fine." He moved closer, his presence a comforting warmth. "But I'm starting to see how you get lost in all this." He waved a hand around, gesturing to the endless rows of books and scrolls. "It's just a bunch of dusty old papers, isn't it?"

I narrowed my eyes. "You take that back," I said, my tone playful but firm. "There's magic here. There's life in these pages. These books are history, Ridoc. Real history. You can't just throw that away."

"I wasn't throwing it away," he said, his voice almost mock serious. "I was just wondering if you were actually a part of this world, or if you're some sort of secret librarian-in-training. I mean, aren't you always talking about how you want to become a professor here in the future?"

I snorted, walking deeper into the archives. "You'll have to fight me for the title. But I'm not sharing the title of 'Best Archivist' with anyone. Not even you. And do not start talking about my future."

Ridoc grinned, falling into step beside me. "I don't need your title. Just your attention."

I felt a blush creep up my neck, but I quickly deflected. "Don't get too used to it."

"You know you're impossible to resist, right?" he said, voice low, like he was only speaking to me.

I glanced at him, my heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his eyes that he didn't often show. "Don't flatter yourself, Ridoc."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "Flattering? I'm just stating facts. Besides, we both know I'm right."

I couldn't stop the smile that spread across my face. "You're insufferable."

"Yeah, but you love it."

I rolled my eyes, but there was no denying the warmth spreading through me at his words. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were making yourself at home in my brain."

He laughed, and the sound of it filled the quiet space, like a warm pulse of life in the otherwise stillness of the archives.

"Maybe I'm trying to," he said, voice low and sincere. "Maybe I'm already there."

My breath hitched in my throat, but I didn't let myself get caught in the moment. Not yet. Not with him. I knew I shouldn't have stayed overnight. 

I turned my attention back to the rows of books. "Focus, Ridoc. We're here to study, remember?"

"Right," he said, clearly amused. "You're always so focused, Maeve. It's... kinda attractive."

I shot him a sidelong glance, trying to keep my voice steady. "Focus, Ridoc. Otherwise, I'll just leave you behind."

He grinned. "Oh, I'm already far ahead of you, love."

"So... you're still pretending not to care?" Davina chimed in.

"I care about my dragon and my training, Davina. Not Ridoc."

"Sure, sure. You keep telling yourself that. Just don't come crying to me when you finally admit it."

"I'm not going to cry."

"Of course not. You're far too stubborn for that. But the day you realise you're not as immune to him as you think, I'll be here, waiting."

Chapter Text

The Archives were a divine experience. There was no other way to describe the way the scent of old paper and polished stone melted into my bones the second we stepped in. I breathed it in and let it settle under my skin like armour. Endless ceilings stretched above us, the domed glass panels catching morning light and scattering it across the walls. Words were everywhere—engraved, inked, embedded. The weight of knowledge pressed in on all sides, heavy and holy.

"You're doing that thing again," Davina murmured in my mind, all sleek sarcasm. "Where you act like books are sentient and libraries are temples. It's unsettling."

"That's because they are and this is," I replied, only half teasing.

The second we crossed the threshold, Rhiannon made a beeline for a section like she was being summoned. Liam followed, throwing me a shrug over his shoulder like welp, she's doing that again.

I tilted my head at the others. "Soo... what exactly are we doing here?"

Sawyer looked vaguely lost, flipping through a catalogue. Violet didn't even glance up. "Browsing."

"Useful," I said, dry.

Ridoc didn't answer. He was already letting his gaze roam the shelves like he was reading the spines from across the room. Then he wandered off entirely.

I watched him go. "He's in his own little world again."

Violet huffed a soft laugh. "He does that a lot, huh?"

I gave a crooked smile. "Oh yeah. It's a talent."

There was a pause. Then her voice shifted, soft but pointed. "So... how long have you two been like this?" She cut a glance at me. "Because the vibe? Very different from before."

My stomach twisted. I shrugged. "I don't know. It kind of... just happened. And now I'm—"

"Emotionally compromised?" Davina cut in.

"Shut it."

"I'm just... fuck I have no idea what I'm feeling. I'm attached to him, but I also don't know if I want this," I finished out loud, unsure if I believed it or if I was lying to myself in real time.

Violet raised an eyebrow. "You don't know?"

"It's complicated, okay?" I said, quietly. "One minute he's infuriating, the next he's..." I trailed off.

"A menace you'd probably murder if he didn't make you laugh?" she supplied.

I huffed a laugh. "Exactly."

"Yeah," Violet said, smiling faintly. "I get that."

I caught the softness in her expression and tilted my head. "I bet you do."

"Don't be an ass," she said immediately, but her tone wasn't sharp.

"You never talk about him," I noted.

"There's not much to say," she deflected, gaze flicking away. "We're just... together. End of story."

I nodded, letting it sit. "Okay. End of story."

Her breath came out in a quiet sigh—less annoyed and more resigned.

Then she glanced sideways. "Why are you smiling like that?"

"No reason," I said, but the truth sat warm in my chest. "I'm happy you're happy, Vi."

Something in her face faltered. Just a flicker, a crack in the armour. She always wore her strength like a shield. I wondered how often she actually let it down.

Later, we ended up in the little spot we'd unofficially claimed. Nestled between two alcoves, the sunlight poured through tall windows, and it was just secluded enough to pretend the rest of the world didn't exist.

"I've got training early tomorrow," I groaned as I flopped into my spot.

Ridoc raised an eyebrow. "You do?"

"Davina's forcing me through extra dismount drills," I muttered.

"Damn right I am," Davina snapped. "You almost cracked your skull last week trying to show off."

"I was a strategic flourish."

" It was an airborne disaster."

"Do not get grumpy with me," I said aloud, glaring at no one in particular.

Ridoc chuckled. "Ah, poor thing."

"At least I'm not locked in a lifelong prank war with my dragon. I'd have a stress ulcer."

"He started it," Ridoc defended weakly.

"He finished it too, I bet," I said, grinning. "Aotrom definitely lives of tormenting you."

"Don't speak his name," he said, deadpan.

I laughed under my breath. I'd always found the dynamic between riders and their dragons fascinating. Was mine with Davina common? Or was she just uniquely... insufferable?

"Flattered," she drawled. "Truly. And for the record, no one else is blessed with my patience."

"Blessed, huh?"

" You're still alive, aren't you? "

Fair.

I rested my head against the wall and glanced at Ridoc. "Hey, if there's a doppelgänger thing happening with dragons—like evil twin vibes—would you know?"

He looked confused. "What kind of question is that?"

"A dumb one," Davina supplied. "Next she'll be asking if dragons have secret siblings."

"I'm just saying," I said aloud, "you guys can all talk to each other. So, you'd know, right?"

"I'm not answering that," he said.

"Wow. So much for the voice of kindness."

I looked up just in time to see Violet being drawn toward Xaden like gravity itself owed him a favour. My lips curved instinctively. There was something nice about seeing her soft around him. Real.

Rhi, Liam, and Sawyer flopped down beside us like they'd run three laps around the archives.

"So," Sawyer chirped, "how's everyone doing with studies? Anyone still need help with History?"

We all groaned like he'd stabbed us.

Liam muttered, "Too soon, man. Too soon."

"Okay, noted," Sawyer said, raising both hands. "Battle Brief, then?"

"That's safer," Rhi agreed quickly.

We fell into a familiar rhythm—chatting, griping, trading notes and jokes. After a while, our motivation collectively hit a wall, and we just... stayed. Talking about everything and nothing.

I don't know when I laid my head in Ridoc's lap, but I didn't move when I did. His hand found its way to my hair. It was comforting. Safe.

Sawyer was in the middle of a story—something about a training mishap and a barrel of tree sap—and I let his voice wash over me. Warm sunlight, the sound of my friends' laughter, and the knowledge that Ridoc was right here made it easier to close my eyes.

I don't know how long I was out, but the clouds had shifted and the sun moved across the sky by the time I blinked awake.

Everyone else was gone. Just the two of us now.

Ridoc looked down at me like he hadn't stopped.

"You let me sleep."

He smiled, gentle. "What was I gonna do, wake you?"

His fingers ran through my hair, slow and absent-minded.

"You must've been bored out of your mind," I murmured, stretching a little.

He shook his head. "Nah. It's nice, just... being here."

I didn't answer. Just looked up at him, trying not to read too much into the way the light caught the edges of his face.

"You sleep okay?" he asked after a moment.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"We should probably head back," he said, but he didn't move.

I reached up, tracing the seam of his sleeve with a fingertip. "Not yet."

"You're falling," Davina said quietly in the back of my mind. "You do realise that, don't you?"

Yeah, I thought, not even trying to deny it. Gods. I think I already did.

Chapter Text

Ridoc

It's stupid how much I notice her.

The way she twirls the end of her braid around her finger when she's thinking. The way she tosses her head back when she laughs like she hasn't got a single thing weighing her down.

I'm in trouble. Real, proper, fucked-up kind of trouble.

After her suggestion of staying here for a moment longer, we were once again joined by everyone who had just up and left about halfway through her falling asleep in my lap. Oh, also now including the surprising appearance of Violet.

Maeve is sitting beside Rhiannon and Sawyer, the sun catching on the golden thread woven into the shoulder of her uniform. Her knees are drawn up to her chest, boots dusted with dirt from sparring, and she's teasing Rhi about losing her last match. Violet's sprawled on the grass nearby, Liam watching them with the quiet sort of amusement he always carries.

I should be paying attention to the conversation. But all I can do is watch her.

She glances at me suddenly—just a flick of her eyes—and I snap my gaze down to the half-eaten apple in my hand like it's the most fascinating thing I've ever seen.

"You good, Ridoc?" Rhi asks, smirking like he knows exactly what I'm thinking.

I shrug, biting into the apple. "Peachy. Just mentally preparing for Battle Brief."

"You mean emotionally breaking down inside while pretending to be fine?" Violet adds.

"Same difference," I mutter, and that earns a laugh from Maeve. That laugh. Shit.

She leans over to nudge me with her knee. "You're weirdly quiet today. What's up with that?"

I glance at her, trying to keep it casual, but her eyes are a little too curious, a little too warm. "Maybe I'm finally learning to shut up before I say something stupid."

"Now that would be a miracle," she teases, eyes sparkling.

Sawyer throws a twig at Rhiannon, hitting her in the chest. "Tell me again how you tripped over your own foot and still tried to pass it off like a strategy."

"I was pivoting," Rhi protests.

"You were flailing," Maeve says, laughing. "There's a difference."

Liam snorts. "You all act like flailing isn't a perfectly valid evasive manoeuvre. I've won matches with less."

"You've won matches because people underestimate how many knives you're carrying," Violet replies dryly.

"That's fair," he says with a shrug.

Maeve leans her head on her knees, still smiling. "I love this part of the day. That weird lull between classes where everyone's too tired to pretend they're not falling apart."

"Speak for yourself," I say. "I am the picture of physical and emotional stability."

"Please," she says, bumping my shoulder. "You cry when you run out of socks."

"Hey, clean socks are a limited resource and should be treated with reverence."

She laughs again, and I swear it makes something behind my ribs shift. She's radiant when she's like this—unguarded, laughing with everyone like nothing's chasing us.

"You dramatically declared war on the laundry line," Sawyer says, grinning. "Socks included."

"And I stand by that declaration," I reply solemnly. "Laundry day at Basgiath is a battlefield."

"You're not wrong," Liam mutters. "Last week I found a boot in the middle of the hallway. Still don't know how it got there."

"Probably Rhiannon's fault," Violet says.

"Excuse you," Rhiannon protests. "My chaos is highly curated."

Maeve's laughing again, and gods, it lights something up in me. Makes me feel like maybe this moment—this small, sun-warmed piece of peace—is worth more than anything I've ever fought for.

But then someone checks the time, and there's a collective groan.

"Battle Brief in ten," Violet sighs.

"Why is it always Battle Brief after a good time?" Rhiannon whines, rolling onto his back.

"Because this place wants us to suffer," Liam deadpans.

Maeve stands, brushing dirt off her pants. "Well, I for one am going to pretend I'm ready to be berated by an old general who probably hasn't smiled since the first war."

"That's the spirit," I say, standing beside her.

She bumps her arm against mine again, casual, natural—like were tethered without trying. "See? There's the sarcasm. I was starting to worry."

I smile, even if it's a little uneven. "Don't worry. I've got a lifetime supply."

She sighs. "I hope when I become a professor the cadets don't think of me like this."

I look at her. How could anyone ever think about her as boring?

"They won't," I reply, my voice soft.

And gods, I love her. I don't know when it happened exactly, but it's here now, lodged under my ribs like something sacred. It's not just a crush. Not just something easy to shrug off. It's in the way I remember the exact sound of her laugh. The way I can tell it's her walking into the room without even looking up. The way I look for her in every crowd, every moment, like my world is missing something when she's not in it. How could I not love her? How could I not love her after liking her since first year? I've liked her for so fucking long, it's in my nature at this point.

And the worst part is—I can't tell her.

Not because I'm scared of her reaction. Not because I don't think she might feel the same way. But because deep down, I know I'll never be able to be what she deserves. I'm too marked by the deals I've made, the gods I've brushed against. Too afraid that if I pull her close, the universe will tear her away from me just to balance the scale.

This means so fucking much to me. She means so much to me. If I ever fucked this up I don't know how I would be able to forgive myself. I've never felt like this.

But I sit here, pretending. Laughing when they laugh. Throwing back sarcastic remarks when prompted. And every so often, I let my eyes drift back to her, memorising the shape of this moment.

Because even if I never get to tell her how I feel, I'll have this: a sun-drenched afternoon, her laughter echoing in my ears, and the quiet, aching knowledge that I'm in love with Maeve.

And gods help me, I wouldn't trade it for anything.

So I follow behind them as we walk to Battle Brief, laughing at their banter, adding my own quips, but all the while—every second—I'm thinking about her. Always her.

Because even if I never get to call her mine, she's already everything.

Chapter Text

The courtyard was quiet except for the occasional rustle of wind through the ivy-wrapped columns and the sound of Ridoc muttering to himself like a man preparing for battle.

"You do realise this is idiotic," I said, standing barefoot on the sun-warmed stones. My palm glowed faintly, heat coiling at my fingertips like a lazy cat waiting to pounce.

Ridoc turned to face me with an expression so grave it bordered on absurd. "It's not idiotic. It's revolutionary. Ice can absolutely freeze fire if it's cold enough."

"Science would like a word."

"Magic," he said, pointing between the two of us like that settled everything. "Not science. Completely different rules."

"Still not gonna work."

"Ice has structure. Discipline. Fire's just—you know—chaotic and loud. Like you."

I narrowed my eyes. "And yet, you keep kissing me."

"That's my own personal lapse in judgment," he said with a smirk that tugged annoyingly at something soft inside my chest.

I rolled my shoulders, fire rippling across my arms in warning. "You sure you want to do this?"

"Absolutely."

"He's going to cry when you win." Davina's voice curled through my mind, amused. "Make it quick. I want a nap."

"I hate to break it to you," I told him, stepping closer, "but you're about to have your dreams shattered by the laws of nature and my superior signet."

He arched a brow. "We'll see about that."

We faced each other, hands outstretched like duelling idiots. A coil of ice gathered in Ridoc's palm, frosty blue spiralling into intricate fractals. I responded in kind, heat rising from my skin like a storm on the horizon.

"On three," I said.

He nodded. "One..."

"Two..."

"Three."

Our powers collided in a blur of light and steam. For a second, the magic hovered, suspended, fire and ice entwined in a furious dance of resistance. He was stronger than I expected—his ice held form longer than any normal defence.

But then, inevitably, it cracked. A hiss of steam rose as fire licked over the edges, melting the last of his frost like morning sun on winter glass.

I grinned, stepping through the dissipating mist. "Told you. This was an incredibly stupid argument."

Ridoc stared at his soaked boots, his expression equal parts awe and disbelief. "I was so sure I had you this time."

"You didn't."

"I almost did."

"You didn't."

He ran a hand through his hair, damp now at the ends. "You're insufferable."

"You're obsessed with me."

He looked at me then, really looked—like he always did. And suddenly the distance between us didn't feel like a courtyard anymore. It felt like a thread pulled taut.

"You are chaos," he said, quieter now.

I felt something tighten in my chest.

"And you're the idiot who keeps running toward it," I said, not quite smiling.

His fingers brushed mine—barely a touch, but it was enough to startle me into stillness. Like even that was too much, too close.

He didn't push. He never did.

"Come on," I said, forcing levity into my voice. "I'll buy you a drink to make up for your tragic loss."

His eyes lingered on me, full of something I didn't want to name. Not yet.

"Deal.”

"What are you doing," Davina said, gentle and resigned.

"I'm not doing anything," I replied silently.

But that wasn't true. Not really.

As we walked back through the stone archways side by side, our fingers occasionally brushing, something flickered beneath my ribs. Not quite fear. Not quite fire.

Maybe both.

And behind us, the courtyard steamed where heat had melted cold.

Because that's what fire does.

It wins.

But it destroys, too.

And fire and ice?

They never last.

The tavern was a low-lit thing, all golden glow and wood-polished warmth, full of other cadets unwinding with drinks and lies about how great they were in sparring today. I barely heard them.

Ridoc sat across from me at a booth tucked in the back corner, head tipped toward his ale like it held answers he didn't want to say out loud. His hair was still damp from where I'd melted his icy ego. I probably should've let him sulk a bit longer, but something kept buzzing beneath my skin, louder than the laughter or the clink of mugs around us.

It had to come out.

"You ever going to stop pretending this is nothing?"

His head jerked up. Not defensively—just surprised. Like he hadn't expected me to say it out loud.

"Maeve..."

"No. Don't do that thing where you say my name like it's an apology." My voice was quieter then I meant it to be. "Just answer me."

He blinked. Hesitated. Then gave a crooked, noncommittal smile. "We're just having fun. Right?"

Gods. It felt like a punch I didn't see coming.

"Are we?" I asked, trying not to let it crack.

He leaned back, arms stretched along the booth behind him like he was trying to make space between us without getting up. "I thought that's what you wanted."

"It was." I exhaled. "At first."

His fingers tapped against the mug, a nervous rhythm. "Okay."

"I'm not saying I want to label it," I added quickly. "I just—I can't lie to myself anymore and say I don't feel something. Because I do. I really do."

Silence bloomed between us like frostbite—slow, quiet, killing.

Ridoc's jaw clenched. He looked down at his drink, then at me, and there it was: fear. Not of me. Of himself.

"I don't want to mess this up," he said finally. "And I will. I always do."

"That's not fair," I said, heart hammering. "You don't get to decide that for me."

He didn't speak.

"I like you," I said, forcing the words out. "And I know that probably ruins the game or the fun or whatever this was. But it's real now. For me. And I need to know if it is for you too."

His throat worked as he swallowed hard. "It's always been real."

I blinked. "Then why—"

"Because if I let myself believe I could keep you, I'd ruin it." He gave a soft, bitter laugh. "I'd say the wrong thing or get too close and one day you'd wake up and realise I'm just... not worth all this."

"You don't get to decide that either," I said, barely more than a whisper.

We didn't say anything else after that. Not for a long time. Just sat with the unspoken weight between us, like two tectonic plates threatening to crack the earth open.

Eventually, he reached across the table and hooked his pinky through mine.

Not a promise.

But not nothing either.

Chapter Text

"You're getting better. But you still have a long way to go," Professor Carr stated, ever the picture of blunt optimism.

I collapsed onto the scorched training ring floor like I'd been shot, arms flung out wide as if offering myself to the gods of ash and fatigue. My palms stung where the heat had kissed too close, and my lungs were doing that thing again — trying to convince me I was dying when really, I was just overcooked.

Carr's boots crunched beside my ear. "Control, Maeve. You have all the power you need. Now try using it like your brain's connected to it."

"I am using my brain," I groaned, voice muffled by the dirt. "It's just currently melted and dripping out my ears."

He snorted and walked away, clearly not moved by my performance of tragic suffering.

Davina's voice curled into my thoughts, amused and dry as ever."You're very dramatic when you're tired."

"I'm not tired," I lied.

I flipped onto my back, staring up at the slowly darkening sky above the courtyard. Signet training had dragged on an extra hour today, which wasn't unusual, but Carr had this maddening glint in his eye — like he knew I was holding something back and was determined to scorch it out of me. Apparently, I had "more energy," "more fire," "more passion."

Right. More everything, except a working body and will to live.

I sat up eventually, groaning as every muscle protested. My shirt stuck to my back in all the wrong ways, and I smelled like burned air and despair. But somewhere under the exhaustion, under the sweat and grit and the ember-cracked skin of my fingertips, I could admit it...

He was right.

Today had felt different.

The fire didn't just obey me — it listened. It moved the way I wanted it to. Mostly. I even managed to form that barrier shield Carr said I wasn't ready for. Only held it for four seconds, but still.

Progress.

I stood, barely, wiping my palms on my thighs and half-limped toward the weapon rack to deposit the practice blade I hadn't touched all class. My signet was the weapon today, and it had burned bright enough to make the metal sweat.

"You look like you got dragged through the Infernal Pass," came a familiar voice.

I turned to see Ridoc leaning against a nearby column, a smug tilt to his mouth and his arms crossed like he hadn't been waiting for me at all. Please. He definitely had.

I gave him a once-over. "You're not even sweating. You don't get to comment."

"Some of us don't require near-death to access our signet," he said, strolling over like he hadn't just insulted me. "But hey — you smell like victory. And singed leather."

"I smell like pain."

"You look like it too." He bumped his shoulder into mine, gently. "Carr ride you hard today?"

I gave him a sharp look. "Don't make that sound dirty."

He grinned unrepentantly. "Never crossed my mind."

Liar.

We started walking back toward the barracks, his presence the perfect blend of too close and not close enough. He didn't touch me — not really — but his fingers brushed mine just once when our hands swung a little too far inward. Neither of us said anything about it.

"You burned brighter today," Davina said softly in my mind. "I'm proud of you."

I swallowed around the sudden tightness in my throat. "Thanks."

She was right. The flames felt clearer. More like me.

Maybe that was it — maybe I was finally starting to feel like me again, beneath all the uncertainty, the pretending that this thing with Ridoc was casual, the aching way my heart sometimes tripped when he looked at me like I mattered.

Maybe passion was the cost of progress.

And I was finally willing to pay it.

We walked in step, the way we always did when things were easy between us — which, despite my best efforts, was most of the time.

"So," I said, tipping my head toward him, "how's the grumpy frost lizard?"

Ridoc huffed out a laugh. "Aotrom is in a mood. Again."

"He's always in a mood," I pointed out.

"Yeah, well, today he told Garrick to 'stop breathing so aggressively' near him, so we're reaching new heights."

I blinked. "Wow. Did Garrick do anything?"

"He was standing still. Literally just existing."

I snorted. "Maybe Aotrom's just reflecting his rider's dramatic tendencies."

Ridoc pressed a hand to his chest. "I'm wounded."

"Not as wounded as Garrick's ego, probably."

"Nah, he took it like a champ. Swore vengeance, of course, but that's just normal rider bonding." Ridoc nudged me with his elbow. "Aotrom says you smell like roasted bone."

I raised a brow. "He can smell me from across the courtyard?"

"He says the air tastes like your stubbornness." Ridoc grinned. "His words, not mine."

"Tell him that Aotrom has the emotional intelligence of a frostbitten goat," Davina huffed.

I grinned despite myself. "Well, Davina says your dragon has the emotional intelligence of a frostbitten goat."

Ridoc gave a full-bodied laugh, the kind that lit up the space between us. "She would. How is the ever-terrifying queen of fire?"

"Disappointed in me," I said lightly. "But in a loving, deeply sarcastic way."

"Sounds like someone else I know."

I rolled my eyes. "If you're comparing yourself to my dragon again—"

"—I'm just saying, maybe that's why we get along. I respect a creature that could incinerate me on a whim."

"Which one of us are you talking about now?"

He didn't answer. Just gave me that smile again — the real one, crooked and soft and far too full of meaning. The kind that made my chest ache if I looked at it for too long.

So I didn't.

I kicked at a stray stone on the path instead and said, "You ever think your signet and his are... mismatched? Like, you're all chill and controlled, and he's... I don't know, chaos incarnate?"

"He thinks I'm the chaotic one."

My eyes widened. "No."

"Apparently I'm too 'impulsive' and 'emotionally driven,'" he said, making finger quotes.

I snorted again. "Wow. Pot, meet kettle."

"Right?" Ridoc stretched his arms behind his head, completely unbothered. "But I guess it works. Balance, or whatever."

Balance. Right. Fire and ice.

I didn't let myself dwell on it.

We reached the threshold of the barracks and paused, the warmth of the day finally giving way to a cooling breeze.

"You want to meet up later?" he asked casually. "After dinner? Not for a dragon insult competition this time — unless you want to lose again."

"I let you win last time," I said automatically.

"Sure, sure." He tilted his head, watching me. "So...?"

"I'll find you," I said, pretending like my pulse wasn't tripping over itself.

His smile softened. "Good."

And just like that, he was gone — turning down the corridor toward his room, hands in his pockets like he hadn't just shaken something loose in me without even trying.

Chapter Text

The riders quadrant was alive with the scrape of boots, the metallic ring of blades, and the unmistakable scent of sweat and storm. A brisk wind whipped across the open arena nestled just outside the stone halls, carrying the sounds of sparring pairs grunting and laughing.

"You've all had enough sleep," Xaden called, his voice cutting across the morning air like a blade. "So let's find out who actually knows what to do with a dagger today."

Rhiannon let out a dramatic groan beside me. "Why does he say that like we haven't been stabbed multiple times already this month?"

"Maybe he's hoping someone else gets stabbed this time," Liam muttered with a grin.

Sawyer rolled his eyes. "Good thing I've been training with Violet. She makes sure I keep my reflexes sharp."

Violet elbowed him lightly. "And by 'training,' he means constantly dodging Tairns' tail swipes when he gets distracted."

I laughed, adjusting the grip on my training blades. Davina's voice curled through my thoughts like warm smoke. "Be mindful. Sawyer may be sweet, but you've seen him get a lucky shot in before."

"Relax," I replied internally. "We're just warming up."

Imogen clapped her hands once. "Pair off. Switch partners every round. First to land three clean hits or force a tap-out wins."

Ridoc was leaning casually against the side rail, twirling his dagger. His smile found mine in the crowd—easy, amused, and smug as ever. I narrowed my eyes. "Don't think you'll win just because you look good doing nothing."

"Sweetheart," he drawled, stepping closer, "I always win. Looking good's just a bonus."

"He's insufferable," Davina muttered. "But charming. Unfortunately."

"Unfortunately," I agreed.

Garrick called out first matchups and the sound of training swords clashing filled the air. I was paired with Liam first—strong, solid, but slower than I was. I managed to tag him twice before he forced me into a retreat, but I recovered with a swift pivot and tapped the inside of his knee with the flat of my blade.

"Maeve wins," Garrick called.

Liam gave me a mock scowl. "Ruthless."

"I learned from the best," I teased, nodding at Violet, who was currently locking arms with Bodhi in a rapid succession of feints.

Each round came with its own challenge. Imogen's speed nearly bested me. Sawyer's unpredictability made me laugh even as I dodged wild swings. But every time I glanced toward Ridoc, his eyes were already on me.

Xaden paced along the line of watchers, arms crossed. "Last round. Ridoc. Maeve. Let's see what the tension's been building toward."

A chorus of whoops and hollers echoed across the training grounds.

"Oh, this'll be fun," Rhiannon smirked.

Sawyer leaned toward Liam. "What are the odds they end up kissing or killing each other?"

"Both," Liam answered immediately.

I stepped into the ring. Ridoc followed with that slow, confident gait that made heat curl in my stomach.

We circled each other, eyes locked. "You ready?" I asked, twirling my blade.

He grinned. "Always."

The clash was immediate. He was faster than he looked, more calculated. He pushed forward with a low swing, and I blocked, parried, twisted out of reach.

"You've been practicing," he said, breathless already.

"Don't act surprised."

He caught my wrist with his free hand and leaned in. "I like when you're full of surprises."

I used the distraction to drop low, hook my leg behind his ankle, and bring him crashing down. The field erupted in laughter and groans.

He landed hard, breath knocked from his chest. I stood over him, blade at his throat.

"Tap out?" I asked sweetly.

He squinted up at me, then tapped the dirt. "You fight dirty."

"You love it," I replied, extending my hand to pull him up.

He took it—and tugged me forward instead, stealing a kiss before I could protest.

Xaden sighed loudly from across the ring. "This isn't a social club. Dismount each other somewhere else."

The others broke into laughter as I shoved Ridoc playfully away.

"I should be mad you made me lose," he muttered, brushing dirt off his back.

"You should be impressed I made you lose," I shot back.

As we walked off the sparring mat, Ridoc's hand brushed mine.

"You were incredible out there," he said, voice low.

I bumped his shoulder gently. "You weren't too bad yourself."

The sun was high now, casting golden lines across the stone as we rejoined the others. In this brief moment, hearts racing and sweat drying on our skin, everything felt right.

"Alright, let's see who bleeds first," Bodhi grinned, leaning forward like he was at some bloodsport match, which... to be fair, this kind of was.

Now, it wasn't every day we got to watch the two deadliest riders on the field go blade-to-blade—and in this case, the two most obviously in love.

"Please. Violet's gonna smoke him," Rhiannon said, arms crossed confidently over her chest. "She's got speed, strategy, and spite."

Liam tilted his head. "Don't underestimate Xaden. Guy's a wall of muscle and rage."

"Also, terrifying," Ridoc chimed in. "But, like, in a hot way."

Sawyer raised a brow. "You're calling Violet's boyfriend hot?"

"I said what I said," Ridoc replied with zero shame.

I laughed softly, my gaze drifting to the ring. Violet stood tall and still, her twin daggers glinting like silver fangs. Xaden was rolling his shoulders out, that calm, unreadable mask of his in place—but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. A tell.

"Begin," Garrick called out, stepping aside.

The moment his hand dropped, Violet was already moving. Quick like lightning—no hesitation. She went low, trying to strike from beneath his guard. Xaden blocked with brutal precision, catching her blade on his and twisting them apart with a surge of brute force.

"Oh damn," Rhiannon whispered. "He's playing the long game."

Violet pivoted fast, using the momentum to land a grazing hit across his ribs.

"There it is!" Liam cheered. "First blood!"

Sawyer leaned over to me. "This is better than any history lecture."

"Everything is better than any history lecture," I said.

Xaden narrowed his eyes, lips twitching. "You're getting predictable, Violence."

"Oh?" Violet said sweetly, ducking another hit. "Then maybe stop falling for the same feint."

She got him again—this time near the collarbone.

"That's two," Ridoc noted, smiling. "He's holding back."

"He's definitely holding back," I muttered.

"Should've known you'd let her stab you just to keep the peace," Imogen added dryly from the other side of the circle.

Xaden scoffed. "Peace isn't on the table."

He went on the offensive, moving like a shadow—his attacks fast, but not reckless. Violet met him step for step, breath steady, blades singing. Sparks flew as metal struck metal, and the entire group had gone still. Even Garrick wasn't trying to coach. We all just watched, completely transfixed.

She feinted left, but Xaden knew her rhythm. He anticipated it and caught her wrist mid-strike, twisting it just enough to disarm one blade. But as it clattered to the ground, she flipped the other blade in her hand and used the momentum to drive the hilt into his ribs—again.

Sawyer gasped. "She's up three."

"She's gonna win," Rhiannon whispered, stunned.

"No," Ridoc said with a slow grin. "Watch his stance. He's not done."

Sure enough, Xaden shifted. His expression hardened—not anger, but resolve. In a blink, he turned the tables. One fluid motion and Violet was suddenly on her back, both blades kicked away, his own dagger resting lightly against her collarbone.

Silence.

Then Violet grinned, breathless. "Took you long enough."

Xaden offered his hand. "Didn't want to bruise your pride."

She took it, and he pulled her up in one swift motion. For a moment, their eyes locked and I swear the tension between them could've split stone.

"Okay, that was hot," Sawyer said.

Ridoc groaned. "Now you agree?"

Davina's voice slid into my thoughts again. "If Ridoc ever looked at you like that, you'd melt through the ground."

"He does sometimes," I admitted silently. "That's the problem."

"Alright, show's over," Imogen barked, breaking the spell. "Break off for a few."

We were still laughing as we moved off the sparring ring, but I couldn't help glancing at Ridoc. He caught me looking and winked.

My chest fluttered. Yeah, I thought. Trouble.

The group had mostly scattered—some toward the armory, others still hanging around and bantering—but Ridoc and I lingered behind, walking the edge of the room where the ground was kicked up with boot prints and scuffs of old fights.

He bumped his shoulder into mine gently. "You're quiet."

"Just thinking," I replied, watching a breeze ruffle the grass. "That spar... it was intense."

"Vi and Xaden?" he asked, smirking. "Yeah. She nearly took his head off. You looked like you enjoyed watching them go at it."

"Everyone did," I laughed softly. "But it wasn't just the fight."

He glanced sideways at me, curious.

"It's the way they... know each other. Like even when they're going for the throat, they're still tethered."

Ridoc didn't say anything right away, just stared out across the field. I could feel his mind working. I didn't push.

After a beat, he said, "That kind of connection isn't built in a day."

My brows lifted slightly. "Think we're building it?"

He looked at me then. Fully. No smirk, no deflection. Just him.

"I think I'd walk into any fight with you," he said. "Even if we're not on the same side of it yet."

My breath caught. He didn't say it like a joke. He said it like a vow.

Davina stirred in the back of my mind. "There it is again. That boy loves you more than he knows what to do with."

"Then why doesn't he say it? " I asked her, the ache quiet but sharp.

Ridoc's hand brushed mine as we walked. Not a full touch. Just a grazing of knuckles. Like asking if I'd still reach back.

I did.

And in that small, silent moment, with nothing but the weight of our thoughts and the ghost of someone else's love lingering in the air, I squeezed his hand.

He didn't say anything.

But he didn't let go either.

Chapter Text

We were all sprawled out across my room, limbs tangled and laughter hanging thick in the air like mist after rain. The tiny radio on my desk buzzed with some low, upbeat melody, barely audible over the banter. Ridoc was camped out in the corner—back against the wall, legs stretched out, looking like he owned the place. Which, to be fair, he usually did in every room he walked into.

And of course, his chaos-loving ass suggested we play Truth or Dare.

So here we were. Huddled into a loose circle on the floor, backs pressed to the walls, legs overlapping like lazy ivy. Rhiannon cracked her knuckles like it was a battlefield strategy meeting and locked eyes with everyone, one by one, before landing on Sawyer.

"Sawyer," she said sweetly, far too sweetly. "Truth or dare?"

Sawyer hesitated. Never a good sign. "Uh...dare."

Rhi's grin could've powered a small city. "Is there a girl at Basgiath you'd go after if you weren't being a total coward about it?"

A visible wince. Poor Sawyer.

"Yeah," he muttered, cheeks already flushed.

We all leaned forward like hungry vultures.

"Who is it?" Rhi pressed, voice singsong and merciless.

I already knew. I'd known for weeks. But I wasn't about to rat him out.

Sawyer's eyes flicked to the floor, then back up. "She's...in the Scribe Quadrant."

Ridoc perked up like someone had just handed him a flask. "Called it. Knew it. You all owe me a drink."

Rhi laughed. "We've been knowing."

"Jesinia?" Violet asked, feigning shock with a hand to her chest. "Sawyer, I didn't realize you had a death wish."

Sawyer narrowed his eyes at her. "You'll pay for that. Truth or dare, Sorrengail?"

"Truth," Violet answered without missing a beat.

Sawyer tilted his head. "Have you ever been in a relationship?"

Violet's expression softened, like she'd been asked something fragile. "Yeah. I have."

"Still in it?" Sawyer asked, quieter this time.

She shook her head. "Not anymore."

I smirked. "No, because she's tragically in love with Xaden Riorson."

Violet groaned. "I am not."

"Sure, sure," I teased. "Just like I'm not addicted to those little chocolate bites Halden keeps smuggling in somehow."

Violet shot me a glare that said, you are on thin ice, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Her turn now. She looked around, then locked eyes with me. Dammit.

"Truth or dare, Maeve?"

I hesitated. "Truth."

"How many times have you made out with Ridoc?"

Fucking hell.

I whipped my head to glare at her. "Really?"

Violet just shrugged innocently. "You picked truth."

I glanced at Ridoc. He raised a brow, amused. No help there. I looked up at the ceiling, sighed, then said, "I've honestly lost count."

The group exploded.

Rhiannon cackled. "Okay, what is going on with you two?"

"Alright, nope. We are not doing this," I said quickly, waving them off.

Ridoc chuckled low in his chest. "Leave her alone. She's embarrassed."

"You're not?" Rhi fired back.

Ridoc just smirked, that classic lopsided grin that meant nothing and everything. "We've always been like this. Why would I be embarrassed?"

Exactly. Why would he?

I changed the subject before someone could ask if I was in love with him.

"Alright, Ridoc," I said, voice overly chipper. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth," he said, stretching his arms behind his head.

I considered for a second. "Who was your first kiss?"

Simple. Harmless.

He smiled, but there was something guarded about it. "I'll never tell."

Groans all around.

"Oh, come on," Liam groaned. "What's the point of playing if you won't play?"

Ridoc shrugged. "That one's classified."

I narrowed my eyes. "You said truth. What's the deal?"

He looked at me, something flickering in his gaze. "I said I'm not answering that one, love."

I blinked. "Okay."

The game dissolved after that—eventually ending with Liam in his underwear doing push-ups while Rhi sported a questionable moustache drawn with eyeliner. Violet and Rhiannon collapsed on the bed, Sawyer and Liam stretched out on the floor by the window.

Ridoc and I claimed the space to the left, near the bookshelf.

Everyone else was drifting toward sleep, and still my brain was screaming. He called me love. Said it like it didn't mean a damn thing. But I'd felt the way his eyes lingered. Heard the hesitation.

And the first kiss thing? Why did that get too me so badly?

My back was to him, but sleep wasn't happening. So I rolled over slowly, cautiously, and found his eyes already on me. Of course they were.

"Why didn't you answer my question?" I whispered.

His face stayed still for a beat. "Didn't think it mattered."

"It's not about the kiss," I said quietly. "It's about the way you froze."

He sighed, barely audible. "It was a long time ago, Maeve. Doesn't mean anything now."

I searched his face. "You really don't remember it?"

His lips curved slightly. "Doesn't matter if I do. What matters is...that it's not the one I think about."

Oh.

I swallowed hard, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands. Or my heart.

"You say stuff like that," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, "and then act like this is all just—whatever. I don't get it."

His gaze softened. "Yeah. I know."

That made it worse, somehow.

I turned back over, blinking up at the ceiling like it might offer answers.

"Goodnight," I said.

There was a pause, a beat too long, like he wanted to say more.

"Goodnight, Maeve."

Not "love."

Just Maeve.

And that somehow felt worse.

The sunlight was already pouring through the crack in the curtains when I woke up. My brain felt like it was full of fuzz and static, the remnants of too much sugar and too many late-night thoughts. My eyes flicked around the room, and I froze when I saw only Rhiannon lying in the bed next to where I was on the floor, half-covered in the blankets with her hair wild and a soft snore slipping from her lips.

The space beside me was empty.

I couldn't even remember falling asleep, but the air between us felt thicker than it usually did in the mornings. Heavy with everything that had been left unsaid.

I got up as carefully as I could, trying not to disturb her. The room was quiet, just the hum of distant voices from outside, walking down the corridors.

I was heading to the bathroom when I noticed Rhi's eyes flutter open. She blinked, then sat up slowly, pushing her messy hair out of her face, her eyes locking on me with that knowing, too-observant gaze.

"Maeve," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. "You good?"

I stilled. "Yeah."

"No, you're not. Come here," she said, her tone soft but unrelenting.

I sighed and made my way back to her. She patted the empty space on the bed next to her and I climbed under the covers, feeling awkward in a way I hadn't felt in forever. The morning light cast a soft glow around the room, making everything feel...fragile.

Rhi shifted her position so she was sitting cross-legged, facing me. She studied my face like she was trying to decode the language of my soul.

"Alright. What happened last night?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. How was I supposed to explain all the stuff that had been sitting in the pit of my stomach for weeks? Ridoc. His words. The way his eyes seemed to soften whenever he looked at me. The way he said my name last night—Maeve, not love—like it meant something different than it ever had before. I hated that it felt like it mattered.

"I don't know," I muttered. "Everything's just...complicated with him."

"Complicated how?" Rhi asked, a little too sharp for early morning. She must've sensed something deeper than I was saying. The way she always did.

"He...he's acting like this is just whatever between us," I said, twisting my hands in the blanket. "But it's not just whatever. It's...too much. But then he says stuff like...it just—ugh."

I buried my face in my hands for a moment, frustrated with myself. What was I even trying to say? Everything felt like it was tangled up in my chest, a knot I couldn't unravel.

Rhiannon was quiet for a moment, letting me gather my thoughts. Then she spoke softly, her voice still carrying that sharp edge of wisdom.

"Maeve, you've got to stop overthinking it."

I looked at her, eyes wide. "How am I overthinking this?"

She shrugged. "You can't control how he feels. If he's being distant, maybe it's because he doesn't know how to deal with it either."

"You think so?" I asked, not sure what I was even hoping for—validation? A truth I wasn't sure I wanted to hear?

"Yeah," Rhi said, sounding so sure that I almost believed her. "I know Ridoc. He doesn't do the whole emotional vulnerability thing. But that doesn't mean he doesn't care. It just means he's scared, Maeve."

"Scared?" I repeated, blinking at her. "Scared of what?"

"Scared of you. Of how much he might actually need you. And he's terrified of how that could screw things up." She met my eyes, and I couldn't look away. "He's afraid of getting too close. Afraid of what happens if he lets himself care too much."

I let her words settle over me, like a weight I hadn't realised I'd been carrying. My chest tightened, and I thought back to the way Ridoc's eyes had softened when I called him out on his first kiss. How his smile had almost looked apologetic when he said it didn't matter. Maybe, deep down, he was already bracing for something he couldn't control.

"But what if he doesn't want this?" I whispered. "What if I'm reading it all wrong? What if...what if I'm the one who wants something that isn't there?"

Rhi raised an eyebrow and poked me in the arm. "Girl, we both know better than that. Ridoc's been looking at you like you're the last piece of food in a desert. He's in love with you. But he's scared shitless to admit it because he's worried you won't feel the same. Or worse, that you'll get hurt. And if he lets himself fall too far, it'll destroy him if anything goes wrong."

"Why can't he just say that, though?" I asked, the frustration bubbling up again. "Why can't he just tell me?"

"Because he's Ridoc, Maeve," Rhi said, exasperated. "The boy doesn't do feelings. He does fire and chaos and running headfirst into everything, and God help anyone who gets in his way."

I couldn't help but laugh. Rhi was so right. She always had a way of putting things in perspective.

"Thanks for the reality check," I said, managing a smile.

Rhi returned it with a grin. "Anytime. But seriously... stop torturing yourself. Ridoc's a mess. But so are you. And that's why you two fit."

"Great," I muttered. "Two messes, sitting in a room, waiting to combust."

"Exactly," she said with a wink. "But maybe that's the kind of love that works. The messy kind."

"Yeah," I whispered, my voice trembling just a little. "Maybe."

Rhiannon smiled and reached over, pulling me into a hug. "Just make sure you don't let him push you away. You deserve the truth, Maeve. And he deserves to hear it from you too."

I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of her words soak in, knowing I'd have to have that conversation with Ridoc soon. Whether I was ready for it or not.

Chapter Text

The lecture hall buzzed with energy as we filtered in, boots dragging, sleep-deprived eyes blinking under the soft hum of mage-lights. I took my usual seat between Rhiannon and Ridoc, slouching with a dramatic sigh. Across the aisle, Violet flipped open her notebook with precision only she could maintain on six hours of sleep and two hours of sparring.

"Battle Brief should come with rations," Sawyer muttered, dropping into the row ahead of me. "I'm wasting away."

"You had three pastries at breakfast," Liam replied, leaning around to look at him. "Pretty sure Xaden still wants to interrogate you about where they went."

"They were sacrifices to the cause," Sawyer said solemnly.

"You are the cause," Rhiannon quipped.

Before I could chime in, the doors slammed shut with a loud clang and every spine in the room straightened instinctively.

Professor Devera stormed in, her sharp eyes already sweeping across us like she could spot our thoughts before we even dared to form them.

"Today's scenario is pulled from a real battle, three years ago," she barked. "A defensive formation was ambushed on the northern border after a failed scouting attempt. Two squads lost. The third managed to escape with only one casualty. You're going to tell me what went wrong and what you would've done differently."

She waved her hand, and the image of the battle bloomed across the wall—arrows raining down over a ridge, a squad caught in a narrow pass, dragon fire lighting up the fog.

I leaned forward. "They were funneled."

"Exactly," Violet said, nodding beside me. "The cliffs on either side made it a kill box. There's no air support visible, either."

"Scouts must've misread the terrain," Rhiannon added. "Or underestimated enemy presence."

"They ignored elevation advantage," Liam spoke up. "Those archers were already in place. They were waiting. The squad went in blind."

"Classic trap," Ridoc muttered. "And not the fun kind."

I glanced sideways at him, amused. "There's a fun kind of trap?"

"For me? Absolutely," he said with a smirk. "But not when you're surrounded and outnumbered with zero line of sight."

Professor Devera toward Ridoc. "Since you're so well-versed in traps, what would you have done instead, Cadet Gamlyn?"

He straightened slightly, all casual arrogance gone. "If I were leading that squad, I would've sent two flyers up the moment the fog started closing in. No air support means no sightlines. If you don't know what you're walking into, you're already dead."

"Interesting," she said. "Maeve, counter that."

I blinked. "Me?"

She nodded once. "You're on recon. How do you adjust if the flyers don't return?"

I took a breath. "If the flyers go dark, it confirms what we're afraid of—ambush. You don't press forward. You stop, send a relay message to the rear squad, and reroute. Split the formation and reposition where they have cover and space to manouver. Live to fight back instead of charging in blind."

Professor Devera's eyes flicked up to me. "Smart. Risky. You'd be moving blind either way."

Time seemed to drag on for the rest of the lesson and after a long enough lecture, it was time to leave.

The doors to the lecture hall creaked open as we filed out into the late afternoon light, the sun dipping low enough to scatter gold across the courtyard stones.

"I still think you were a little harsh on Devera when she brought up the failed flank," Sawyer was saying ahead of us, hands gesturing wildly as usual.

Liam snorted. "I wasn't harsh. I was honest. They boxed themselves in. If your first move is to panic, you're already halfway to dead."

"Well, not all of us are forged from the womb of military perfection," Sawyer replied, mock-offended.

"Clearly," Rhiannon said, biting into a green apple she must have swiped from the mess.

I smiled, keeping pace just behind with Ridoc beside me, close enough that his knuckles brushed mine every few steps. His hand eventually found mine like it was muscle memory.

"You handled that question well," he murmured, voice low so only I could hear. "That whole rerouting strategy—clean. Smart."

I shrugged lightly, not hiding the grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. "You sounded pretty convincing yourself, Mister Not-the-fun-kind-of-trap."

He chuckled under his breath. "What can I say? I have range."

"Oh yeah?" I bumped his arm. "Show me your 'range' in flight training next time instead of barrel rolling straight into my left side."

"That was a strategic adjustment," he replied smoothly, eyes crinkling. "I was testing your reaction time."

"I nearly swallowed my tongue."

He lifted our linked hands to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to the back of mine. "Worked, didn't it?"

I didn't have a comeback for that. I just rolled my eyes and tried to fight the heat rising in my cheeks.

"You are disgusting," Davina piped up in my head, her voice full of dry amusement. "Can you please keep the sap to a minimum while I digest what little pride I have left?"

"You love it."

"I endure it."

"Your dragon giving you grief again?" Ridoc asked, clearly catching the flicker in my expression.

"She thinks I'm embarrassing," I said.

"She's not wrong," he teased.

I gave his shoulder a gentle shove, but my smile lingered.

Ahead of us, Rhiannon had pivoted mid-stride, walking backward now as she shot us both a knowing look. "You two good back there or do you need the rest of us to give you a dramatic slow clap?"

"You could," I said sweetly. "Or you could trip and fall backwards into the fountain."

"Tempting fate, Maeve," she warned, wagging her finger at me.

Sawyer chimed in without looking back. "I'd like to formally request any public displays of affection be kept to a minimum unless I'm allowed to document them for blackmail purposes."

"No one wants your running commentary," Violet called over her shoulder, already veering toward the library steps.

"I do," Liam said with a smirk. "Keeps things lively."

"Lively is one word," I muttered.

"You love them," Ridoc said quietly, squeezing my hand once.

I glanced over at him. His expression had softened, his usual mischief still in his eyes, but quieter now—quieter in a way that made my chest ache a little. It was always like this when we weren't surrounded. When things slowed down.

"I love you," I whispered.

He paused mid-step, and my stomach flipped at the look that passed through his gaze—like I'd caught him off guard, like he hadn't expected me to say it so plainly, even though we'd danced around it for weeks now.

But then, Ridoc being Ridoc, his lips curved into that crooked grin I knew too well.

"Took you long enough."

I elbowed him. "Shut up."

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my temple, murmuring against my hair, "Not a chance."

We caught up with the others a few seconds later, but I stayed pressed close to his side, fingers still tangled in his. I had no idea that this kind of calm, this kind of closeness, would soon be followed by the silence of two people learning how to hurt each other.

But for now—this moment was enough.

The moonlight made the rooftops look like something out of a dream—silver light washing over the stone, the sky so full of stars it felt like the world was holding its breath. I sat cross-legged on the ledge, legs swinging into the night air, while Ridoc lounged beside me, leaning back on his elbows like he had nothing in the world to worry about.

We managed to sneak our way out of our rooms and were sat peacefully on a ledge that overlooked the courtyard.

"You're going to fall," I told him, nudging his knee with mine.

"I'm more likely to die from your dismount practice than gravity," he said with a grin.

I snorted. "Fair. Davina nearly dropped me last week for arguing mid-air."

"You were being insufferable," Davina chimed in dryly. "I warned you."

"You always take her side," I muttered aloud.

Ridoc chuckled, his voice low and warm. "She has taste."

I rolled my eyes, but the smile stayed. "How generous of you to say so."

We sat in easy silence for a while, watching the dragons gliding over the cliffs beyond the courtyard. Aotrom dipped low, brown wings catching the light as he circled once, then veered back toward the fields. Ridoc followed his dragon with his eyes, then looked over at me. Something shifted in his face—just slightly.

"You ever think about what comes after all of this?" he asked, voice too casual.

I tilted my head. "After Basgiath?"

He nodded. "After the war. After... whatever this all becomes."

"Sometimes," I admitted. "But I don't let myself get too far with it. Feels dangerous."

"Why?"

I hesitated. "Because when you let yourself dream about the future, you start believing you'll survive long enough to have it."

That sobered him.

His gaze dropped to the space between us, and his fingers drummed softly against the stone. "Maybe you should."

I looked at him then—really looked. "Do you?"

"Sometimes," he said, eyes flicking up to meet mine. "When I'm with you."

The words were soft, almost unsure. It was unlike him. It made my chest tighten.

I reached over and placed my hand lightly over his. "Ridoc..."

But he pulled back—just a little. Just enough that I felt the shift, sharp and sudden.

"What?" I asked, tension creeping into my voice.

"Nothing," he said quickly. Too quickly.

"Don't do that. Don't shut down just because it got a little real."

"I'm not shutting down," he snapped.

"Then talk to me."

He pushed off the ledge, pacing a few steps, hands running through his hair. "Gods, Maeve. Not everything has to turn into some... deep conversation."

I stood too, heart pounding. "I wasn't trying to make it deep. You brought it up."

"Yeah, and clearly I shouldn't have."

That stung. "Why? Because I responded honestly? Because I actually care what happens to us?"

He flinched like I'd struck him. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" I demanded. "You're the one who pulls away the second I try to understand what's going on in your head."

"Maybe there's nothing in there worth digging into," he said, biting the words out.

I stared at him. "You don't believe that."

He looked away. "Doesn't matter."

"He is protecting his fear, not your feelings," Davina said quietly in my mind.

I swallowed hard. "It matters to me."

He didn't respond.

"Do you even want this?" I asked, voice barely above a whisper.

That made him freeze. His jaw clenched. "Don't ask me that."

"Why not?" My voice cracked. "Because I might not like the answer?"

"Because I might not know the answer," he said, quiet and fierce. "I'm trying, Maeve. But I don't know how to do this when every time I look at you I think about what it would do to me if I lost you."

My heart twisted. "Then tell me that. Don't push me away because you're scared."

He shook his head. "I never asked for this."

I stepped back, something cold crawling up my spine. "Well, neither did I. But we have it. Or at least... I thought we did."

Ridoc didn't say anything.

I waited.

Nothing.

"I told you I loved you, Ridoc," I said quietly, the words slipping out before I could stop them. They didn't come out as a weapon, but they sure as hell landed like one.

His head snapped toward me, jaw tightening. "Yeah, I remember."

That stung. Not just the words, but the way he said them—like remembering it was some kind of burden.

"I didn't say it just to fill the silence."

"I never said you did," he muttered, turning away slightly, as if looking at me made it worse. Or maybe I was just making that up to hurt myself further.

"I meant it," I said, voice cracking under the weight of it. "I said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. And you—"

He exhaled sharply, almost bitterly. "And I what, Maeve? Didn't say it back fast enough? Didn't perform it the right way for you?"

"That's not what I'm saying," I snapped. "But gods, I don't know what you want from me. You pull away every time we get close, like I'm some kind of threat you haven't figured out how to neutralise."

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, with a voice rougher than I'd heard from him in a long time, he muttered, "You have no idea what I'm trying to protect."

"Then tell me," I begged, stepping closer. "Let me in. I'm not just some girl you flirt with between sparring matches, Ridoc. I'm in this. I chose you."

Silence stretched between us like a blade drawn too tight.

Say something. I begged him in my head, hoping he'd hear it even if I didn't speak it aloud.

"He won't," Davina's voice came through softly.

And I knew she was right.

I let the silence stretch a few seconds longer before I turned away, throat burning.

"Forget it," I said. "Goodnight."

Chapter Text

The admin building is a tense hive of energy, thick with the scent of ink, parchment, and too many bodies trying to mask fear with professionalism.

I'd volunteered to attend a trial run for the mission to find the seventh breed of dragon. Andarna's breed. Violet has been running it by me all morning, worried but also sort of happy that she didn't even have to ask. Which she never has. I told her I had her back.

Captain Grady glances down at the table, clearly irritated. "Everyone here has been chosen for this mission because I trust them. Make your introductions if you haven't," he orders, voice clipped. Surrounding me are a bunch of people that I've definitely seen from time to time but also haven't enough to recognise their faces immediately.

To his right, a woman with insanely accurate strawberry-blonde hair straightens. "Captain Henson. Air wielder."

Ohhh right. I thought I recognised her.

"Lieutenant Pugh," the next man says, narrowing pale blue eyes. "Farsight."

"Lieutenant Foley." The man with a deep tan and heavy shoulders offers a nod. "Agrarian."

"Cadet Beinhaven." Aura lifts her chin. "Fire wielder."

Great.

"Lieutenant Winshire." Anna smiles lightly. "Infantry liaison."

"Lieutenant Riorson," Xaden replies with the flatness of someone who's been here too many times. Violet glances up at Xaden. I catch the softness in her expression, and some deep part of me clenches.

I lift my head next. "Cadet Blackwood. Fire wielder."

Captain Grady wastes no time. "We cross the border at Samara. Stay low until you reach the Esbens. Then move fast. Any hesitation, any deviation, and you won't make it out. Understood?"

We nod.

I catch Violet's eye once more before making my way out of the room to pack a few extra things. There's an understanding between us. Only one that we would ever know of.

Four nights later, our riot of eight — now including Mira — crosses into the Esbens under cover of darkness.

The moment we breach the ward line, my skin prickles. Magic slips free of its cage, rushing like a storm tide in every direction. I feel it singing through me, heat flickering just beneath the surface.

Davina hums in the back of my mind. "It wants to burn. Let it."

"Not yet, you psycho." I tell her.

We split up at the edge of a silent village. The kind of quiet that suggests abandonment... or a trap. The officers disappear into the creaky house at the village centre. I watch from the shadows, Violet and Aura stationed in the middle of the street, unease building. I decide to take up an abandoned building to start my own search. 

The door creaks louder than I'd like as I slip into the narrow building on the edge of the street, the wood groaning in protest like it remembers what it once was—a bakery, maybe, judging by the cracked remains of a counter and the rusted pans stacked in the corner.

My boots leave faint imprints in the layer of dust coating the floor.

No signs of life. No sounds but the distant muttering wind slipping through the half-broken shutters.

I sweep the space anyway—careful, methodical. My fingers trail over empty crates, a collapsed table, and an old cloak still hanging by the door, untouched by time in a way that feels wrong. Staged. Like someone left in a hurry but expected to come back.

But they never did.

"Davina?" I murmur. Her presence is a flicker in the back of my mind. Still quiet. Still holding back.

"Nothing here," I think toward her anyway.

I step to the window and tug aside the mould-stiffened curtain. The glass is cracked and dust-blurred, but I can still make out Violet standing in the middle of the dirt road with Aura, their silhouettes sharp in the haze of approaching dusk. The other officers disappeared into the large structure at the centre of the village, swallowed whole by the shadows curling at the windows.

Then the sky above them begins to shift.

It starts with a single cloud pulling apart at its centre, strands thinning like torn silk. Then another. And another. Fractures spiderweb across the once-solid grey above us. Not natural.

The wind sharpens. Not a breeze—something colder. Like breath on the back of my neck.

I step back from the window, pulse kicking.

"Violet," I whisper to myself. The hairs on my arms stand.

Outside, Aura lifts her head sharply. Violet's hand goes to the dagger at her thigh. But she retreats, like she's suddenly realised what the cause of this was.

I press two fingers to the bond, reaching for Davina.

"I think something's coming."

Rumblings echo from the house. I take no chances and immediately make my way for the front door. Violet's outside, talking to Aura.

I see her body tense. "South," she says firmly.

Aura doesn't budge.

Then it happens.

"Don't!" Violet yells, but she's too late. Fire bursts from Aura's palm, shooting across the threshold and lighting the night.

I don't think. I just move.

We hit the ground hard, the blast scorching the side of my face as I shield us both. Heat and ash flood the air.

Davina snarls in my mind. "She lost control."

I agree, but there's no time for blame.

The flames trace all over, hitting the building that I saw Captain Grady walk into. Shit.

He stumbles from the doorway, ablaze. Screaming.

"No!" Aura screams, scrambling toward him as flames eat through his uniform.

"Xaden!" Violet yells, then to Aura, "Jacket! Take it off!"

They smother the flames with cloth, but the damage is done. The stench of burnt leather and charred flesh hits me like a wave. I try to think, try to stay rational. But my feet are stuck to the ground and all I can see is what's left of Captain Grady.

Suddenly, there's a shift in the weight that lingers over us. Smoke billows from the house, but that's not the only threat.

A wyvern screech splits the air.

Fuck.

The creature dives.

I see it too late.

Its talons curl through the air, slicing through Aura's back like paper. The sound splits the air — that scream. Not Violet's. Aura's.

I see her crumple mid-flight, snatched like a rag doll. Her scream is short-lived. Blood paints the cobblestones as the beast lifts her into the air, limp and broken.

Davina roars overhead, a sound that cracks the heavens themselves. Another dragon answers—a thunderous challenge that reverberates through the village stones.

My lungs burn, not from smoke but from the horror.

Everything snaps into motion.

"Form up!" Xaden's voice rings out from the centre of the village, deadly calm in a way that only war-hardened riders can manage. His shadows writhe at his heels, already spilling toward the threat.

"On me!" Violet bellows. Her daggers are already out, glinting with that silvery shimmer of pure energy. But her eyes—her soul—are locked on the spot where Aura's body disappeared into the sky.

I sprint from the ruined building, boots hammering the cobblestones. My gut churns. Grief later. Fight now.

The wyvern dives again.

It's faster than I remember. Too fast.

"Davina—NOW!"

She spirals lower, exhaling a blast of fire that streaks over my head and toward the descending monster. It misses, scorching a rooftop instead, tile and timber exploding into flame.

Move.

I throw my arm forward, summoning everything. My fire rips from my core with a crack that scorches my throat. A stream of molten heat arcs toward the wyvern, illuminating the square in blinding orange—

But the bastard tucks its wings and barrels into a roll midair, ducking under it.

"Shit!" I curse, stumbling back.

The creature's eyes meet mine as it passes—intelligent. Calculating.

It veers again. But not to attack.

It climbs.

"It's retreating!" Anna shouts from a rooftop, her bow drawn, eyes wide with disbelief.

I see Violet ready herself to strike, but Xaden stops her. Why?

The wyvern flaps once, twice, and is gone. Swallowed by the clouds fracturing above us.

We're left panting, bloodied, staring into sky.

The silence that follows is different.

Not waiting.

Davina lands hard beside me, claws digging into earth, smoke curling from her nostrils. Her eyes burn with the same fury flooding my veins.

I turn to see Xaden bunching everyone together in the centre again—this time, their dragons ready to take off. Violet follows shortly,

The name hits me through Violet's lips: "Theophanie."

Xaden goes rigid beside her. "She knew we'd be here."

And suddenly, this mission is no longer just about scouting or defence.

It's a trap.

And we walked straight into it.

Chapter Text

Carved into a northern ridge line just west of the Infantry Quadrant, the half-dome arena is more fighting pit than lecture hall. It's all stone and scorch marks and stubborn echoes. Capable of seating every cadet in the infantry program, but this afternoon the magically warmed space only holds our squad—and the weight of unspoken things.

I lean against one of the outer pillars, arms crossed, watching steam curl off the jagged cracks in the stone where fire met ice only minutes ago. My boots shift in the gravel, the heat in my core flickering like a warning I don't want to read.

Ridoc stands across the arena, speaking to Liam about the last drill. He's smiling—just barely—but it doesn't reach his eyes. It hasn't for weeks.

And it still cuts.

"You okay?" Rhiannon's voice breaks gently into my thoughts, and I glance over to find her watching me, brows knit.

"Yeah," I lie.

She doesn't believe me, but she nods and walks off anyway, heading toward Violet and Sawyer near the training crates.

Ridoc hasn't spoken to me since the fight before the trial mission. He left my room without so much as a look back, taking the cold with him and leaving behind a bed that still smells like cedar and frost. I told myself I wouldn't push. That if he wanted to talk, he would.

But gods, I miss him. And I hate that I do.

He catches my eye briefly across the arena. Just a glance. Nothing held, nothing said. It's the kind of look that feels like a memory you can't touch.

Xaden raises his hand and the chatter dies. "Signet training. This is new, but you're all ready for it. You need to start enhancing your signet skills in terms of battle. Pairs."

A flick of his wrist and violet runes shimmer in the air above us, pairing us off with the ease of someone who knows exactly what tension he's throwing into the pit.

"...Liam and Imogen."

"Violet and Sawyer."

"Maeve and Ridoc."

Of course.

I don't argue. I square my shoulders, tamp down the heat building in my chest, and walk toward the centre of the arena. He meets me halfway, jaw tight, expression unreadable.

"Hi," I offer.

He nods. "You ready?"

That's it. No apology. No mention of the storm we left between us last night. Just mission mode. Just training. Just ice.

"I'm always ready," I mutter.

I keep my distance and shove all the emotions I have lingering down. Far down. We dance around any immense damage for a little while, only producing a slice of what we have. Like we're both holding back.

He steps back, summons frost with a twist of his fingers. "You're not holding long enough between blasts. Focus on sustaining."

"I was sustaining," I snap before I can stop myself.

He doesn't flinch. "Then do it again. Longer this time."

The fire in me surges as I throw out a stream of flame. The two elements meet midair, clashing with a hiss loud enough to silence every other noise in my head. I push harder, flame widening, brightening. He pushes back. Harder.

Too hard.

My control slips.

The stream flickers, sputters, and dies in a puff of smoke. I stumble, chest heaving.

Ridoc lowers his hands. "You're rushing it. You need to stop feeling and start thinking."

"Don't coach me like I'm some reckless first-year," I bite out. "You don't get to talk to me like that and then pretend everything's fine."

His brows furrow, caught off guard. "I thought—"

"You thought wrong."

I step back, throat tight. The others are watching now. Violet and Liam glance toward us, then quickly away. I ignore them.

"Maeve—"

"I'm done." I turn on my heel and stalk toward the edge of the arena, shoulders stiff, flames licking at my palms as Davina growls softly in my mind.

"Where are you going?"

I don't look back, even though every part of me wants to. Even though I can feel Ridoc's gaze on my back like frostbite.

I make it to the shadow of the outer arch and lean against the stone, sucking in a breath.

One of these days, we're going to set fire to everything we love just trying to feel close to each other again.

The chill of the ridgeline air slices through the magically warmed dome as I step outside, but I welcome it—need it, even. The fire in my chest is too loud, too raw. I plant my hands on the cold stone railing just past the archway and let the burn settle into my palms. The sting grounds me.

Davina is quiet in my mind, but I can feel her pacing somewhere in the back of my thoughts—watchful. Waiting. Not pushing.

"Thank you," I think.

She doesn't answer, but the warmth in my chest flares gently in return.

"Maeve?"

I flinch before the voice even finishes saying my name.

I don't need to turn to know who it is. Violet.

Of course she followed me.

She steps up beside me quietly, like she's approaching a spooked animal. Her hair's damp with sweat from the earlier drills, cheeks pink from the sudden cold, and there's a crease between her brows that tells me she's trying very hard not to pry.

"I wasn't... I wasn't going to say anything," she starts carefully. "But what the hell just happened back there?"

I press my lips together and shake my head, still staring out at the cloudy sky.

"I've never seen you like that," she adds, softer now. "You're usually the calm one. The one who breathes through the fire instead of letting it burn everything down."

"I am breathing," I mutter. "I'm just breathing through smoke."

She stays quiet for a moment. A breeze whips her braid sideways.

"You and Ridoc," she says finally. Not a question. Just a name that tastes too much like a wound.

I let the silence answer for me.

"We had a fight," I say after a while, voice low. "Before the trial mission. He's been... pulling away. And I can't keep being the one who reaches across the space between us. Not when he won't even meet me halfway."

Violet exhales slowly beside me. "He looked surprised when you snapped."

"Yeah, well," I say bitterly, "he hasn't been paying attention."

"I think he has," she murmurs, then corrects herself. "Maybe just not the way you need him too."

That digs deeper than I expect.

I rest my forehead against my forearm, knuckles pressed white against the stone. "I hate that he still matters this much."

"That's not a bad thing, Maeve."

"It feels like one."

She doesn't say anything for a while. Doesn't push, doesn't probe. Just leans next to me, shoulder brushing mine gently.

Then, finally, she says, "You know... when Brennan went missing, I didn't let myself feel anything. I told myself not to fall apart because there was no point breaking over someone who might already be gone. But it still broke me, slowly."

I glance at her.

She gives me a tired, small smile. "Let yourself break a little. You don't have to be all fire and steel every second."

I close my eyes. Her words settle into something I've been trying to bury.

"Thanks," I whisper. "I mean it."

Violet shrugs, then reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small healing salve jar, pressing it into my palm. "You burned yourself during the last round. Don't be dramatic—just take it."

A weak laugh escapes me. "Yes, Cadet Sorrengail."

She grins.

"Ready to go back in?" she asks after a beat.

I glance toward the door, toward the heat still radiating inside. Ridoc is in there. So is my pride.

"No," I admit. "But I will be."

Chapter Text

The war room hummed with quiet tension. Strategically placed maps of the Isles were spread across the long table, flanked by annotated reports and the occasional scrape of boots against stone. Maps and scribbled notes covered the long table, illuminated by floating orbs of violet light. At the head, Xaden stood with arms crossed, gaze sharp. His eyes swept over the group with the kind of intensity that made your spine straighten whether you wanted it to or not.

"We leave in two days. First light," he announced. "Teams of three. Minimal supplies. Stealth is key."

I leaned back against the cool stone wall, arms crossed, doing my best to ignore how close Ridoc stood next to me. He hadn't looked my way once since walking in. Figures.

Violet stood just to his left, fingers trailing over a marked map. "Unnbriel is the best lead. After Deverelli. "

Davina stirred in my mind like a cat stretching after a nap.

"Why are you freaking out?."

"I'm not freaking out."

"You're breathing like you're waiting to be stabbed. What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," I lied.

"You forget I can feel your soul. Try again."

I clenched my jaw and refocused on the discussion.

Violet pointed at one of the smaller isles with a thin finger. "If anyone knows anything about the Irids, it's there."

"Then that's where we'll go," Xaden confirmed. "We'll start there for allies too."

"I want to go," I said, stepping forward before my nerves could override my mouth.

Rhiannon looked up, brows furrowing.

Violet's gaze cut to me sharply. Ridoc looked over, finally, his mouth parting as if he had something to say—but then he clamped it shut. Typical.

Sawyer sat forward. "You sure, Maeve? It's uncharted territory. If something goes wrong—"

"Then we deal with it," I said. "You need more than strength out there. You need someone who can assess. Who knows how to stay invisible. Something already is happening. If we want to be ahead of it, we need to know what we're dealing with."

"You also need someone with functioning dismount form," Davina chimed dryly in my mind.

"Not now, Davina."

Violet stepped forward, her expression softening. "You really want to do this?"

"Yes," I said without hesitating. "You need more than just brute strength. You need someone who's observant. Strategic."

Her eyes met mine. "You're right."

That was it. No drama, no objection. Just belief.

Xaden nodded once, slowly. "You're with us. Maeve, Violet, Ridoc, and me. Mira will fly backup. The other's will have to meet earlier so we don't wait longer than we need to."

And that was the end of the discussion. Pretty much everyone left except for the very few people I know to be my home. With the exception of Xaden. However, I do love Violet so I guess I can find room for him to be closer in my life as well. He's still scary though. And strangely closed off.

Sawyer groaned, slumping in his chair. "Great. Guess I'm going to be stress-vomiting for the next three days."

I laughed and walked over to him. I let my hand rest on his shoulder and gave a tight squeeze. "Try not too. Rhi hates cleaning it up."

Rhi sighed dramatically. "An unbelievable amount."

The air thickened, even after the attempt to lighten the mood. We all knew this could be a no-return trip. No matter how many times we do these things, the weight doesn't ever get lighter.

Liam, silent until now, finally spoke. "Promise me you'll fly smart."

"I promise," I said. No hesitation.

He gave me a long look. "Don't do anything reckless."

"Define reckless," I teased.

Rhi stepped into the conversation and pulled both Violet and I into an intense hug, holding us longer than necessary. "Come back with good information and no new scars."

"No promises."

She pulled away and didn't miss a beat before pulling Ridoc into a hug too. It looks like he needed it. I could see it in the way his shoulder's relaxed for the first time in a while and how he shut his eyes. He'll only ever do that when he knows he can't carry the weight he does for much longer.

Rhi sighs and pulls away from Ridoc. Her eyes darted to me. "Just don't be reckless, alright?"

"I'm not Ridoc."

That was apparently the wrong thing to say.

I didn't have to look to know Ridoc had stiffened beside me. I could feel the tension ripple through him.

"You done?" he asked quietly.

I didn't respond.

Later that night, I found myself on the flight field, the stars above glinting like distant promises. Davina perched beside me, her wings tucked in and her midnight-black scales shimmering under the moonlight.

"You're stalling."

"I'm thinking."

"You're brooding. He's brooding. It's like a brooding standoff. It's sickening and exhausting."

"Do you have a point?"

"Yes. Go talk to him. You're leaving at dawn, and unresolved tension is a terrible flying companion."

Gods. I should probably talk to him.

Footsteps behind me made my heart skip. I turned to find Ridoc standing a few feet away, his expression unreadable. Of course. It sickens me how alike we are.

"You always sneak up on people like that?" I asked.

"You always volunteer for suicide missions without talking to me first?" he shot back.

I blinked. "Excuse me? You're going on this mission too."

"I just..." he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't think you'd go. After what happened—between us."

I crossed my arms. "You mean the part where you shut down and wouldn't talk to me for days?"

"I didn't know what to say," he admitted. "Still don't."

"Well, you won't change my mind, Ridoc. And also, I did this for Violet. Not every decision I make is at the back of what you feel."

We stand in silence for a moment. The air is thick—not with tension, not exactly. Just... everything we've left unsaid. My fingers itch with the urge to reach for him, to bridge the space between us.

"You didn't say much this morning," I murmur, voice low. "Barely looked at me."

"Wasn't the time," he says, finally turning to meet my eyes.

"And now?"

He exhales, jaw tight. "Still doesn't feel like the time."

Gods, he's frustrating. "You keep doing that—pulling away every time..."

His mouth parts slightly, like he's going to argue, but nothing comes out. Instead, he glances back toward the sky, like the moving clouds will offer some kind of answer.

"Ridoc," I say, softer now. "I'm not asking you to be perfect. But you can't keep shutting me out. Not after... everything."

His jaw tightened. "I didn't mean to shut you out. I just—when things get real, I panic. I push people away."

"But that isn't fair Ridoc. I'm not people. I'm me," I said. "And you know exactly what that means."

He looked up, and finally—finally—his eyes met mine. "Yeah. I do."

Silence stretched between us, thick with everything unsaid.

"I don't want to lose you," he said at last. "Not in the air. Not on the ground. Not in a fight. Not in a stupid argument."

I took a step closer. "Then stop shutting me out."

"I'm trying."

"Try harder."

He gave a broken laugh, then reached for my hand.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "For being a dick the last few days. I just... panicked."

"You're allowed to panic. You're not allowed to push me away."

He chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "Noted."

I notice his shoulders relax, just barely, and it's only then I realise I'm breathing normally again. The tension that's been coiled tight in my chest unspools slowly, like my body had been holding its breath for the both of us.

Ridoc stands there for a moment, frozen in place like he's drifted too far into his own head. Like he's somewhere between running and breaking.

"Ridoc?" I say gently, not to startle him—just to pull him back.

His eyes flick to mine, and then—

"I love you too."

The words hit me with a quiet kind of force. Not earth-shattering. Not dramatic. Just true. So simple and so real it makes my heart ache.

I think I'm supposed to freeze. To be stunned. But I don't. I feel warm.

A soft smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, and before I can stop it, it's there—radiating through my whole body like sunlight cracking through the clouds.

"I meant to say it earlier," he adds, voice low, almost careful. "But I thought... I thought maybe it'd make you hate me more."

I let out a breath that's half a laugh, half a sigh, and full of something I've been holding for too long. Something that feels a lot like forgiveness.

"Ridoc," I say softly.

And his name—his name—melts off my tongue like it belongs there. Like it always has.

"I don't hate you. I could never hate you."

He doesn't speak right away. He just looks at me like I've handed him the one thing he never thought he'd be allowed to want again. And the way he looks at me—like I'm something gentle in a world that has never been kind to him—makes my throat tighten.

Ridoc lets out this shaky breath—like he's been holding it in for years, not minutes. Like he was bracing for rejection and it didn't come. His shoulders sag just a little more, and I can tell he looks... relieved. Not triumphant, not smug. Just human.

"I thought I'd ruined it," he says, voice barely above a whisper. "Back then. With us. I thought I'd lost every right to ever say it."

"You didn't ruin it," I say, my voice gentler then I mean it to be. "This is new to the both of us."

"I've like you for years," he says. "Then I finally had you and I couldn't ruin it. Not for a single second. I told myself that it was safer. That you would be safer. But the truth is... I couldn't stop loving you if I tried."

The air between us is so still I can hear the distant rustle of Davina's wings, even though she's nowhere in sight.

I step forward.

Just a little.

And then a little more.

And when I reach him, I don't say anything right away. I just lean my forehead against his, my hands resting lightly on the sides of his jacket.

His breath catches.

"You don't have to fix everything all at once," I whisper. "You don't have to carry it all alone. You never did."

"I didn't know how else to love you," he murmurs, eyes fluttering shut. "I thought I had to earn it. That if I just held enough pain, maybe I'd deserve you again someday."

I let out a quiet laugh, brushing a thumb over the edge of his cheekbone. "You're such an idiot."

His eyes open, and there's the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. "You always did say that with the most affection."

I nod, smiling now too. "Because I meant it."

We stand there like that for a while—just breathing the same air. Close but not desperate. Quiet but not heavy. And for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, it doesn't hurt.

There's still so much unsaid. So much to work through. But this? This moment is simple.

"You really liked me for that long?" I ask, my voice light but teasing, head tilted just slightly as I look up at him.

Ridoc swallows, and I feel the smallest shift as he brushes the tip of his nose against mine. It's so soft I almost miss it—almost. But the warmth blooming in his cheeks gives him away.

"Don't even start," he mutters, half a warning, half a plea, his voice gruff with embarrassment.

I grin, absolutely starting.

"Oh, I am starting," I say, leaning in a fraction closer. "You were pining. Admit it. Secretly tortured over me while I was—what? Tying my hair up? Eating an apple? Is that was got you going?"

"Maeve—" His groan is low and exasperated, but his arms don't loosen around me. If anything, they pull me tighter, like he's trying to bury his flustered face in my shoulder and escape the moment entirely.

"Oh my gods," I gasp dramatically, hand to my chest. "Did you fall for me when I beat you during that sparring match in second year? Be honest."

"Absolutely not."

"Liar."

He finally looks at me then, eyes glinting, mouth twitching like he's fighting back a smile. "Okay, maybe. Just a little. You were annoying and mean and so smug—"

"Smug?" I cut in, gasping again. "I'll have you know that was confidence."

He laughs—actually laughs—and it's low and genuine and him. "You're impossible."

"And yet," I say, smirking up at him, "here you are. In love with me."

He leans in again, resting his forehead against mine, smile soft now. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Here I am."

My heart squeezes, full and aching all at once.

"Can I just say—this emotional progress is shocking. I'm crying."

"You're not crying. Hush, Davina."

"No. This is my story now. I'm invested."

A beat passes. Then:

"You sure you want to do this? Come with us?"

I nod. "Yeah. I need to."

"I hate it."

"I know," I whisper. "But you'll be there too."

He looks at me then, really looks at me. "Yeah. I will."

Sawyer ran up, breathless. "Last chance to back out."

I hugged him instead.

Liam clapped Ridoc on the shoulder. "Keep her safe."

Ridoc nodded. "Always."

I climbed onto Davina's back.

We left at dawn, the wind sharp and cold across our wings. Violet led the way with Mira flying tight at her side, Xaden following like a shadow. I flanked Ridoc, Davina gliding powerfully beneath me. The Isles stretched on in the distance like forgotten secrets waiting to be unearthed. This would definitely be a long mission. And we were to start at Deverelli.

Ridoc mounted Aotrom beside me. He didn't say anything, but his eyes met mine for a moment.

There were still things Ridoc and I hadn't said. But for now, flying beside each other was enough.

Chapter Text

The sun blazed overhead as Davina descended toward Deverelli's pristine white beaches, her wings casting vast shadows over the turquoise waters. The isle's capital, Matyas, nestled among soft green hills, appeared serene, belying the tension that awaited us.

The second my boots hit the sand, my legs nearly gave out. I bit down on a hiss, pretending I'd meant to stumble that little bit—like the jolt from Davina's landing hadn't sent pain shooting up my spine.

My entire body ached from the ride. Hours gripping tight with my thighs, leaning into the wind, bracing against every shift of Davina's massive wings. I could feel the echo of her flight in my bones. The kind of ache that made you feel your age, no matter how young you were.

I reached up, brushing a hand along Davina's warm flank. We made it, I thought, expecting the low rumble of her voice to answer in my head like always.

But there was nothing.

Silence. Cold and complete.

I blinked and tried again. Davina?

Still nothing. Just the salty breeze and the creak of saddle leather as the others dismounted around me. The hollowness of her absence punched through my ribs like a sudden drop in altitude. It wasn't just that she didn't answer—it was like she wasn't there at all.

Panic clawed up my throat, fast and sharp, before I could shove it back down. I turned to look at her—solid, calm, watching me with those ember-glow eyes like always. She was right there. But not with me.

"Davina," I whispered aloud, quiet enough I hoped no one else noticed. "Can you hear me?"

Nothing.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ridoc standing beside Aotrom, lips moving as he spoke out loud. Mira too. Even Garrick had his brow furrowed, speaking to Chradh in an actual voice. I looked towards Cat. Same with Gryphons.

Realisation clicked.

This was what Xaden had warned us about. Deverelli—the magicless isle.

I forced my hand to drop from Davina's scales, curled it into a fist, and buried it in my coat pocket.

So this was what it felt like. The silence. The cut. Like someone had reached inside me and flipped off the part that made me whole.

The familiar disconnect settled in. Ridoc moved beside me, his usual jovial demeanour subdued.

"This is insane" he murmured, adjusting his gear.

I nodded, the weight of the silence pressing down. "We'll manage."

Violet approached, her expression determined. "Let's find King Courtlyn and get the information we need."

No one spoke, but there was definitely a shared agreement between us. Ridoc sighed, grinning over at Aotrom from across the area like an absolute weirdo. The sun caught on to a few strays of hair just behind his ear and it shone brighter than I've ever seen it. For sure.

He turned his head and moved his gaze to me, not even glancing at anyone or anywhere else before he did so.

Ridoc's grin softened, turned quiet around the edges. "It's like missing half of myself," he said. "The second it went quiet in here—" He tapped the side of his temple. "—I felt like I'd been hollowed out."

I didn't answer. I couldn't. Not without sounding like something might crack.

After a beat, he nudged my elbow with his.

"I know you're feeling it too. You just won't say it. You never do."

"That a problem?"

"No." He paused. "But I see it anyway."

Of course he does. His face was relaxed, but his eyes—his eyes were locked on mine like he didn't care about whatever came next, as long as I was still standing here.

I swallowed the lump in my throat before it could betray me.

"You always know what to say," I said quietly.

He shrugged. "No. I just know when to shut up and stay beside you."

I couldn't help but smile.

My mind was a little occupied though. I noticed Violet didn't seem as alarmed with this whole situation and wondered maybe if she didn't lose communication with Tairn or Andarna.

Inside the palace, opulence met us at every turn—marble floors, gilded walls, and tapestries depicting Deverelli's history. King Courtlyn awaited in the grand hall, his gaze sharp.

"Welcome," he said, voice smooth. "I trust your journey was uneventful."

"Straight to the point," Violet replied. "We're seeking knowledge about the seventh breed of dragon."

Courtlyn's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Knowledge comes at a price."

The negotiations were tense. Courtlyn demanded a relic from Anca in exchange for information. Reluctantly, we agreed, but upon returning from Anca with the relic, betrayal awaited. Courtlyn ordered our arrest, revealing his true intentions.

We should've known.

From the moment Courtlyn met us in Deverelli's council hall—surrounded by advisors cloaked in silk and false civility—I'd felt something off. Violet had seen it too; I caught it in the way her fingers drummed against her thigh. The silence between riders and dragons still hadn't lessened. And without Davina's presence in my mind, my instincts were muted, like trying to listen through water.

Courtlyn's demand had been clear: bring him the relic from Anca, and in exchange, he'd give us the information we needed—locations, whispers, movements of Venin crossing through unprotected borders. A list of names. A chance to find the seventh breed.

The smug asshole stood at the top of the hall's stone dais, the pendant already hanging from a thick chain around his neck. His smirk made my blood freeze.

"You thought I would simply give you our secrets?" he said, voice echoing far too loud. "Deverelli has survived centuries by withholding knowledge, not giving it to outsiders."

The guards closed in.

"Arrest them. Kill the dragons if they resist."

Fuck that.

Chaos broke loose.

I didn't remember drawing my blades—but they were in my hands before the first guard reached me. Steel met steel in a clash that reverberated up my arms. I ducked a spear, twisted, and drove my knee into the guard's ribs before slicing his thigh open.

Ridoc moved beside me like we were wired to the same pulse.

He caught a blade meant for my back with his own, spun, and shoved his opponent off-balance. I caught his eye—just for a second—and we moved.

We didn't need to speak.

We never had.

He dropped low, sweeping a leg under one of the guards just as I vaulted over him, blades flashing. The man went down with a grunt, and Ridoc finished the job with a well-placed strike.

Two more came at us from the left. I blocked the first, pivoted into the second, and drove my elbow into his nose with a satisfying crunch. I lifted my head up momentarily to make sure Ridoc was safe. He disarmed the next before slamming him against the stone column hard enough to shake dust loose.

"This romantic getaway turned fast," Ridoc muttered.

"I'm not hearing a complaint."

"Only that I didn't pack for treason."

I huffed a breath that could've been a laugh if I weren't currently slicing through another guard's shoulder. Blood sprayed across the marble floor.

A blast of magic lit the far side of the chamber—Cat, Mira, and Xaden holding the rest of the line. Violet was shouting something, but I couldn't hear it over the ringing in my ears.

What the fuck?

A flash of pain tore through my upper arm—shallow, but hot. Holy shit. I staggered, and before I could catch myself, Ridoc's arm came around my waist, steadying me. Just for a second.

I didn't thank him. I didn't need to.

He knew.

The hall was chaos, but we moved through it like a single, burning thing.

Until a horn sounded from the tower.

Reinforcements.

"Maeve!" Violet's voice cut through the noise. "Fall back! Ridoc, get to the courtyard!"

"Davina?" I called instinctively—but silence met me again. Nothing but that hollow space where her voice should be.

I clenched my jaw. Later. I would deal with that later.

"Go!" I shouted to Ridoc, already running toward the arched exit, slashing my way through the last two guards like my body remembered the movements even when my mind felt heavy and dull.

We burst into the courtyard just as Mira's dragon appeared over the edge of the cliff, wings slicing the sky.

"Now!" Violet called.

And we ran.

The relic had cost us more than blood and effort. It had cost us our footing. Our trust. Whatever Courtlyn's intentions had been, he had them now—and we were fugitives in a nation of silence.

"Still think this was a good idea?" I shouted over the clash of steel.

He grinned, eyes alight. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Despite the odds, we escaped, the relic secured. Courtlyn's duplicity only strengthened our resolve.

Chapter Text

We set up camp with one eye on the forest at all times.

Unnbriel is quiet.

The trees are too still for my liking, their silence more ominous than comforting. Trager and Cat came back with rabbits, and someone gets a fire going. Bedrolls are laid in a circle like a warding spell. Davina settles behind me, a low rumble in her chest as she watches the tree line. Opposite her, a pair of gryphons stand sentinel. Between dragons and gryphons, we are always surrounded.

I'm on first watch with Maren and Drake, two people I didn't actually know before I came on this mission. The latter surprises me—he's got a mouth almost as sharp as Ridoc's, all sarcasm and teeth. It's the first thing that's felt remotely familiar since we touched down on this strange isle.

Ridoc brushes against my arm as he passes, a flick of heat trailing behind him, even though it's his hands, not mine, that carry fire. He doesn't say anything, but I catch the soft look he gives me before heading to bedrolls. That look settles something anxious in my chest.

The stars are bright. Bright enough to make me wish we were anywhere else—somewhere warmer, somewhere safer. Somewhere Ridoc might reach for my hand instead of brushing by like we're only squadmates and not something more. Something we never named.

Hours pass in quiet unease. Eventually, second watch takes over—Xaden, Mira, and Garrick. I lie down beside Ridoc, the fire's glow casting soft gold over his features.

"Hey," he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear. His breath curls in the cool air between us.

"Hey," I whisper back, settling onto my side to face him.

Ridoc shifts closer, his hand finding mine. "Can't believe this is our life now. Camping out with gryphons and dragons, watching for enemy troops." He brushes his thumb across my knuckles. "Super romantic."

I huff a quiet laugh. "We've had worse dates."

"Speak for yourself. That time you dragged me into the infirmary to help stitch wounds for four hours was incredibly romantic."

"Oh, right," I tease, "because nothing says 'love' like blood and stitches."

"Exactly. Very 'us.'"

His smile softens, the sarcasm fading under something gentler. "But seriously. This is insane. And dangerous. And still... I'd pick this with you every time."

Something about the way he says it—quiet and certain—makes my chest tighten.

I swallow. "You scared?"

"Terrified," he admits without hesitation. "But not of what's ahead."

My brow furrows. "Then of what?"

"Of anything happening to you." He shifts again so we're only inches apart, forehead nearly brushing mine. "In Deverelli, it could've—"

"Ridoc."

He stops. I reach up, cupping his cheek.

"I'm right here. I'm okay. And I'm with you."

He leans into my hand, eyes closing for a second like he's grounding himself in the moment. When he opens them again, they shine in the firelight.

"I love you, Maeve."

I don't hesitate. "I love you." He doesn't blink, like he's incapable of taking one second to not look at me.

"Sleep," I tell him, even as I press my hand over his racing heart. "I've got you."

"Always," he murmurs, lips brushing my hair.

And in the middle of enemy territory, surrounded by dragons and gryphons and the distant edge of war, I fall asleep cradled in the safest place I know—his arms.

Peace never fucking lasts long. Wood crashes. I jerk awake, daggers instantly in my hands. Dain throws another log on the fire, but he's not alone. Soldiers. Too many of them. Five rise from our bedrolls, weapons already drawn. Others are moving around the perimeter. We're surrounded.

"What the fuck," Ridoc mutters beside me as we fall into line behind Violet. He's standing in front of me like a shield, where he always seems to end up when things go sideways. Our dragons and their gryphons emerge from the shadows, a low growl building behind Davina's throat. I catch her eye and notice that she was already looking at me.

Violet stands in front, calm in that terrifying way she's perfected. Her voice is low. "Two companies in the hills," she murmurs, almost too quiet to catch.

The opposing soldiers are eerie. Uniform in size, build, expression—clones in leathers, with matching emblems on their chests. Cold, calculating eyes flick over us, landing too long on our weapons. On our dragons.

The captain speaks our tongue—formal, clipped, practiced. He keeps his eyes on Xaden, but his men keep looking at us like they're waiting for us to burst into flame. Which, frankly, is not impossible.

So much for a peaceful gathering.

"We officially request an audience with your queen," Violet says.

"Denied," the captain replies flatly. "She does not meet with those unworthy of her presence."

My stomach tightens as his eyes graze over Violet and then Garrick. He doesn't see warriors. He sees weaknesses.

I shift my stance, just enough to twirl the dagger between my fingers. Ridoc steps subtly closer. His body heat wraps around my left side like a silent promise.

"We made it easy, Captain," Violet says, tone sharper then the blade in her hand. "Rest assured, we can make it difficult, too."

They doesn't flee, but one of them—tall, blond, and pale—has a stain darkening the front of his green leathers. Ridoc's cranes his neck to look down at me, catching my eye with a raised brow. Amateur, his look says. I almost smile. Idiot.

"They've never seen dragons," I murmur. And the captain looks directly at me.

He talks about how torching them won't get us a meeting. Violet doesn't flinch.

"No, but defeating your best in combat earns us entrance to court at the defeated opponent's rank," she says.

That shuts him up.

Xaden gestures at Violet, crediting her with the knowledge and the captain makes another demand: "Only half may come. Choose wisely. Final and only offer."

Violet turns to Xaden. He passes his sword to Garrick and asks, "Who do you want to take?" There's not a smidge of hesitation in his trust. It's taken me a while to really see how much they actually love each other, and I feel as if I might've missed a chapter in her life because I've been too busy pining over my own. I know it isn't the time to bring it up but I can't help it. Anyway.

Her eyes flick across us.

"Xaden to challenge. Aaric to speak for Navarre. Cat for Poromiel..." Her voice falters slightly, like the weight of choosing is heavier than her blade. She looks to her sister. Then to me.

I brace myself.

"Dain and Maeve," she says.

I blink and for a moment, my brain is screaming at me to think about this. But I step forward without another thought. She needs me. Ridoc's gaze burns across my shoulder blades like he's trying to stop me without saying a word. He doesn't. But I know how badly he wants to.

There's a beat of tense silence.

"Aetos?" Garrick questions, brows drawn.

"Do not question command," Xaden says. Damn alright.

Violet explains the logic—language skills, tactical advantage—but Garrick's jaw ticks anyway.

I turn to Ridoc, my voice quiet. "You'll watch Davina for me?"

"Always," he says. "Please just come back okay?"

My chest tightens.

I kiss him. It's all I can do. Fuck the shit we might get later, I don't care.

"If you need me," he says, "burn the shit to the ground. I'll come for you, Mae."

And that's all I need.

Chapter Text

Eistol rises in the distance like a stone crown, tiered into perfect rings atop the tallest hill for miles. The flight inland is barely twenty minutes, but the cavalry winding below us takes hours to climb the sharp ridges and snake through the brutal terrain.

From the sky, the city is all walls and weaponry. Cross-bolts line each terrace, their numbers thinning the higher we climb. Pale blue roofs gleam like cold fire in the afternoon light. Everything about the place screams preparation—for dragons.

I tighten my grip on Davina as we bank, just in time to catch a flash of silver and black ahead.

Violet and Tairn.

They dive toward the third-highest ring, too fast.

My stomach lurches. Shit.

If Tairn doesn't pull up soon, they're going to hit the wall.

But at the last second, he flares his wings wide and lands with a thunderous crunch of stone. Dust and rock explode from beneath his talons. The wall groans under his weight.

People scatter in the streets, ducking into buildings. On the nearest cross-bolt platform, two soldiers scramble back—but one stays, half-hidden, hands still on the weapon's controls. A little too brave for his own good.

Sgaeyl lands opposite Tairn, a streak of sleek violence in motion. Davina drops beside her, the wind off her wings tugging at my braid. I feel her growl before I hear it—low and dangerous.

I give her a look and murmur in my mind, "Careful, we want to make allies here."

I forget she can't hear me.

Then again, most of the time I don't need to. Her looks tell all. Like right now I bet she's saying"they aimed a weapon at us, you shouldn't even be here."

I bite my tongue. She's probably not wrong.

The soldier's hands finally leave the cross-bolt.

Before worrying about that, I scan the ground to make sure Violet's okay and safe. I catch her silver streaks as she climbs down from Tairn, calm as ever, only her weapons strapped to her, and let out a sharp breath of relief. She glances back to check that the rest of us have landed—Cath, Kira, Davina, and Molvic in formation behind her.

We have.

I loosen my shoulders, breathing through the tension winding in my chest.

By the time Xaden and Violet reach them, the three soldiers have already backed themselves into the turret, looking more cornered than ready for a fight.

Violet opens her mouth to speak—but the scrape of stone cuts her off.

A wooden door in the ground swings open beside Xaden. A man climbs halfway out—a cavalry captain, by the look of him—and scolds the soldiers in sharp, clipped tones I can't quite make out from here. Then he turns to us and jerks his chin toward the open door.

"Follow me."

Xaden doesn't hesitate. He disappears into the darkness below, and Violet follows without a word.

The rest of us wait in tense silence, holding our breath as Violet and Xaden grow smaller in the distance, swallowed by the corridor's curve.

A few minutes later, the captain reappears, expression unreadable, and motions for us to follow.

Cool stone brushes against my fingers as I trail one hand along the wall. Thin slits carved into the stone let in narrow beams of dusty light, throwing stretched shadows along the staircase. We pass two sealed archways, the silence thick and heavy.

Footsteps echo behind me—Dain's, steady and sharp. I take a quiet breath, anchoring myself with one thought: Ridoc is waiting for me. No matter what happens from here on, I just have to make it back to him. That's the only thing that matters in the end.

"Welcoming bunch," Cat mutters as she rejoins us when we reach the next level. Hm.

"This way," the captain barks, already heading toward a group of silver-clad soldiers guarding the next gate. Xaden tells Aaric to stay close as we follow.

Soldiers flank us, eyes shifting between our group and the skies above, clearly aware of the dragons shadowing our every move. The gate guards argue with the captain in clipped, sharp syllables I don't even bother to understand.

"They want the challenge to happen here. In this station," Dain murmurs beside me, glancing up at Sgaeyl and Tairn pacing overhead. "They don't want us anywhere near their main temple."

"We aren't even here for that," I mutter under my breath.

Whatever the captain says seems to work—the soldiers step aside. As we pass through, I immediately notice the emblem on their armour: two crossed swords held tight by a claw.

The mark of Dunne.

My gaze jumps from one attendant to the next as we're led forward. They vary in height, build, skin tone, even age—but every single one of them wears the same pale blue robes and has the same ash-toned hair, unnaturally uniform. Unnerving.

One attendant near the top claps her hands, and a group of children in blue tunics bursts out from behind the massive statue of Dunne, giggling as they race up the steps. My breath catches as I spot the last one—a girl, no older than ten.

Silver-tipped braid. Brown hair. No way.

She scoops up a younger child and vanishes inside. My lungs lock up.

What the actual fuck?

I glance sharply at everyone around me, searching for signs that they saw what I just did—but no one reacts. No one saw. Except... Violet. She and Xaden exchange a look. That same "what the fuck" kind of silent panic I'm feeling deep in my chest.

I don't know what's going on, but I know one thing: I can't keep pretending I don't notice. If Violet doesn't talk to me about it soon, I will. Assuming we make it out of this mess alive.

Gods, I hope Ridoc isn't freaking out right now. Knowing him, he's probably pacing—or pretending not to be worried while silently spirraling.

A shout pulls me back as the cavalry captain calls something toward the walls. Blades glint as the attendants draw swords in one coordinated, terrifying motion.

Metal groans. A gate rises at the highest terrace to our left, revealing two figures—one man, mid-fifties maybe, in the uniform of the silver-clad guards, and a sharp-eyed older woman beside him in the temple robes, a sword strapped to her hip. Her stare sweeps across our group like she's measuring us for our graves.

Dain murmurs translations beside me as the man addresses Violet, asking if we seek audience with the queen.

Violet answers quickly—confidently—and I admire that about her. Always ready to face the fire.

As they approach, the cavalry captain joins them... and then the commander draws a blade and slices clean through the captain's shoulder straps. The green leather drops to the stone like a final verdict. My eyebrows shoot up.

"Demotion," Cat whispers dryly.

"In every language," Aaric mutters.

No kidding.

The commander turns, shouting something that bounces off the stone walls around us. Dain translates fast, voice tight: something about bringing forth our strongest warriors to prove we're worthy of even speaking to their queen. Gods, it's gonna be Xaden.

As I thought, Xaden nods and steps forward. "Tell him I'm ready."

The commander claps twice, and three soldiers emerge from the tunnel behind him—bare-armed, broad, lethal. The woman in the centre is nearly Dain's height.

"Okay, we should probably re-think this," I whisper under my breath.

Violet glances at me, her expression screaming the same concern.

"What you call strategy, they call law," Xaden says, calm as ever.

My heart kicks harder with every step the warriors take behind the commander and the high priestess. Each of them is massive, built like they were carved from stone specifically to kill.

"Costa!" the guards on the wall shout, and the warrior on the right lifts his arms like he's showing off for the gods.

"Marlis!" echoes next, and the woman in the center tilts her chin in silent acknowledgment.

"Palta!" The last one just cracks his neck like this is going to be fun.

The commander raises a hand, and the chanting stops. His voice cuts through the still air, low and commanding.

"He asks if this is our champion or our leader," Dain says beside me.

Aaric steps forward casually, correcting him. "Close, but no. He asked if Xaden is our champion or our prince. Don't be embarrassed, Aetos. The words sound similar enough."

Wait—what?

I whip my head toward him. "Aaric, what the fuck?" I hiss.

He just shrugs like it's nothing, like he didn't just casually speak perfect Unnbrish out of nowhere.

Whatever he says next makes the commander pause. The priestess's gaze flicks to me, sharp and lingering.

"Are you fucking serious?" Dain snaps. For once, I agree with his anger. My jaw tightens.

"You never asked," Aaric says coolly, already turning back to the Unnbrish. "I told them who I am. That I'd fight."

"You what?" Violet and I both say at the same time, panic spiking in my throat.

"I'm the one who needs the audience," he insists, drawing a few inches of his sword like that's supposed to make sense. "I won't hide."

Xaden's already there before Violet can move towards him. He grabs Aaric's wrist and slams the blade back into the sheath with practiced ease.

"Prince or not, you're a first-year. Try that again and I'll put you on the ground." His voice is low but deadly. "You want to make a difference? Then live. Your people need you alive."

Xaden shoves Aaric back in line without another word, then looks to the commander.

"Tell them I'll fight."

I exhale slowly, the tension crackling through me like a live wire. Fucking hell I wish Ridoc was here.

Costa steps forward, chosen. The priestess—tattoo of Dunne's emblem creased into her brow—raises a hand toward Xaden. "The Goddess of War demands her payment."

Xaden doesn't hesitate. He strips off his double scabbard, then his jacket, baring his arm without a word. The blade flashes, and blood beads across his skin. A chill prickles down my spine.

He walks to Violet and kisses her—gentle, certain—and my throat tightens.

The priestess turns toward Violet, and something in her eyes makes my stomach knot. Whatever they're on in that temple, it's not just devotion.

"You disapprove of our ways," she says, head tilting slightly.

Vi lifts her chin. "It's a poor test."

"Character is always revealed in bloodshed," she murmurs, her gaze drifting over our group, finally landing on me. "They're negotiating weapons."

"He's without his strongest one," Violet notes, eyes flicking toward Davina, who I've only just noticed is sitting on the wall. Her gaze is dangerous.

Then she turns back, and before I can even flinch, she drags the blade across my forearm.

Pain blooms hot. Blood spills.

Oh fuck.

Chapter Text

"Mae!" Violet lunges for me, but it's too late.

The sting on my arm throbs, blood sliding down. I was ready to fight... but now all I can think about is Ridoc. Gods, I hope I make it the fuck out of here.

"Guess I'm fighting," I manage, nodding like my heart isn't trying to escape my chest.

"I forbid it," Aaric snaps, stepping in with his sword drawn. "I'll fight in her place."

I shoot him a look. "You can't." Seriously—what is with this guy?

The priestess just smiles, ancient and knowing. "Character is revealed in bloodshed," she murmurs, then turns to Cat. "You dress differently, yet they value you."

Her gaze lands on Aaric. "Prince of your people. Honourable, yes. But foolish. Dunne did not choose you."

Aaric clenches his jaw, but he doesn't argue.

Then she shifts to Violet. "Too small." Bitch.

Dain earns a nod of respect, but she passes him too.

Her attention snaps back to me. "You will fight beside your champion."

I try not to blink too hard. How the hell did I give that impression? I've still got a few sessions left with Carr, and this sure as shit isn't a signet duel, thank the gods. But sparring? I've held my own plenty of times. I mean—how many people have I knocked flat on the mats?

Okay sure, half the warriors here look like they eat iron for breakfast... but I've got one win against Xaden under my belt. One glorious, fluke of a win. If trophies had been handed out, it'd still be sitting on my shelf—and poor Ridoc never would've heard the end of it. Even without the trophy he didn't.

Speaking of, I really hope he isn't losing it right now.

Violet's eyes are wide, fear plain on her face.

"Vi," I say softly, "I promise I'll be okay. Don't put this on yourself."

"Palta!" the priestess calls, her voice cracking like a whip against the stone. The guards erupt in cheers as the second twin steps forward, blood already trailing from his fingertips.

Okay. No big deal. I can do this. Just... fight the walking wall of muscle with god-tier intimidation vibes. Great.

A sharp sound cuts through the air—blade on skin—and I flinch. My eyes fly to the group, scanning for who it hit.

Crimson drips from Violet's arm.

"She faces Marlis!" the priestess shouts. The soldiers behind us cheer.

Are you fucking serious?

Xaden snaps his head toward Violet, eyes wide—too close to fear for my liking—before he turns back to the weapons being negotiated.

Marlis steps into the plaza. She walks like someone who's trained in full armour, solid and practiced. Tucks her blood-slicked hair behind her ears like it's nothing.

Three combatants.

Those motherfuckers.

"Daggers," Xaden says, his voice sharp as the blades themselves.

The commander nods, and our opponents smile like they've already won.

"Agreed," I say before I can stop myself, stepping forward.

Daggers. Violet's territory. I notice his choice, suited just for her. She's a storm with them. And I feel the need to smile for her because she deserves that kind of love.

I'm better bare-handed, but this'll do.

Across from me, Palta rolls his shoulders, letting the tension crack from his spine like thunder. The wind snakes down the back of my neck, a cruel, cold breath against my skin.

I pretend Ridoc's here—on the edge of the ring, arms folded and eyes locked on me like the world starts and ends here.

The commander lifts his arm. "Begin."

Palta comes at me first—no hesitation, just brute force.

I pivot hard left, letting his first swing slice past my ribs, then jam the heel of my palm into his stomach. He grunts but doesn't stumble. Too solid. I dart under his arm and score a quick cut across the back of his thigh.

It's not deep, but it'll sting.

He spins fast, almost catching my jaw with his elbow. I duck low and land a kick to his knee. It gives slightly, just enough to know I hit a weak spot.

Adrenaline floods my veins like fire.

His strike is brutal and fast. I duck under it, twist, and drag my dagger across his bicep—barely a scratch, but it draws blood. His snarl tells me I surprised him. Good.

He spins, elbow flying, and this time it clips my temple hard enough to spark stars behind my eyes. I stagger, recover, and slash upward. He blocks. I kick his thigh and he grunts. My fist lands on his ribs once, twice, before I roll away.

He comes at me harder now.

We trade blow for blow—dagger to dagger, elbow to shoulder, feet slamming against stone. He's stronger, but I'm faster, weaving under his reach and planting one, two shallow cuts to his side. I think I hear someone cheer behind me. Probably Cat.

But then—he fakes a jab and rams his knee into my chest. My lungs empty in a gasp, and before I can step back, his blade slices into my shoulder. Deep.

"Fuck—!" I stagger back, hand flying to the wound. Hot blood leaks between my fingers. My arm throbs, useless and heavy.

Palta doesn't stop.

I scream without meaning to and drop to one knee, clutching the gash. Blood seeps between my fingers, fast and warm.

He charges again, and I barely parry with my good hand, backing toward the edge of the ring.

I rise on adrenaline alone and slam my dagger upward. It skims his ribs, deep enough to make him stumble, and I use the opening to punch the side of his jaw. His head whips to the side, and I follow with a spinning kick that sends him back a few steps.

For a breath, I think I've got him.

But he growls and slams his forearm into my collarbone. My knees buckle. He's on me in a flash, knocking the dagger from my hand.

I try to duck—too slow.

His boot connects with my side, then again with my ribs. The world tips sideways.

I hit the stone. Hard.

My back screams. My lungs won't work. Everything's spinning. I try to lift my head and can't. My mouth tastes like copper.

Everything goes white for a second. My ears ring. My dagger clatters from my hand, skittering out of reach. I try to rise, but my limbs feel like sandbags, and the world tilts at a nauseating angle.

"Yield!" Violet's voice cuts through the fog like lightning. "Yield, godsdamn you!"

I hear the commander shout something, but my eyes are already closing.

Then—

Hands. Violet's hands cradle my face, gentle despite the panic in her touch. Her knees hit the stone beside me, her hair falling into her face as she leans over.

"Maeve—hey," she says, voice breaking. "You're okay. Just breathe. I've got you."

I blink up at her. Everything hurts. The world swims. But she's here.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you there," I whisper, the words slurred.

"You didn't," she lies, tears catching in her lashes.

She presses a strip of cloth to my shoulder, hands trembling. I wince but nod.

It feels like fire's been poured straight into my shoulder, the pain blinding. Every heartbeat sends a fresh wave of it crashing down my arm, sharp and relentless, like lightning trapped under my skin.

Breathing hurts—each inhale burns like I'm dragging shards of glass through my ribs. My back screams from where I hit the stone, but it's nothing compared to the stabbing pulse in my shoulder. Everything's too loud and too far away at the same time.

"Keep your eyes open."

"I'm not going anywhere," I promise, even if everything in me wants to give in. "You're stuck with me."

Violet lets out a quiet laugh, then leans her forehead against mine.

"Good," she whispers. "I need you."

I sigh. "Vi, go talk to them. I'm okay I swear. You need to talk to them."

Violet hesitates for a moment, then nods and pushes herself up. Cat and Aaric rush over to help me to my feet, though it takes everything I have—five long minutes and a stubborn spark in me to keep going. When I finally stand, my ears are ringing so loud I feel like my head might explode. Slowly, the noise around me sharpens into voices.

"...It is truly Zihnal who blesses you. Good luck when you search that isle. They have a mean streak."

Violet steps forward, asking, "So you won't fight with us?"

I lift my head, my neck aching like hell.

"I think I prefer a Deverelli approach for now," Marlis replies coolly. "You may take shelter in our jungles and hunt with your mounts if you need rest, but fighting alongside you? The price is too high." She turns away.

"What do you want?" Violet calls after her, voice firm. "At least name your price."

Marlis pauses, then glances back with a cold edge.

Her voice drops. "Dragons."

Now, who the hell does she think she is?

I might be in and out of conscience right now but nothing will drown that out. Like hell will that happen.

I try to look up towards where the dragons sat before, but my head aches terribly so I give up. I'll have to deal with Davina once I get back. For the first time since we got here I'm glad we don't have the bond. She'd be ripping me to shreds right now.

Actually, who's to say she wont give me a little trim off the edges of my hair once I see her out there.

The word hangs heavy in the air, and I can't stop picturing Ridoc's face when I see him again—whether relief or frustration will win out, I have no idea, but I know he'll expect me to come back standing.

Chapter Text

Between finding our abandoned weapons and the time it takes to get backto the meadow, an hour passes before we arrive at the clearing.

My arm is pretty much fucked for the rest of the mission so that's gonna be fun. I don't even think Davina will speak to me for the rest of the mission either, even when we reach isles that have strong enough magic to give us our bonds back.

Trager rushes to Cat before she redirects him to Dain, across from where Davina lands.

Dismounting through the constant, pulsing pain in my armand back takes me so long that I'm tempted to simply sleep in the damnedsaddle and keep my own field dressing on this cut, but I eventually make itto the ground.

The first face I look for is already rushing towards me with the most stressed out expression he's ever worn.

"Maeve?! Mae, holy shit."

Ridoc's arms are around me before I've even fully caught my breath. The ache in my shoulder flares when he tightens his hold, and I suck in a sharp breath.

He releases me instantly, hands skimming down my arms like he's grounding himself. "Shit—sorry, I'm sorry."

"I'm okay," I murmur, even though that's a generous lie. "Well. Mostly okay."

He doesn't look convinced. His brows pinch together as he scans me, like he's checking for injuries I might have missed. His hand pauses over the bloody tear in my sleeve, hovering without touching.

"Your arm..." he whispers.

"Got a bit wrecked." I try to make it sound light, but the way his jaw tenses tells me I failed miserably.

"I should've been there," he says, voice low. Not angry. Just quiet. Like he's been holding those words in for too long.

I reach out with my good arm and cup his cheek. "You were waiting for me. That's enough."

He leans into my touch, eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment. Then he lifts his hand and covers mine, holding it against his face like he never wants to let go again.

"Fucking hell I was so stressed, Mae," he murmurs.

The lump in my throat swells. I nod, swallowing hard. "I thought about you the whole time."

Ridoc steps closer, his forehead resting gently against mine. "I kept imagining you walking back through that tree line," he whispers.

My breath catches. "You waited."

"Always."

I tilt my head just enough to brush my nose against his, and then his lips are on mine—soft and slow and reverent. No desperation. Just the quiet kind of love that lives deep in the bones.

Ridoc finally pulls back enough to look at me properly, brushing his knuckles against my cheek like he still doesn't believe I'm standing in front of him. His gaze flicks to my torn sleeve.

"I leave you alone for a day," he says, deadpan, "and you pick a fight with a human mountain."

"A polite spar," I correct. "With a blade-happy temple warrior. Totally different."

He arches a brow. "Uh-huh. And let me guess—you definitely had it under control the whole time?"

"Obviously," I say, lifting my chin. "I was this close to winning. If he hadn't, you know...stabbed me."

Ridoc's smile tugs higher. "That does tend to complicate things."

"You know what really prepared me for that fight?" I say, arching a brow as I lean into him just enough to make my point.

Ridoc groans immediately. "Maeve, don't."

I grin. "My legendary, one-time-only win against Xaden Riorson."

He covers his face with one hand, dramatically. "You mean the one you've brought up every week since it happened?"

"Exactly. Iconic, really. Historic, even."

"You tripped him."

"I tactically outmaneuvered him," I correct. "And don't pretend you weren't impressed."

He drops his hand, smirking. "Oh, I was. Still am. It's just—if I hear 'remember that time I beat Xaden' one more time—"

"I might bring it up on my deathbed."

"I fully expect you to."

I tap my temple. "Gotta remind the world of my greatness."

He grins, but then his expression softens as his thumb brushes a smear of dirt from my jaw. "You still look good, you know. Even with blood on your face and grass in your hair."

I groan. "Oh my gods, is there actually grass in my hair?"

"Like, three full blades. Possibly a twig."

"Excellent. That's the image I want burned into your memory forever."

"Too late. It's already there," he says, that teasing gleam never quite leaving his eyes. "Though I gotta say, I prefer you upright and snarky rather than nearly unconscious and bleeding out."

I shove him lightly with my uninjured arm. "Creep."

"Not even close." He leans in, close enough that our noses almost bump. "But I reserve the right to dote on you the entire way back to camp. No arguments."

I narrow my eyes. "Define 'dote.'"

"Carrying your pack. Telling you you're the bravest, most badass person I've ever met. Possibly brushing the grass out of your hair. And if you're lucky..." He leans closer. "...I might even braid it."

I laugh, even though it tugs unkindly at my ribs. "You don't know how to braid."

"I'll learn." He shrugs, pretending to be serious. "For love. For pride. For the aesthetic."

"You're ridiculous."

Ridoc's hand brushes against mine as we make our way across the meadow, our steps slow—half because of my injury, half because neither of us is in a rush to let the quiet fade just yet.

The others are gathered near the edge of the clearing, voices low but urgent. Aaric stands a little off to the side, arms crossed, while Cat and Trager exchange glances that say more than their words. Violet's ranting, her brows furrowed as she speaks.

"We got caught in a storm. Lightning struck multiple times, and luckily a really close strike scared the shit out of the queen. There's no magic here. Why do I have to keep reminding people about that? Can you wield?"

"No, of course not, but you can still speak to your dragons." Mira sighs and drops her hands as Xaden approaches. "I'm sorry they won't ally with us. I thought an isle loyal to Dunne was our best chance."

Im watching Violet right now and I feel guilty that the only thing I can think of right now is the secrets she's keeping from me right now. She's hiding something and I'm done pretending I don't see it.

It's eating her up and fuck I promised her I wouldn't ask but I don't know how long we'll be on this mission for. I could've died today. For all I know, it might be better if she can carry this with less weight.

I walk up quietly and tap her arm. "Vi. Can I talk to you?"

She looks at me and for a second, she doesn't speak. Just gives a tiny nod and follows when I lead her a few paces away from the others.

We stop near the edge of the trees, where the shadows press close but not quite enough to swallow us whole.

I cross my arms over my chest. "You gonna tell me what's going on?"

Violet blinks. "What do you mean?"

Fair.

"I saw the girl at the temple. Silver in her braid. And I've seen you and Xaden—whatever that look is, it's not nothing. And it's isn't just that. It's the tension. The half-truths. The way you're both acting like the world's about to crack open, and I'm still supposed to believe we're fighting on solid ground."

She draws in a breath and looks away.

"Vi," I say, quieter now. "We've bled together. I almost died today. I deserve to know what the hell we're walking into."

"I'm trying to protect you," she whispers.

"But I can carry this with you. It's not your decision to make."

Her eyes snap back to mine, defensive now. "It is when the truth could get him killed. Or all of us."

My heart drops. "So it's about Xaden."

"It's not just about him," she insists. "It's about what's coming. What's out there. There are things—things I'm not ready to put into words because once I do, it's all real. And it's not just your life I'm risking if I talk."

I step back slightly, the distance a little too metaphorical for my liking. "So you're lying to me."

"I'm protecting you."

"No," I say, voice hardening. "You're protecting him. And I get it, Vi. I do. I love you, Violet. I just can't keep going if I don't know what I'm getting myself into."

I exhale slowly, and when I speak, my voice is soft—but not gentle. It's heavy with the kind of hurt that sits in your chest. "I was your friend before he ever came into the picture."

I turn to leave before the hurt in her eyes can unravel me completely.

And gods, I hope whatever she's keeping from me doesn't already mean it's too late.

Chapter Text

It's just about morning when we land on the jagged coastline at the edge of Vidirys—the capital of Hedotis, glittering like it knows something I don't.

My mind hasn't stopped spinning since we left. Since I turned my back on Violet.

And maybe I was too sharp with her. Maybe she has every right to keep secrets—everyone does, to a point. But this? This one circles me like a storm about to break. I know it concerns me because she's trying so damn hard to shield me from it. From the truth.

That's the part I can't let go of. The truth should be mine to choose. If I want to risk my life for someone I love—gods, I would for Violet, again and again and again—that's my call. Not hers to hide. Not anyone's.

I've torn through every way to handle this. Ignore it? Pretend none of this unease exists? That's actually laughable. My mind's never been wired to lie down and let silence win. I ask questions. I demand answers. It's who I am. And pretending would be like holding my breath underwater and calling it swimming.

Talking to Xaden crossed my mind, of course it did. But even with the weight I carry now—even after earning his respect, after helping Violet escape Varrish while he was stranded in Samara—I know him. He's calculated. Direct. He doesn't open easily, and definitely not to someone poking into the parts he wants buried.

But I was there when Violet barely made it out of yet another 'let's see how much pain her signet can take' trial alive. I remember the look in Xaden's eyes then. Relief. Like the ground had been yanked from under him and dropped back into place when he saw her breathing. I don't fear him. Not anymore.

Except maybe now. Because whatever Violet's hiding—it's about him. And that means it's big.

Too big to ignore.

Gods, I hate this feeling. This... not knowing. 

I don't have Davina to centre me, and without her, the silence feels like it's crawling under my skin.

I miss her. My anchor. My fire. I miss the stubborn way her presence settled every reckless instinct in me without smothering who I am.

The sand is warm beneath my boots, too fine and golden for how tense everything feels. I watch in silence as Violet and Xaden stand with their arms outstretched, letting Trager inspect the fresh wounds from the death match. His hands move carefully, methodically, but there's no gentleness in his eyes—just the sharp precision of someone who's seen too much.

"Care to let me in?"

The voice is low, familiar, and somehow always catches me off guard—Ridoc.

I flinch just enough for him to notice, and he lifts both brows, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Didn't mean to spook you," he adds softly, stepping up beside me. "You're a little... elsewhere."

"Hm?" I hum, stalling.

He doesn't push, not exactly. Just studies me with that frustratingly perceptive gaze that somehow always sees straight through every defence I think I've built.

"You're in your head," he says, as if it's the simplest truth in the world. "Hard."

I scoff lightly. "What gave it away?"

He tilts his head, amused. "Well, aside from the fact that I've known you for, what, two years now? You've been gnawing on the inside of your cheek for the past five minutes. I was starting to get worried you might tear through."

I blink, surprised. I hadn't even noticed. My tongue darts over the raw patch just inside my lip. I stop instantly.

He smiles again, smaller this time, and not in that usual Ridoc way he uses to charm his way out of trouble. This one feels quieter. Realer.

"I'm fine," I say automatically.

"Mhm," he hums, not buying it for a second. "Which is why you're standing here staring at them like they're going to eat you alive."

That earns a reluctant laugh from me. "Gods, am I really that obvious?"

He shrugs. "Only to people who pay attention."

And Ridoc does. Even when he pretends not to.

I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair. "It's Violet. Something's off. And I get it, I do, people are allowed to have secrets. But when you know someone's protecting you from something they know will put you in danger—don't you think they should be able to make that choice?"

Ridoc doesn't answer right away. He lets the breeze fill the silence between us, his gaze fixed on the distant waterline.

"Yeah," he says finally. "It does. Because you'd rather be hurt by the truth than feel helpless in the dark."

I glance at him, surprised again by how well he gets me.

"You're not crazy for needing answers, Maeve," he adds. "Just... don't let the not-knowing eat you alive before you get them."

I nod, letting that sink in.

"You miss Davina," he says, not as a question.

My throat tightens. "Yeah," I say softly. "Every minute." I glance over at her sitting in the shallow water just where it meets the damp sand. 

He nudges my arm lightly with his. "Then maybe you should talk to Violet. Not like—interrogate her. Just... talk. She trusts you."

"I know," I whisper. 

Ridoc doesn't say anything after that. He just stays beside me.

I open my mouth to speak, but Ridoc beats me to it.

"Holy shit."

My brows knit together at the sudden shift in his tone. I turn my head sharply, following his gaze—and freeze.

There's a group of figures are making their way onto the broad wooden walkway that stretches from the shoreline to the edge of the market. They're dressed in flowing tunics and gowns in soft pastels. One-shoulder designs, gold-threaded hems—like something torn out of a myth or a museum.

They walk slowly, deliberately, eyes wide and faces tilted skyward—toward the dragons. Toward ours.

They aren't afraid. Just... in awe.

I glance back at Davina, her massive form perched behind us like a goddess carved from flame and scale. She's watching me, not them.

Figures.

One of the men breaks from the group and starts speaking to Violet and Xaden. I catch a name—Faris—and something about welcoming us to Hedotis, his tone warm, practiced. Diplomatic.

But then—her.

A woman steps out from behind him, locking her hand in his like it's second nature. She's tall, poised, and unmistakably familiar in a way that punches breath right out of my lungs.

Gods. She looks like...Xaden?

Not vaguely. But damn that's some weird coincidence right there. Her gaze lands on him, and for a beat—just one beat—time stutters.

Her dark eyes go wide, like she's just seen a ghost. No, recognised one.

I shift, instinct taking over. I move half a step in front of Ridoc without thinking. Just in case. Just in case whatever this is goes sideways fast.

Faris turns toward her, clearly confused. "Is there a problem?"

Her eyes are still locked on Xaden with such desperate, disbelieving intensity it makes the air feel sharp and wrong.

"Oh, shit," Garrick mutters behind me, voice low and flat—like whatever he's just realised has sucked the blood from his face.

"Xaden?" she whispers, half-lifting her hand before it drops uselessly to her side. 

What the fuck is going on?

And then Xaden speaks, low and hoarse and absolutely unrecognisable in its vulnerability.

"...Mum."

Chapter Text

We've all been split up throughout the sprawling estate Xaden's mother apparently calls home. Our room is small in comparison to the rest of this palace, but it's quiet. Private. Maybe too private. Everything is cream with touches of pale green and gold, all perfect in a way that borders on too pretty to touch. Our black flight jackets look sorely out of place draped across the foot of the bed.

I've been pacing for the last fifteen minutes, barefoot on a plush rug that feels like it costs more than my entire wardrobe. Ridoc is lounging across the bed like he's been here for years, watching me like I'm a bird that might suddenly fly through a wall.

He shifts his arm beneath his head like he's adjusting a pillow.

"Do you think Violet knew?" I ask, turning mid-pace to face him. My voice is sharper than I mean it to be, but I can't seem to rein it in.

He gives a slow shake of his head. "Doubt it. She looked as stunned as the rest of us. Maybe more."

His tone is calm. Measured. Like always. It drags me back from the edge just a little. I stop moving and drop into the chair across from the bed, letting my head fall into my hands.

"I need a break," I say, barely above a whisper. "Like a real one. Just for a second. From all of this. From secrets. From people pretending they're not barely holding it together."

He stands and crosses the room toward me. For a second I think he's going to offer some profound wisdom or make a joke. But instead, he just rests his hand lightly on my shoulder, grounding.

"We can take a break. Right here," Ridoc says gently. "No questions. No dragons. Just... breathe, Maeve."

His voice settles over me like warm water. And I do—breathe. Just once, but it's real. My eyes flutter shut as his fingers brush the back of my neck, tentative at first, then firmer. His thumbs press into a pressure point near my spine, drawing out a quiet groan I don't even try to hide.

Gods, I needed this.

His hands move slowly, deliberately, finding every knot of tension I've been holding for days—weeks. Heat unfurls low in my belly, blooming steadily with each stroke of his fingers. It's the kind of relief that feels too good to be just about comfort. And I know it. He knows it.

I lift my head, eyes catching his with something between a challenge and a question. A smile plays on my lips before I can stop it—lazy, laced with something heavier than amusement.

"What are you doing, Ridoc?"

His gaze dips to my mouth before meeting my eyes again, and when he answers, his voice is deeper—roughened at the edges. "Helping you relax."

"Mm," I hum, tilting my head slightly to the side, baring more of my neck. "You sure that's all you're doing?"

He takes a slow, measured step closer, his hands never leaving me. "Would it bother you if it wasn't?"

My breath hitches, just slightly. "No."

That one word hangs in the space between us, charged and electric.

He leans down, one hand sliding forward to trace a slow line along the base of my throat. His fingers graze the hollow there like a promise.

"I've watched you tear through battlefields without blinking," he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. "Watched you lead. Fight. Bleed. But right now? I just want to watch you unravel."

The words land low and hot in my core. My pulse stutters.

I reach for his shirt, curling my fingers into the fabric as I pull him closer. "Then stop talking, and do something about it."

His mouth is on mine before the last word leaves my lips—urgent, hungry, all tension and release rolled into one devastating kiss. It's not slow. It's not cautious. It's two people who've been craving this for too long finally crashing into each other.

His hands slide down my sides, gripping my hips with a firmness that sends a spark straight through me. I tug his shirt up and over his head, breaking the kiss only long enough to toss it to the side. His mouth finds my jaw, then my throat, leaving heat in every place he touches.

My hands roam across his chest, nails dragging lightly, and he groans into my skin, the sound wrecked and low.

"I didn't know you could be quiet," I tease, breathless.

"Oh, I'm saving it," he murmurs against my collarbone. "You'll need to hear your name when I say it."

I shiver—and it's not from the cold.

I rise slowly, his hands sliding off me like they don't want to let go. I stand in front of him, breathing hard, the space between our bodies humming like something alive. His eyes follow every movement, dark and pinned to me, jaw flexing as if he's restraining something sharp and hungry beneath his skin.

Good.

I step close again, my fingers ghosting up the edge of his abdomen. The tension there is coiled tight, every muscle locked beneath skin that practically burns beneath my touch. I hook a finger into his belt, tugging just enough to make him exhale—short and sharp.

"You're not playing fair," he says, voice low, roughened by restraint.

I smile slowly. "I'm not here to play fair."

He moves in a blur, one hand sliding into my hair as he kisses me again—harder this time. There's nothing tentative in it now. It's all teeth and heat and months of restraint snapping between us like a snapped bowstring. I match him, hungry for it. For him. My hands roam, pushing his shirt up over his head and tossing it aside. My lips follow immediately after, trailing down his throat, across his collarbone, nipping just hard enough to make him hiss.

Holy shit, how I missed this. I didn't even realise how much I fucking needed it.

He groans, hands gripping my hips like he can't decide whether to slow down or lose control entirely. He starts backing me toward the bed, one step at a time, and I let him—until the backs of my legs hit the mattress and I sit, pulling him down with me.

I fall onto the pillows, and he follows, bracing himself above me, eyes searching mine. Just for a second. Just long enough to ask a question without words. And I answer the same way—curling my fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss me again, deeper this time.

The rest of our clothes come off in pieces. Quick, heated movements. Breathless curses. Hands that can't stop touching, needing to memorise every inch.

When his skin finally presses to mine—all of it—there's a stillness that comes before the storm. A beat where we're just... there. Entwined. Quiet.

Ridoc kisses like he means to leave a mark—something invisible but lasting. His mouth moves over mine with a careful urgency, a balance between restraint and need, like he's spent months imagining this and is still half afraid I'll disappear.

But I don't. I'm still here. Still burning.

He shifts, pressing me down into the bed, and his weight feels like the first real thing I've felt since Violet started keeping secrets. Since I started spiralling without Davina to anchor me.

Right now, Ridoc is my anchor.

His hands skim down the sides of my body, calloused fingertips ghosting over bare skin, brushing the curve of my waist and hip like he's trying to memorise the shape of me. I arch into him instinctively, and he groans—a soft, helpless sound that ignites something deep and greedy in my chest.

I slide my hands over his shoulders, down his back, feeling every shift of muscle under skin. I drag my nails lightly along his spine, and he shudders.

"You're dangerous," he murmurs against the base of my throat, his lips grazing my skin with each word. "Do you know that?"

"You knew that when you followed me into that death trap of a torture chamber in Basgiath," I breathe, tilting my head to give him more of my neck. "Don't act surprised now."

His laugh is warm, muffled as he trails his mouth down to my collarbone. Then lower. "Varrish was going to kill you."

"I know."

And gods, when his lips close around the sensitive skin just above my breast, I feel it in every nerve-ending. He doesn't rush—he devours, taking his time with every kiss, every bite. His hands roam freely now, stroking over my thighs, kneading the backs of them as he parts them, spreading me open beneath him.

"You're killing me," he whispers, voice wrecked as he hovers above me again. His forehead presses to mine, breath mingling with mine, warm and ragged. "You feel... fuck, Maeve, you feel like everything."

The words steal the breath from my lungs.

There's so much heat between us, but underneath it—there's more. Something real. Something terrifying and soft, tangled between the way he touches me like I matter, like he knows I can break him just as easily as he could break me.

I reach for him, fingers tangling in his hair as I pull his mouth back to mine. This kiss is slower. Messier. Less about urgency and more about connection. About knowing.

He shifts between my legs, fitting perfectly there, and the moment our hips meet, we both gasp. His head drops to my shoulder as he breathes through it, hips grinding once—slow and deep—and my hands clutch at his back.

He moves again, once, then twice, dragging every motion out until it's maddening. Until I can barely breathe, barely think with the way he's moving inside me—carefully at first, drawing out the tension between us like a string pulled taut.

Each stroke is deliberate. Meant. He presses kisses to my jaw, my neck, my shoulder, one hand holding my hip while the other brushes strands of hair from my face.

"You okay?" he murmurs, voice hoarse and reverent.

"I'm better than okay," I whisper back, and mean it.

He starts moving in earnest then, setting a rhythm that builds slowly, with a kind of intensity that has nothing to do with speed and everything to do with the way we cling to each other. Like we're afraid the world will crash through the door at any second—and we still want this moment to last.

Every breath is shared. Every sound pulled from me is echoed in him. His hand slides under my thigh, angling me closer, deeper, and I can't help the gasp that escapes me.

"Fuck, Maeve," he grits, pressing his forehead to mine again. "You feel—gods—you feel perfect."

My name on his lips like that nearly undoes me.

I wrap my arms around him tighter, feeling the coil in my stomach wind tighter with every thrust, every whispered word, every brush of his mouth against my skin. I'm trembling, on edge, aching in the best possible way.

We move together like we've done this a thousand times in dreams neither of us ever admitted to. Like this was always going to happen, no matter how long we put it off. Each moment builds on the next, drawing me higher, tighter, until I'm unraveling in his arms, moaning his name like a confession—breathless and real.

He follows soon after, whispering mine like it's sacred, like it's something he's never let himself say aloud until now.

And when it's over—when we're tangled together in the aftermath, breathing hard and slick with sweat—I press my forehead to his shoulder and just breathe. For the first time in days, I feel quiet. Still. Grounded.

"Shit," I murmur against his skin.

Ridoc laughs softly, fingers brushing the damp strands of hair back from my face. "Yeah. That was... definitely not part of the break."

"I think we broke the break."

He huffs out another quiet laugh and pulls me closer, wrapping an arm around my waist like he has no plans to let go.

"Good," he says simply. "I wasn't planning to stop."

Our last minutes of peace are disrupted by a sudden knock at the door. From what I can tell, it's Garrick.

"C'mon kids, it's dinner time."

Chapter Text

The most peaceful I've felt since this mission started is right now.

The quiet click of Ridoc zipping up his flight jacket behind me fills the room while I tug mine on. There's a strange comfort in the simple rhythm of it—just the two of us, for once, without the weight of everything hanging overhead.

He walks over and presses a kiss to my forehead. "Let's go eat. I'm starving."

I nod, and we head out into the hallway together.

Safe to say I've wildly underestimated just how fucking grand this place is. I mean—props to Xaden's mother, I guess. She gets to live in a literal seaside palace. Of course she does.

We pass towering windows that overlook the water, the kind that belong in storybooks or dreams. As we walk, something catches the corner of my eye. A lone figure, standing near the edge of the sand where waves roll in and out like they're trying to whisper secrets.

Violet.

I stop walking.

"Hey," I say gently, resting a hand on Ridoc's arm. "I'll meet you, okay?"

He turns, concern already written across his face. "You alright?"

Gods, he's adorable.

"Yeah," I lie, because what else can I say? "I just need to talk to Violet."

He hesitates for a breath, searching my face, but he nods and kisses my forehead again.

"Okay, love."

I watch him walk away, his shadow disappearing down the gold-trimmed hall, and then I step outside into the salt-bitten air.

The wind cuts colder than I expected. Sharper. Like it knows what's coming.

But Violet doesn't turn.

She stands at the edge of the shore, hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket, eyes on the horizon like it might change if she just stares hard enough.

I stop beside her. Silent.

I want to ease into this. I want to want to ease into this.

But I can't. Not anymore.

Because I keep thinking about the way she stood in front of Theophanie—like they were something more than enemies. The way she changed course the moment she saw the girl with silver in her hair. The weird feeling I get every single time something happens with Xaden's odd...loss of control? I can't even name it. But there's something so off about their relationship.

Now I know she's protecting him.

I know Violet. I know when something's rotting beneath the surface.

And I can't keep pretending I don't.

Last year, I forgave her for the venin thing. The lying, the secrecy, the unraveling of every truth we thought we knew—I got it. She was thrown into it. She didn't have a choice.

But this?

This is different.

This is her choice.

This is a secret she's choosing to keep—at our expense.

I swallow hard, eyes fixed on the water, rage quiet in my chest.

"I don't want to be angry with you," I say, my voice low and flat. "But I am."

Still, she doesn't move.

"I could forgive what happened last year," I go on, bitter heat rising in my throat. "That mess wasn't yours. You were thrown into it. I know that. But this..."

I shake my head.

"This is yours."

And she knows exactly what I mean.

"I need you to stop lying to me."

Violet's shoulders stiffen. Her fingers flex once around the edge of the railing. But she still doesn't look at me.

"I'm not—"

"You are," I cut in. "You have been. For months."

A beat of silence.

"Maeve—"

"No," I say, sharper. "You don't get to 'Maeve' me right now. I've followed your lead. I've kept my mouth shut when things didn't make sense. I've helped you cover for things I didn't understand—because I trusted you. But I am done being in the dark."

She finally turns to look at me. Her expression is controlled. Too calm.

That makes it worse.

"You want to talk about what doesn't make sense?" I snap, stepping forward. "Let's start with the battle in Esbens. Aura died, Violet. And right after, you were face-to-face with that woman—Theophanie. You said her name like you knew her. Who the hell was she?"

Violet doesn't answer.

"And then you didn't mention her again. Not once. We burned bodies, we carried Aura's corpse out of the rubble, and you just... shut down. Like nothing happened."

"I was grieving," she says.

"No, you were hiding something," I spit. "Just like you were hiding something when we saw that girl with the silver in her hair. I saw her too, Violet. And I saw the exchange with Xaden."

Violet's jaw tightens.

"That's nothing remotely close to this."

"Bullshit. She looked at you like she knew you. Like she'd seen you somewhere she shouldn't have. And you acted like it was nothing."

I'm pacing now, heart pounding, voice rising.

"You flinch every time someone mentions Xaden. You avoid questions about the venin and wyvern battle in Basgiath."

She stays silent.

And that silence is an answer I never wanted.

"So tell me," I whisper, stepping into her space. "Are you being hunted? Are we being hunted?"

"No," Violet says, but she doesn't sound sure. "It's not—I'm still understanding that."

"Then what is it?" I shout. "What am I protecting? What am I risking my life for, Violet? You dragged me into this and you won't even tell me who the enemy is!"

"I was trying to protect you."

"From what?"

Her silence tightens the knot in my chest until I feel like I'm going to explode.

"From what, Violet?" I cry. "From the venin? From yourself? From whatever the hell Xaden's become—"

"He's becoming a venin!"

The words crash through the night like thunder.

Everything goes still.

My mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

She's breathing hard, chest rising and falling like she just sprinted a battlefield. And maybe she did—maybe saying those words was the battlefield.

I step back.

The ground tilts.

"No," I whisper. "No. No, he's not. Don't—don't say that."

"I didn't want you to know," she says, voice trembling. "I didn't want anyone to know. Because the moment people find out, he's not a person anymore. He's a threat. And they'll kill him before they understand he's still fighting."

My ears are ringing. My vision blurs around the edges.

"You brought him on missions—on this mission," I breathe. "You put him on the same flight path as us, and he's—he's—venin?"

"He's not like them. Not fully."

"But he will be," I hiss. "And when that happens, he'll rip through all of us—and then what Violet?"

"You cannot love him back to life," tears sting my eyes, hot and furious.

"Do you know what it feels like to watch your friends die and wonder if you're next—while your best friend is sitting on the biggest fucking secret of your life?"

Violet looks like she's been slapped.

"Do you even have a plan for all of this?" I ask, my voice low but rising. "Or are we just flying blind while you gamble with our lives?"

Violet turns toward me at last. Her expression is unreadable—but her eyes are sharp, calculating. She's already playing out the possibilities of this conversation, trying to predict the fallout.

"I have contingencies," she says.

"Contingencies?" I echo, half-laughing. "You're leading a squad of riders into danger every day and you can't even tell us the truth?"

"I told you what you needed to know," she replies coolly.

"Don't pull that strategic bullshit with me," I snap. "You told us we were searching for the seventh breed. That's the mission. The whole mission."

A beat of silence.

"That's part of it," she admits.

"And the other part?" I press.

She shifts her weight, arms folding across her chest.

"We're also looking for a cure."

I blink. "A cure for what?"

Her gaze drops. Her voice is quieter now.

"For Xaden."

The words hit like a punch.

"For the venin," I say, just to be sure. "You're looking for a cure for venin."

She doesn't answer.

Because she doesn't have to.

"Gods, Violet."

"I didn't lie," she says quickly. "I omitted."

"Oh, great," I snap. "So while we're risking our lives chasing clues across enemy territory, you're hiding the fact that the man flying beside us could snap and kill us all—and that we're really out here trying to save him."

"He hasn't lost control," she fires back. "He's still himself."

"For now." My voice cracks. "And what happens when he isn't?"

"I'll stop him," she says, and for the first time there's real emotion in her voice—fury and fear and something too raw to name. "If it comes to that, I will. But I'm not going to let him die without trying."

I stare at her. "You don't get to gamble with our lives just because you're in love with him!"

"You really believe there's a cure?" I ask. "You're betting everything on a hope."

Violet's hands are clenched at her sides, knuckles white. She looks like she's trying to keep it together — like letting one emotion slip might shatter the dam completely.

"I know what you think," she says, her voice rough. "That I'm reckless. That I'm selfish. That I'm choosing him over all of you."

She swallows hard, eyes darting toward the sea before settling back on mine.

"But you don't understand what it's like to love someone who's already halfway gone. You don't understand what it feels like to hold someone every night knowing they're slipping through your fingers and there's nothing you can do to stop it—except this."

Her voice breaks, just slightly, and she shoves a hand through her braid, frustrated at herself for letting it.

"I know the risks. I know what it looks like. But gods, Maeve, I can't lose him. If I lose him, I lose everything. I lose the reason I survived that war. I lose the person who's kept me breathing through every impossible thing we've faced. I lose the part of me that still believes any of this is worth saving."

Her eyes are shining now, but no tears fall.

"I love him more than I've ever loved anything in my life. And if there's even a chance he can come back from this, I will burn every map, lie to every friend, and chase that cure to the ends of the fucking continent."

A beat passes.

She exhales, broken and furious all at once.

"I didn't want to drag you into this," she murmurs.

"But you did," I whisper back. "And you didn't give me a choice."

"I didn't want to lose you," she says, barely audible. "Not after everything. I couldn't lose you too."

I shake my head, swallowing the lump in my throat.

"You already did."

A long silence passes between us.

She doesn't argue.

She just looks at me with those tired eyes—and for the first time, I wonder if she really believes the hope she's been holding onto... or if it's just the only thing keeping her together.

I wipe my face.

"I won't tell Ridoc," I say. "But don't thank me. Don't act like this makes us okay."

She nods once.

And I walk away.

And the thing that guts me most?

I still love her like a sister.

And I hate that love more than anything in the world right now.

Chapter Text

The moment I step into the dining room, tension slams into me like a wall. My body coils tight, every nerve on edge. My eyes find Violet instantly—she's clinging to Xaden like he's the last steady thing in a world about to collapse. He's in a heated exchange with his mother, jaw clenched, eyes dark.

Violet doesn't even blink at me. Doesn't flinch. She's in defence mode—closed off, impenetrable. I tell myself not to take it personally. She's protecting him. That's all this is. Still, a sharp ache lodges beneath my ribs.

I know she needed to hear the truth—every word I forced out, no matter how violently. But now all I can feel is shame. Guilt.

Gods, I miss Davina so much it hurts.

Was I too harsh? Did I go too far? Davina's voice echoes through me, steady and certain. You need each other.

Violet stands like a shield in front of him—no hesitation, no second-guessing. Her body just moves to protect him. That kind of loyalty doesn't have to be spoken. She loves him. That love is written in every line of her posture.

My legs feel heavier with every step I take toward the dining table. Ridoc's already there, guarding the empty seat beside him like it's sacred. Just for me.

"Fought Garrick on this," he says, tapping the chair with a smirk—wearing that same cocky grin he wore when he finally landed a hit on me in training for the first time. The sound of his voice cuts through the fog in my head.

And in that moment, I finally understand—selfishly.

I'd burn the world to keep him alive.

His grin falters the second he looks at me. Concern creeps in, subtle but immediate. Like he already knows where my mind's gone.

I glance at him and offer a smile.

Everyone's seated now, the conversation boiling at one end of the table, sharp and fast. I try to follow it—try—but the words slip past me like water through cracked hands.

I can't focus. Not when Violet's sitting right there, and I haven't said a damn word.

I need to apologise.

Fuck, I can barely focus on two things at once. I think I'm missing so much crucial information but I can't retain it. I'm stuck between making sure Ridoc doesn't think I'm about to lose it because he needs to focus—I can't distract him—and thinking about how to apologise to Violet while trying to ground myself and—

The moment shatters.

Violet screams. A sound I didn't know could come from her. My chest clamps shut as my heart stumbles. Garrick's fork clatters to his plate—he stares at it like it no longer makes sense.

"I... I think somethin'—" And then he just drops, his eyes rolling back.

I whip around, too fast, my neck twinging with the movement. A scream tears through my throat but doesn't quite make it out.

"Garrick!" Xaden's chair scrapes violently back as he lunges forward. Aaric is already there, catching Garrick's head just before it hits the table.

"He's not breathing!" Aaric yells, panic twisting his face into something I've never seen before.

Everyone freezes. My blood turns to ice.

Xaden's already moving, pressing fingers to Garrick's neck. Nothing. "Shit," he hisses, tilting Garrick's head back. Xaden moves his limp body onto the floor in a desperate plea to wake him up. He pinches Garrick's nose, seals his mouth over his, and breathes in—slow and desperate.

I stumble to my feet like I'm underwater. Then I'm on my knees beside them, useless, hands shaking. My breath is shallow. Garrick's chest rises once, barely.

"Talia," I say, because it's the only thing I can say. My voice is a whisper I barely recognise. 

She's just staring. Frozen. Hollow. Like her brain hasn't caught up yet.

"Xaden," I choke out, "what's happening?"

His eyes are pure fire when they lift to mine. "He was poisoned."

The words gut me.

I stagger back to my feet and scan the room like a threat is going to jump out of the shadows. Violet is already moving—charging toward Talia with a stare so sharp I flinch just watching it.

Ridoc steps up beside me, silent. His fists are clenched, but his eyes are locked on Garrick like he's trying to will him back. His jaw trembles.

"What was in the cake?" Violet demands. Her voice could split stone.

Talia startles like she's just been slapped. "Nothing!" she says, horrified. She grabs for her plate. "It's just—"

"Not for you, darling," Faris says smoothly, intercepting her with a smile that makes my skin crawl. He plucks the plate from her grasp, then presses a hand to his own stomach, blinking slowly.

That fucking prick.

"What the fuck did you do?" Talia shouts, leaping to her feet. Her chair flies back and slams into the wall, hard enough to leave a dent.

"Violet." Xaden's voice—hoarse, pleading—draws every eye.

His mask has cracked. For the first time, I see fear in him. Real, helpless fear.

"I'll fix it," Violet says. No hesitation. No doubt. "I won't let him die."

And in the middle of the chaos, I just stand there—my knees shaking, my mouth dry, staring at Garrick's lifeless body.

This is far beyond broken friendship.

I launch toward Violet like my life depends on it—because it might. "Violet!" I yell, breathless, already bracing myself for whatever comes next. "Tell me what you need."

Her eyes snap to mine—glassy, but locked in. Half-cracked, half-commanding. Her lip quivers, her hand trembling as it scans the room like it's an enemy in itself. Then her eyes settle—on Mira. Her voice is hoarse but sharp. "Handle everything in this house that can kill us."

My stomach clenches.

Then her gaze cuts back to me, and she says the word like it's a gunshot. 

"The chef."

For a second, I blink—confused. But the second passes, and everything slots into place.

And suddenly I'm running, already three steps ahead of hesitation, chasing Violet through the door Mira left swinging. Her voice fires out orders to Dain, Cat, Maren—I hear them but don't register the words. My eyes are locked on Ridoc the second I see him.

"Ridoc!" I yell, snapping my fingers toward us. "With me!"

He doesn't ask why. Doesn't even blink. He follows.

The kitchen is stifling, heat rolling in waves, but all I feel is the sting of adrenaline. The Cook is already bracing, like he knows why we're here—and like he's prepared to die before telling us what he laced the cake with.

Figures.

He lifts the knife with a kind of manic pride. I see it flash in the dull light and step forward, instinctively putting myself between him and Ridoc. I raise my daggers, steady and sharp.

"Don't do it," I say, voice like ice. "Tell us what you put in the cake and this ends without blood. You can still keep your life."

But of course he lunges.

Idiot.

My daggers fly—one, two—piercing his shoulder before he even reaches us. He screams as blood spills down to his elbows, the knife clattering to the floor. He stares at his arm, mouth open like he can't believe what just happened. It's practically hanging off the hinges. 

I don't let him catch up.

"See what happens when you don't listen?" I take three deliberate steps and yank the daggers out clean, then push his chest backwards with barely any pressure. He folds, crashing into the shelves behind him with a wheeze.

He drops to his knees, hands trembling, lip trembling—he's begging now, some pitiful sound. But I don't even look. I'm not here for mercy.

Violet makes a sound beside me, breathless. "It's something blue! We have to find something blue!"

I pull back, stepping out of the pantry. Ridoc is at the door, jacket hanging loose, sword gleaming in the low light. Always in position. Always ready.

"I know what it is!" Violet's voice breaks with relief. I meet her eyes just once, nodding. She hesitates, just a flicker of concern—but I shut it down with a shake of my head.

"He needs you, Violet. We're fine."

She stares a second longer—then runs.

And now it's just me. Me and the Cook.

And Ridoc.

I breathe in deep. I step toward him.

"Ready to cooper—?"

He screams like a wounded animal and charges.

Everything inside me locks into place.

"Ridoc—!"

Too late.

I spin, catching the gleam of steel flying through the air. The kitchen knife arcs clean and fast—aimed straight for Ridoc's side. I dive right, feel the wind of it pass me, too far to intercept.

And then Ridoc gasps.

No.

My vision tunnels. Pain surges like a pulse—mine or his, I can't tell—but I shove it aside, rip through it like wet paper. I don't think. I move.

The dagger leaves my hand before I've even inhaled. It slams through the Cook's heart, pinning him to the pantry doorframe like a nailed-down animal. He's dead in an instant.

"You absolute bastard," I snarl, crossing the space in three furious steps.

Then I switch to Hedotic, spit the words like venom: "Why are you being such a dick?!"

But I'm already turning—already moving toward Ridoc.

The knife is still in him.

And for a heartbeat, I can't breathe.

I grit my teeth, jaw locked so tight it aches. My heart is slamming against my ribs, drowning out everything else—every thought, every sound, every breath.

"Ridoc?" My voice is trembling. "Ridoc, please don't fucking do this to me. You're okay—you have to be okay."

I stumble toward him, knees barely holding me up. But he doesn't mirror my panic. He just stares down at the knife lodged in his side like he can't feel it. Like it's happening to someone else. Just... staring.

Shock. It has to be shock.

"Ridoc." His name leaves my lips like a prayer. A broken, fragile thing. "We're going to fix this. I just—I need you to hold on. Just for me. I love you."

His eyes flick up at that, the smallest spark of something behind the haze.

Then, suddenly, his hand moves. He reaches for the knife's hilt.

"Ridoc, stop!" I throw my arm across him, trying to catch his wrist—but I'm too slow. He's already pulled it free.

"No, no—damn it, don't—"

I slam my hands over his side, ready to stop the bleeding with whatever I have left. My palms press into his flight jacket, expecting warmth, blood, anything.

But there's nothing.

No blood.

I blink, hard.

No tear in the shirt. Just a gash sliced clean through the fabric of his jacket and a matching cut in the countertop behind him.

The blade... it didn't touch him.

He's not hurt.

He's—he's fine.

I suck in a breath—short, sharp, disbelieving. Then another. My chest caves in around the relief, and I barely notice the tears as they start spilling over.

He drops the knife to the floor, the sound distant. Like it belongs in another world entirely.

"I love you too," he says. His voice is low and certain and soft in a way that shatters me entirely. His eyes are locked to mine, steady, like he's anchoring me there.

And that's it. I break.

I crash into him, hands curled into the lapels of his jacket, lips crashing against his in a kiss that tastes like panic and survival and every word I didn't have time to say. It's desperate—like I was drowning and he was air.

Because for a moment—I really thought I'd lost him. Forever.

I pull away only enough to breathe, to press my forehead to his, to wrap my arms around his neck and hold on like I never want to let go again.

His arms circle my waist, warm and strong and real.

"Mae," he murmurs, brushing his lips against my temple, "I'm okay. I promise."

"I know," I whisper, voice catching on a sob. "I just thought—Gods, Ridoc, I thought—"

"Love, I'm not gonna go out from a Cook with a kitchen knife," Ridoc says, flashing that crooked, maddeningly calm smile.

It pulls a laugh from my throat—a shaky, raw thing that still tastes like fear. "Of course not," I say, voice thinner than I want it to be.

For a heartbeat, it's just us. Stillness. Him, alive. Me, breathing. The world holding itself still like it knows we need a second.

Then—

The shouting.

It breaks through the quiet like a crack of thunder, the chaos beginning to rise again.

Ridoc's head whips toward the sound, then back to me. His expression hardens with focus.

I nod. We don't need to say anything else. He takes off without hesitation, boots pounding into the tile.

I move to follow—but something tugs at the edge of me.

A weight. A shadow. A presence.

I turn, and there he is.

The Cook.

His body is still slumped against the wall, unmoving. My dagger is buried deep in his chest—right where his heart should be. Blood has soaked the wood behind him, trailing down in thick ribbons.

I flinch.

Gods. I did that.

I didn't even notice. Not in the rush, not in the fear, not in the moment where everything screamed protect Ridoc protect Ridoc protect Ridoc.

But now?

Now it hits.

I killed him.

Not wounded. Not disarmed. I ended him.

He had a family. A life. A name. Somewhere, someone might be waiting for him to come home. Someone might love him the way I love Ridoc.

And I didn't hesitate. Not once.

A fresh wave of breathlessness hits me, but it's not relief this time—it's guilt. Cold and iron-heavy in my gut.

Gods. Violet. She's always known the cost. Always seen the weight that comes with doing what has to be done. And I—I never understood until now. Not really.

I take a step back. My legs feel like they're made of glass.

Because if Ridoc had been one step slower—

If that knife had landed where it was meant to—

If I had lost him—

I would've done worse.

I will do worse. Because he is everything.

He is every breath I take. Every future I imagine. Every heartbeat in my chest that reminds me I'm still alive. And if I ever lose him, I lose everything.

So yes—I'll carry this. I'll carry this body. This blood. This guilt.

Because I'd rather damn myself than live in a world without him.

I wipe at my face with the back of my sleeve, take one last look at the Cook, and tear myself away.

The shouting is louder now.

And I'm not done protecting the people I love.

Chapter Text

Garrick stirs, and the air changes.

He blinks against the light, chest rising with a shallow breath—and just like that, the entire room exhales.

No one says a word, but the relief is palpable. It moves through the space like a wave—rippling off bodies, softening postures, unspoken but deafening. The kind of silence that only comes after surviving something you didn't think you would.

But while everyone else breathes easier, I feel the opposite.

A different kind of pressure builds, one far heavier.

Because I can see him.

Xaden.

He's not relieved.

He's burning.

His fury is coiled so tightly beneath his skin it's practically vibrating, and before I can even move, he launches.

A crack splits the air as his fist collides with Faris's jaw—bone meeting bone with sickening force. The sound echoes, sharp and brutal. Faris stumbles, but Xaden grabs him by the collar and slams him against the wall like he weighs nothing.

"You poisoned him?" Xaden's voice is raw. Jagged.

Another slam, this time with more force, shaking the wood panels behind Faris.

"You tried to poison her?"

And then the blade—gods, the blade is out and pressed to Faris's throat, gleaming in the low light.

My stomach hollows. I can't breathe.

I know that look. I've seen it in battle. I've seen it in people seconds before they do something they'll never come back from.

"Whoa, whoa," Ridoc says carefully, stepping forward, hands lifted. "We can't kill potential allies. Even if they suck."

But the second Xaden turns his eyes on Ridoc, I freeze.

Because that's not Xaden. Not the one I know. Not the one Violet loves.

His eyes are wild—dark in a way that feels ancient, dangerous. His expression is something feral, like the last thread of control is slipping through his fingers and he wants it to.

This... this isn't him.

But the blade is still at Faris's throat. And no one is stopping him.

Every instinct I had about this situation—every gut feeling and carefully constructed theory—vanishes.

And all that's left is Violet.

I don't even hesitate. I move, not because I'm afraid of what Xaden might do, but because I understand.

He's not a monster. Not really.

He's unraveling right here, in front of everyone, and Violet's the only one who can reach him—but I can't let them see this. Not like this.

Because Violet said she had him under control. And I believed her.

Gods, I still believe her.

But he's losing it.

And he isn't laying a hand on Ridoc. 

"Fuck," I whisper, surging forward. I can't let this happen. I won't.

And she's my best friend. I know how hard she's fought to protect him. To protect their bond. The last thing I'll do is let him destroy it now, in front of half the room, in front of people who will never understand him the way she does.

So I do the only thing I can—I step in, not to fight him, but to shield him. To shield both of them.

I stand between Ridoc and Xaden and force my voice to stay steady. "Xaden."

That's all I say, but my eyes give away a more secretive warning. To Ridoc, it seems like I'm just protecting him, but to Xaden, I give a heavy warning to rethink his choices before he makes a mistake he can't come back from—he knows exactly what I'm trying to say. 

But even as I say it, I feel the tremble in my own body. I know it might not work.

And still—I do it anyway.

And Ridoc doesn't back off.

My body is angled in front of Ridoc, trying to shield him, to block whatever he might be thinking of doing. But then he moves—sidesteps me—and I see his face.

He's not angry.

He's haunted.

There's something cold in his eyes, like he's already recognised something. Like he's already seen everything.

Fuck. I'm sorry, Vi.

Because this? This is going to break her.

Before I can react, Violet moves like lightning—slipping between Ridoc and Xaden, her hand pressed to Ridoc's chest. It's not forceful. It doesn't need to be.

Ridoc raises an eyebrow but steps back anyway, casting a glance toward me that I can't decipher. I try—I really try—but whatever he's feeling is locked behind a wall I don't know how to climb.

I see the moment it hits him—when the truth settles behind his eyes. He's torn. And he knows I see it. He knows I know.

Violet—she grabs Xaden's arm. Gently. Steadily. Like she's done it a thousand times before.

"Look at me," she says. Calm, but not soft. Her voice anchors.

He doesn't flinch. Doesn't move the blade. Blood beads at the edge of it, thin and bright and horrifying.

"Look. At. Me." Her voice sharpens.

And he does.

His eyes drop to hers and something in them breaks. The tension in his body shifts—shoulders drooping just slightly, chest shuddering with a breath he didn't know he needed.

Violet says something low—words I can't hear. But whatever it is, it's enough.

Xaden steps back.

He lowers the blade.

He doesn't say a word as he turns, walking past me, past Ridoc, past everyone. He doesn't stop. Doesn't glance up. He just leans against the wall by the door, expression carved in stone, staring at the untouched plate in front of my seat.

The one with the cake.

I finally let out the breath I'd been holding, chest burning, the pressure of it collapsing inward like I've been buried under it this entire time.

My legs threaten to give. My hands are shaking.

I turn to look at Ridoc, and his eyes are already locked on mine—shattered.

There's betrayal simmering beneath the surface, quiet but unmistakable. And it hits me like a punch to the chest, sharp and sudden.

My heart clenches.

He's going to have a hard time forgiving me.

I know it. I feel it like a bruise forming beneath the skin before it's even visible. I feel Violet's hand squeeze mine—soft, grounding—and then her whisper brushes my ear.

"Thank you."

And then she's gone, moving to Xaden's side like it's the most natural thing in the world.

But Ridoc isn't at mine.

He's not with me. He's across the room, back turned, and I can feel him slipping through my fingers without even taking a step. I know that look. That posture. That silence.

He's deciphering. Calculating.

Biting his nails without realising. Shoulders tense. Eyes locked somewhere on the floor like if he just stares hard enough, the answers will form for him. He can't even look at me. He can't look at anyone.

And Aotrom's not here to help him put the pieces back together.

And Davina's not here to stop me from falling apart.

Gods.

If she were—if she were pressed behind my mind like she always is—she'd tell me this would pass. That Ridoc loves me. That Violet is my best friend and I'm allowed to choose both. That I made the right call.

But she's not. It's like she's gone.

And without her, I'm just—adrift.

My thoughts don't feel like mine. My heart's racing and I can't breathe right and everything feels like it's crumbling out from under me.

Because I looked at Ridoc—and he didn't look back.

And that shouldn't hurt as much as it does. But it does. It fucking does. I almost lost him thirty minutes ago. I watched a knife fly toward his side and for a split second, I thought my world was ending. Because he's everything. He's every steady breath, every warm night, every reason I believe in good things.

And now?

Violet whispered thank you like I saved her whole world. But did I just tear mine in half?

How do I know I didn't lose Ridoc's trust just now? How do I know that every time I choose Violet, every time I try to shield her and Xaden from the fire, I'm not lighting my own relationships on fire to do it?

How do I know he won't walk away next time?

Because I can see it happening. Right in front of me. In the way his silence is louder than any accusation could ever be.

But it isn't just about trust. It's about love.

Because Ridoc loves me. I know he does. I've seen it in every unspoken glance, every quiet smile, every time he's waited for me when no one else did. He chooses me—over and over—and gods, I chose him, too.

Didn't I?

Didn't I?

The answer twists in my stomach until I'm sick with it.

Before I can spiral deeper, Violet runs. Out the door, out into the next chaos, and everyone starts moving with her like they know exactly what they're doing.

My feet follow. They always do. That's who I am.

But I glance back—just once.

I look for him.

And I don't know if he'll ever trust me the same again.

Chapter Text

I sleep in broken fragments, my body swaying in rhythm with the saddle. Exhaustion wins out over the sharp ache still grinding through my ribs. The sun climbs steadily above us, but the warmth doesn't burn. The only security I've felt this whole ride came from a long look that Davina shared with me before we took off from Hedotis. 

By midday, we crest a final ridge, and the world seems to open.

The southeastern edge of the archipelago rolls out below us—verdant cliffs, waterfalls tumbling like silver threads, and beyond it all: Zehyllna.

Then, rising above the mist and elevation, Xortrys comes into view.

The capital city steals the air from my lungs. White stone wrapped in green terraces and bright blooms, its towers curve like ocean-worn shells toward the sky. It's beautiful. Untouched. Like something out of a storybook we don't deserve to step into.

Everyone slows as we reach the edge of the city path. From the centre of the tiled courtyard, a group approaches. At their head, a woman striding with the ease of someone used to being watched.

She's stunning—deep-brown skin that gleams in the sun, joyful brown eyes, and a cloud of black curls framing her face like a halo. There's something magnetic about her presence—like she knows she's beautiful and powerful and welcomes you to try underestimating her.

"I am Calixta," she announces, grinning. "Mistress of today's festivities."

My brows knit at the title, unsure if that's a good or horrifying thing. Ridoc rocks back on his heels beside me, arms crossed, lips twitching like he's holding in a comment.

This is the Isle of Luck, after all. But everyone knows the luck here comes at a price.

"But first—" Calixta begins.

"Here we go," Ridoc mutters under his breath.

I don't need to look at him to imagine the exact look on his face—dry amusement mixed with carefully buried apprehension. If things were normal between us, he'd probably nudge my shoulder right now, and I'd shoot him a glare that says later. We'd be aligned without speaking.

But things aren't normal.

I don't know where we stand.

"—you must receive the gift chosen for you by Zihnal," Calixta continues, her tone shifting into something more ceremonial. "If you are willing to accept whatever the god of luck deems fit—without question, without complaint—you will be welcomed into our city. Our queen awaits your presence."

"And if we... don't?" Violet asks, voice cool but level.

The smile vanishes from Calixta's face like the sun dropping behind a storm cloud. Her eyes sharpen.

"Then you are not welcome here. If you cannot honour luck—if you cannot adapt when the winds change—then Zehyllna will not ally with you. We do not bind ourselves to the rigid."

Of course. This isn't a game. It's a test. Not of luck—but of character. Of how we react when fate hands us something we hate.

Wonderful.

A group of five appears from the eastern steps—four carrying a carved table between them, and one trailing behind with a chair and a canvas sack.

Mira's voice cuts cleanly down the line. "I don't care if she gives you a fistful of mud and calls it a miracle. You smile. You nod. You thank her. This is our last shot at securing an army."

"If it's cow shit, do we have to really thank her?" Ridoc says flatly. "That feels excessive."

"Don't tempt me," Drake growls from the other side of the group.

"Gods, it's like traveling with my parents," Ridoc mutters, voice low.

I turn slightly toward him. "Ridoc," I whisper. Quiet. Careful. Just enough weight to say now's not the time.

He hears it. His head turns, and our eyes meet.

And it hits me like a wave to the chest—his gaze. Worn, tired...but open. Just for a moment.

I feel the knot in my chest loosen, just barely. I feel like I can breathe again.

And then he looks away.

Rolls his shoulders. Masks it.

Closes the door. Just like he used to at the beginning of our relationship.

And the air leaves my lungs like I imagined the whole thing. Like maybe I never had it to begin with.

I stare at the back of his head as he steps forward in line, and I feel it all over again: the distance. The ache. The truth that I haven't let myself say aloud—

He hasn't forgiven me.

Calixta reaches into the canvas bag and pulls out a thick stack of cards—easily the width of my forearm, maybe more. They're the size of my face, the backs painted in a bright, burnt orange that feels like fire trying to hide behind silk.

Which reminds me of my signet. Losing all this magic gives me the feeling that Carr's training has been put to waste. 

"Each card represents a gift," she says, her hands moving with practiced ease, shuffling like she's done this a thousand times. Maybe she has.

The man beside her repeats her words into a voice cone that echoes across the terrace, and another—taller, older—signs them with sharp, practiced gestures.

Calixta lays the cards out in a wide arc, face-down, forming a crescent moon across the table. Her voice is light. Careful. "You will draw the card Zihnal compels you to choose and receive your gift."

The crowd murmurs, alive with expectation.

My stomach sinks.

One by one, my squad moves forward. A card is drawn. A gift is offered. Mira accepts hers with ease, not even a flicker of doubt crossing her expression.

And me? I'm holding it together by a thread.

There's a pit in my stomach that won't go away. Like a string's been pulled tight somewhere inside me and I don't know what happens when it snaps. And for once since Hedotis, it has nothing to do with Ridoc.

I've felt this kind of wrong before.

Right before the sky breaks.

Right before someone dies.

I hate that I feel it again.

After Violet receives her gift—a compass, fitting—I gently pull her aside, careful to keep my movements subtle. The crowd is watching us like hawks, and I don't want to give them any reason to doubt us.

"Vi," I whisper, low and tight, my eyes fixed forward as Mira steps back in line, "I don't trust this. Something's wrong. It feels... wrong."

She doesn't miss a beat. Her eyes slide to mine with an unreadable expression, her voice quiet but steady. "I know. But we have each other. If something goes to hell, we handle it."

I nod, but I can't even feel it. She continues, voice even lower: "I still have communication with Tairn."

She glances toward the tree line, unreadable.

"...And Andarna," she adds, eyes meeting mine again—sharper this time. She gives me a careful nod before turning back, calm and unreadable, just like Mira.

I'm not calm. I'm anything but calm. My hands are trembling, and I try to clench them at my sides so no one sees. I feel like I'm about to come apart at the seams, and everyone else is made of stone.

Then I realise—Trager is already at the table.

My turn is next.

Fuck.

I try to keep my face blank, or pleasant, or... I don't know. Whatever expression means thank you for inviting me to your potentially cursed city, please don't kill me. But inside I'm screaming. My heartbeat is in my throat. I've fought wyvern and riders and politics, and this is what's unraveling me?

I can feel that something is irrevocably wrong and I have no idea what to do with that information because I'm putting up a fucking pageant right now.

I feel the hair rise at the back of my neck.

My eyes flick to Ridoc before I can stop myself. Habit. Always him. Always when I need a moment of safety. Something to anchor me.

His arms are crossed, his posture stiff. But then—his eyes find mine.

And for a second, just one second, I breathe.

He nods at me.

Is he checking on me? Reassuring me?

Or is he silently begging me not to blow this?

I don't know anymore. I don't know and it's tearing me apart. Because if Davina were here, she'd help me sort through this. She'd quiet the chaos, help me make sense of the thousand clashing thoughts in my head.

But she's not here.

And I feel like I'm losing everything. Davina, Ridoc, my own fucking sense of self.

I swallow hard, force a smile onto my face—gods, it feels like it's made of glass—and turn back to Trager just as Calixta lifts the card.

"The arrow," she says, holding it aloft. Her voice is too bright.

The painted arrow gleams under the sun.

Then she turns it to the crowd.

And everything stops.

The buzz of excitement vanishes in an instant. The silence that follows is unnatural. Heavy. Like the whole island has suddenly decided to hold its breath.

My heart starts pounding. I whip my head toward the crowd.

Their faces—no joy. No celebration. Just stillness. Horror. Disappointment. Something worse.

Trager takes a step back, then another. I see it all—his wide eyes, the fumble of his feet, the way he turns, reaching out for something, someone—Cat.

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

And then he falls.

Three steps.

One gasp.

The arrow's already buried in his chest.

Ridoc and I move at the same time, hands outstretched—

CBut it's too late.

Chapter Text

Xortrys was nothing short of fucking gruesome. In every way imaginable.

Trager and Sila are gone.

I didn't even have time to breathe. And I have never seen Cat cry the way she cried. Her scream is still carved into every memory I now have of this place—raw and unbearable.

Wherever we go, I'm reminded of the cost.

It's cold. Not because of the temperature—we're all sitting in a quiet circle beneath the moon—but because the air is heavy. Thick with grief and ghosts of happiness that feel further away with every step we take toward finding allies.

I keep telling myself I agreed to this for home.

For Violet.

That's what matters.

But at what cost keeps slipping back in.

My head is a mess of silence and noise. It's just me in here now. No signet, no echoing instincts. Just a mind too loud, too tired, and a fear I can't shake.

Never again will I take Davina for granted. Never again will I forget how much I relied on her to hold me together. She won't tell me if she's suffering without the magic to keep her whole. And there's no way for me to know, either.

We've all tried to reach our dragons and gryphons since we arrived—but I think everyone's starting to give up.

Cat certainly has.

"I'm gonna go look for some wood. We can start a fire in the middle so we can eat," Ridoc says. His voice is quiet. He doesn't look at anyone. Just stares at the grass like it holds answers.

The group stills. His words hang there, heavier than they should be. We're meant to fly to Loysam at dawn to burn Silas's and Trager's bodies—it's what they would have wanted and it's the only way we can feel satisfied in honouring them.

But this... right now, this is all we can manage.

Ridoc and I haven't spoken. Not really. And it's killing me. Every second he's not beside me, I feel myself unraveling more.

I know he spoke to Violet earlier. Whatever they said—it rattled him. When he came back, I swear he looked ready to threaten Xaden.

And that kiss. The one he got from a stranger as his gift. I haven't stopped thinking about it. Especially not after seeing what happened with Trager's gift.

The truth is, I'm terrified. Because I care for Ridoc in a way I don't care for anyone else.

And I don't know how to stop.

My thoughts are a looping mess of what-ifs. I wish I could shut my mind off completely.

And then there's my gift. The most ridiculous of them all. A fortune cookie. Out of everything, they give me that.

I didn't eat it—maybe still traumatised from Garrick's whole cake ordeal—but I kept the slip of paper.

It read: "A decision you didn't make still changed everything."

I've tried not to think about it too hard, but gods, it's difficult not to. The words are small but sharp. And the fact that some random stranger with shockingly blue eyes bolted out of the crowd just to hand it to me doesn't exactly scream meaningless.

But still—how much weight can I give something that feels like a bad joke?

"We'll go look for some wood too," Violet says, motioning toward Xaden. They get up. I can feel tension between them. It crackles in the air. The not-good kind.

Ridoc stands too.

And just as he walks past me, I reach out and grab his arm. I don't think. I just do.

He stops, looks down at me—and I swear I see the softness return to his face for the first time in days.

"I'll come with you," I say, quietly.

He hesitates. "Stay here with everyone."

My eyes search his. Desperately. Hoping for something—anything—to hold onto.

All I find is a tiny spot of darker brown beneath his left iris, illuminated by the moonlight. Something I never noticed before, despite all the times I've studied his face like it was scripture.

"Ridoc, please," I whisper. Barely louder than the wind.

He pauses. Brow furrowed. And then, without a word, he turns and starts walking into the woods—into the shadows and the trees and whatever silence waits there.

I follow.

The woods feel too quiet. Too still. Like the trees are watching, waiting for something to fall apart.

Ridoc walks ahead of me, silent, his jaw tight. His shoulders tense with every step, like he's holding back something bigger than he knows how to carry. We definitely both are.

The light from the moon flickers between branches above us, glinting off the silver of his scabbard and catching in the strands of his hair.

I want to reach for him. I want to fix this.

He stops by a fallen log and crouches beside it, brushing aside some moss and bark. His hands move on instinct—always capable, always calm—but I can see the storm under his skin. The pressure building.

I stand behind him, my arms crossed over my chest like they're the only thing holding me together.

"Ridoc," I start, but my voice wavers on his name. "Can we—can we just talk?"

He doesn't turn around. "I don't know. Can we?"

I flinch.

Gods. I deserve that.

But it still cuts.

He tosses a dry branch into the pile he's collecting, then stands slowly and finally turns to face me. His expression is unreadable. Not cold — no, it's worse than that. It's guarded.

I've never seen him look at me like this before. Like I'm a stranger. Like I'm a weapon he's afraid of touching.

"You should've told me," he says. No preamble. Just those five words. Low. Steady. But burning with weight.

My throat tightens. "I know."

He shakes his head, stepping closer. "Do you? Because I trusted you, Maeve. More than anyone. And you just—what? Decided I didn't need to know?"

"I wasn't trying to hurt you—"

"But you did."

His voice rises. Just enough. Enough for me to feel it in my ribs.

"I didn't know what to do!" I shout back, arms falling to my sides. "Do you think I wanted to keep something like that from you?"

"Then why did you?" His eyes are stormy now. "Why wasn't I enough for you to trust with the truth?"

I stare at him, the question crashing into me like a wave.

Because I don't have an answer that makes this okay. Not for him. Not for us.

"Violet needed me," I whisper, because it's all I've got. "She begged me. And she's my best friend, Ridoc. I didn't know what would happen if Xaden's secret got out."

"So you chose her." His voice drops lower, sharp with disbelief. "Not even just over me, Maeve. Over everyone. Over all of us."

"It wasn't like that."

"Then what the fuck was it like?"

"Violet is my best friend," I snap, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "It wasn't my secret to tell, Ridoc. It wasn't up to me."

My voice wavers, but I don't take it back and anger rises within me. I snap. Because no matter how much we love or trust each other, Ridoc will never be the only person in my life. 

"She trusted me with it — begged me — and I couldn't just rip that away from her. Even for you." I swallow, but the words catch in my throat. I don't know. I didn't have Davina to guide me. I didn't have time to think or plan or weigh consequences.

I just... felt.

And it led me here.

"So what were you going to do if Xaden did something to me then?"

"I stood in front of you to protect you from him, Ridoc! Just because I'm choosing to keep Violet's secret, doesn't mean I agree with the consequences or even the morals of it either!"

"Then why didn't you say something?"

"Because it wasn't mine to tell!" My voice breaks, anger finally rising in me to its limit. "Gods, Ridoc, do you think that was easy for me? To watch you pull further and further away, knowing you felt betrayed and I couldn't even explain why?"

His jaw clenches, but he says nothing.

"I was trying to protect her. And you. I never wanted this to become something I had to choose between. I thought... I thought you knew me better than that."

"I thought I was doing the right thing," I manage. "I thought—"

"No." He laughs bitterly, a hand dragging down his face. "You thought you could keep both sides. Be loyal to Violet, and still have me. Still have us. But it doesn't work like that."

I take a shaky step forward and my fists close. "That's not fair, Ridoc. Don't say it like there isn't an us. Don't do that."

He looks at me then. Really looks at me. His eyes are wet with something aching within. And I hate it.

I hate that I put that look there.

"I could have died in Hedotis," he says, voice quiet now, broken at the edges. "And I didn't even care — because you were there. And I trusted that meant something."

"It does."

"Then why doesn't it feel like it anymore?"

Silence. Crushing. Total.

I feel like I'm bleeding from the inside out. Like everything I've buried deep — all the panic, all the pain — is rising and choking me.

"I'm trying," I whisper. "I'm trying so hard and I don't know how to make it right. I don't even know who I am without Davina—"

"I know exactly who you are." He exhales, and it sounds like it hurts. "You're the one person I never thought would lie to me."

That lands like a blade.

I nod slowly. Because what else can I do? I'm unraveling in front of him and I don't even have the words to stop it.

"Okay," I breathe.

"Maeve—"

"I can't..." I shake my head. "I can't say the right thing. Not right now."

I turn away. Every step feels wrong. Like I'm walking away from something sacred. But I have to. If I stay, I'll shatter completely.

"Maeve, wait—"

I stop, just for a second. My back still to him.

"Please don't hate me," I whisper. My voice breaks around the plea. "Because I don't think I can survive that."

And then I walk away.

Because staying would mean letting him see me fall apart.

And I've already lost too much.

Everyone is back together now and the dragons are asleep. We all crowd the small fire, trying to soak up as much heat as possible. My eyes wander over to Ridoc's. He can't look at me. He is as white as ever, and hasn't spoken a single word. No one else has noticed.

Except for me.

Chapter Text

The perimeter sweep of the tiny isle we reach at dawn — a speck of land with one hollow-tipped peak — takes maybe ten minutes. It's barely more than a bump in the ocean, but we confirm it's uninhabited and set down on the northern beach.

The sand is black. I think. Could be exhaustion.

And then—Gods.

Then I feel it.

Magic.

It doesn't just hum beneath my skin. It erupts. Like a flame lighting after days in the dark. Like a breath I hadn't realised I was holding finally flooding my lungs. It spikes through every nerve ending, wild and alive and mine again.

My knees nearly give out.

I suck in a shaking breath, arms pressed tight to my sides, like I'm afraid I'll explode if I move too fast. The heat coils low in my chest, the energy dancing across my skin—not as strong as Navarre, but there.

It's there.

A sob breaks free, strangled in my throat, and then—

"You are the most emotional person I have ever met."

I freeze. My head whips to the side. I swear the stars blur for a moment.

"Davina!?"

My hands are already over my mouth, and a laugh punches out of me—half-cry, half-disbelief. I rush to her and place my hands over her scales, even though she towers over me.

"Gods, Davina, I missed you. I— I needed you."

"You've been surviving," she says calmly, a rumble of warmth beneath her usual sharp tone. "Albeit dramatically."

I let out a choked laugh and drop to my knees in the sand, clutching at the pulse of power thrumming in my core. "I thought I was going to lose it. I did lose it. I've been spiralling for days. Weeks. I couldn't hear you. I couldn't feel anything. I didn't even know if you were okay."

"I would've told you if I wasn't. You know that."

"I didn't know anything. I couldn't tell if you were suffering, or in pain, or—" My voice breaks. "Gods, Davina. I didn't know who I was without you."

Silence hums between us, like the quiet after a storm.

"You forget that your strength has never depended on hearing me," she says gently. "But I am glad to be back."

Tears slip down my cheeks, warm against the cool dawn air. 

A breeze kicks up, carrying with it the scent of salt and ash, and I press a hand to the ground, feeling the faint pull of magic seeping through the black sand.

I don't care what comes next — for one breath, for one heartbeat, I feel whole again.

I can feel waves of joy spark between both riders and fliers of our squad, but it wastes away once we remember why we've come here.

A fire painted shadows all across the sand beneath my feet. Embers rose gently up into the air, whisking away into the night without a sound, before crumbling and wasting away. 

"With honour, love, and gratitude, we commend your souls to Malek."

The silence is heavy enough for everyone to break off in their own ways, leaving Ridoc and I to tend to the fire. Though I'm more than sure that our fight was loud enough for all of Zehyllna to hear so that's the most plausible reason we've been left alone. 

His hair is so much darker now for some reason. I've also noticed that his reunion with Aotrom and his signet was not as full as my own. 

I can't help but feel like that's my fault. 

He prodded the wood with a stick. The fire was somewhat sparking every now and again, but when there was hope that it would erupt into a basket of warmth, the sticks would just fall over each other and the embers would die. 

Being able to produce my signet gives me such a rush of adrenaline like nothing could ever compare. 

I had to keep relighting the wood as for some reason, they just didn't want to stay ablaze—even though I was using literal fire. 

This has to be the universe taking the piss.

His eyes moved towards the shore. I watched the waves meet the sand and kiss it gently before returning to the ocean. Just ahead were three shadows, resting. Their scales were a pure reflection of the moonlight. Davina was one of them.

I sighed out loud and stood up suddenly. "You know what? I'm going to just go get more wood. Maybe it will stay lit with more wood," I suggested, dusting off my hands.

He stood up abruptly. "No—" he cut me off immediately. I looked at him, confused with his sudden temper. "—stay here. I'll go."

I frowned. "Ridoc, it's fine. I've got my signet back," I replied, gesturing towards the fire.

"I said I'll go," he responded. His anger caught me off guard. I didn't know what to say. We just need time to cool off because I get it—I mean I'm still pissed at him but also heartbroken a little. 

The only thing that causes a strike of worry in me is that his face had gone white again and he still can't look at me.

I kicked about three stones within the time he had left me. The only company I have to share my humming with is this sad fire that won't start. Those and the piles of thoughts I've got stacking up rapidly.

"Let him think. He loves you far too much for this small thing to cost you what you've both built," Davina speaks clear in the back of my mind. 

I frown. "It isn't a small thing. And if that was really true he'd be putting in more effort."

I hear her huff like it's a sigh, a puff of steam rolling over the water she's currently sitting on. "Give him some time."

A figure comes into view down a pathway of trees and bushes. I'm almost completely unaware of who it is, but I know it has to be Ridoc. Once his face comes into view. He walks over and drops the logs onto the ground, avoiding eye contact with me while I watch him with narrowed eyes.

Is this boy serious?

He took his sweet time placing the wood in the fire. Too sweet of time. "I think that's more than enough."

His body stilled momentarily. "Yeah, I guess so."

The air was strangely thick between us. Something weird clung to his nature. He seems way colder than usual and for some reason, I feel like it has nothing to do with our argument. That or I'm so completely blind and I'm losing him at my own hand. 

"Ridoc," I said plainly.

His shoulders slumped a little bit. "Don't do this, Mae."

My demeanour shifted.

I watch him for too long, trying to make sense of what's different. It's not the silence. We've survived silences before. It's not even the way he avoids looking at me — I'd know how to break through that.

It's that... he's pulling back like I burned him. Like being near me costs him something he can't afford anymore.

I can't take it. Not another godsdamn hour.

"Okay," I say sharply, arms crossed as I stop in front of him. "Are you going to keep pretending I don't exist? Or are you going to talk to me?"

His hands still where he's been stirring the embers. He doesn't look up.

That ache — the one I thought magic had eased — sinks sharp into my ribs again.

"You've fought with me before," I continue. "You've been pissed at me before. But this? This is different, Ridoc. And I want to know why."

Nothing.

Just the crackling of the fire. And my pulse, thudding in my ears.

I kneel down in front of him, eyes searching his face. "I got my magic back. I got Davina back. But I don't feel better. I feel worse. Because you're not here with me."

His jaw tightens.

"Talk to me," I whisper, voice cracking. "Please. I know I hurt you. I'm so sorry, Ridoc. But I can't live like this—"

"Stop, Maeve. I understand why you kept it from me. You didn't do anything." His voice is low. Strained. Like it physically hurts to speak.

My heart stutters. "Then why—?"

"Because I need you to stop, Maeve."

He finally looks at me, and I wish he hadn't.

His eyes are tired. Haunted. Like he's been fighting something I can't see. Something maybe I should have seen.

"I need you to stop looking at me like I'm yours," he says, sharper now. "Like you expect something from me that I can't give you."

My breath leaves me. "What are you talking about?"

"You want answers? Fine." He gets to his feet, and I rise with him. "I'm pulling away because it's easier than pretending I still want this. I'm done, Maeve."

I flinch like he's struck me.

He doesn't mean it. I know he doesn't.

But the way he says it—

The way he says it makes something crack inside me.

"I don't believe you," I whisper. "I know you. I know the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching. I know the way you ran for me in Eistol. I felt it—"

"You felt wrong," he snaps. "That wasn't love, Maeve. That was desperation."

I stumble back a step like the ground's been ripped out from under me. "You're lying."

Who the fuck am I talking to right now?

"I'm not." His voice is steel now. "And I'm tired of you assuming you know what's in my head."

I can feel the heat behind my eyes, the words I want to say catching behind the lump in my throat. Why are you doing this? I want to scream it. Why are you tearing us apart like I meant nothing to you?

"You said you love me. Not loved—love," I cry, my voice breaking at the thought of all of this being true. Because I know it isn't. It can't be. "Why are you saying this, Ridoc?"

He shakes his head. "Because this has gone too far."

Im not buying this shit. "Ridoc, you said you would communicate with me. Forget about our fight earlier, I care about you more. What the fuck is going on? Why are you acting like this?"

"Maeve, I don't want to talk. I've just told you, so leave it," he snapped.

I stared straight at him and didn't blink. My eyes danced over his features, trying to compose my thoughts. My emotions. But I can't. "You can't ignore the conversation forever."

His eyes darkened, but not the way in the I knew Ridoc.

"Can't you just drop it? We don't need to discuss it because this whole fucking thing was a mistake. Leave it alone."

He shook his head, and he let out a low chuckle.

My world goes still.

He turns away before I can speak. His hands are shaking.

And for a second — just one second — I see it.

In the way his shoulders hunch. The way his breath catches.

Guilt.

Not anger. Not resentment.

Guilt.

But I can't make sense of it. I don't know why he's doing this, only that it's killing me and something in him at the same time.

I stare at his back. I want to scream. I want to hit him. I want to beg.

But I don't do any of those things.

Maybe if I close my eyes and listen to the waves crashing, to the whistles in the wind, I can pretend none of this happened. Maybe I can trick myself into believing he didn't look me in the eyes and tell me he didn't want me. That his words didn't cut me wide open.

Maybe I can erase this side of him from my memory.

But that's not how this works.

There is no gentleness in trying to forget someone you're supposed to love. There's only a hollow sort of grief—quiet and cruel and unspeakable.

Shouldn't I know that by now?

All those moments I let myself imagine forever—the ones where I let my gaze linger too long, where I memorised the shade of his eyes just in case—they're already starting to rot. To fade into some alternate life where we barely knew each other at all. A world where the ache in my chest doesn't exist.

I wanted to say something. Gods, I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw every ounce of pain in my body at him and watch it shatter across his feet like glass.

But instead, I stayed quiet.

I said nothing.

And silence, I'm learning, is its own kind of death.

From the edge of the trees, voices stir. Violet emerges with her arms full of firewood, Xaden at her side. I watch them—how they walk close but don't touch. How their glances say more than words ever could. They speak in a language I'll never understand. A language only meant for them.

She's so at ease near him. Comfortable in the kind of way that makes my chest feel tight with something I can't name. I don't think I'll ever be like that—with anyone.

I'm not sorry for protecting them. 

Behind them, Mira and Drake bicker about something unimportant. Cat seems to be winning the most lethal category. Though if Xaden were to chime in, I'm sure her title would crumble fast.

We settle into nightfall without much more than a word. Watch rotations are assigned. Fires are lit. Blankets drawn tight.

And still, I feel cold.

Not because of the wind. But because I've never felt further from him than I do now.

And I don't know how to come back from that.

I laid still on my back, looking up at the thousands of stars that were painted across the sky. Gently, I lifted my head and turned it to look over at Ridoc. He was further from me than where he stood when he spoke to me before.

He was already looking at me. Uncertainty in his eyes.

I blinked, not moving my eyes off his once.

With one last spark, the fire died and the same colour of black that stretched out over the trees and sand grew coldly within the wooden cracks of its wake.

Chapter Text

"They've been trying to wake you for ten minutes now," Davina says, her voice cutting through the fog of my mind like a blade.

I stir, my body sluggish and uncooperative as I blink against the morning sun. A sharp gasp leaves me as cold water splashes over my face and down my neck, drenching my hair and shirt.

"What the fuck?" I croak, sitting up fast enough that my head spins.

"Thank the gods, she's alive," Violet drawls, hands on her hips, lips twitching like she's fighting the urge to smile.

I force a glare in her direction but there's no real heat behind it. Not today. Not after... last night.

I've never slept in before. Not like this. Not to the point where they're splashing seawater on me and half the squad is already packed and ready to go.

The others are scattered near the shore, clustered in small groups beside their dragons or gryphons, going through the familiar routines before flight. 

Without thinking, my eyes sweep the beach, searching for him. Searching for Ridoc.

It's instinct, that's all. A habit carved deep beneath my skin from years of knowing exactly where he stood at any given moment. I don't even realise I'm doing it until I've scanned the area twice and still haven't found him.

He's not here.

He's nowhere.

A flicker of something sharp cuts through me. Panic? Hope? Grief? I'm too numb to tell the difference anymore.

Last night. The memory surfaces sluggishly, fragmented and raw — his expression closed off, the distance in his eyes, the words I forced out between shaking breaths.

"Mistake."

I press a hand to my temple and exhale. Right. Of course he's not here.

"Focus," Davina says gently through our bond. Her presence is a steady hum beneath my skin, softer than usual. Careful. "You'll see him again soon enough. Whether you want to or not."

Do I? I don't ask. I don't even want to know the answer right now.

Davina shifts, her scales catching the light as she stretches her wings. I feel the thrum of her impatience, but she reins it in. For me.

"Everyone's waiting," she adds after a pause. "And they'll notice sooner or later if you sit here drowning in your own head."

I snort, but there's no humour in it. "Not helping."

"Not trying to. You're allowed a moment. Just don't make it a lifetime."

I push myself to my feet, brushing sand off my palms. My clothes are damp and clingy, but I barely register the discomfort. The others have already started shifting toward their dragons, some mounting up, others double-checking gear.

"Maeve?" Violet sidles up beside me, squinting into my face like she's trying to solve a puzzle. "You look... weird."

"Thanks," I mutter.

"No, I mean— like, off. You alright?"

For a second, I consider telling her. Telling someone. Just blurting it all out until it doesn't feel so heavy in my chest. But I see the worry flickering behind her teasing expression, and I know Violet well enough to know she won't let it drop if I open that door.

"I didn't sleep well," I say instead. A simple truth, if not the whole one. "Weird dreams. That's all."

Her gaze lingers on me for a beat too long, sharp and searching. Then she shrugs. "You scared the shit out of me for a second. Garrick too."

I manage a small smile. "Tell him thanks for the water."

Violet grins. "Oh, that was me."

Of course it was.

I turn away before she can press further, making my way toward Davina with leaden steps. My dragon lowers her head as I approach, her golden eyes knowing and patient.

"You'll find your footing again," she tells me, warmth curling beneath the words like a promise. "It's just sand beneath you now. Shifting. Unsteady. But you'll learn how to walk on it."

"That's very wise of you," I murmur, pressing my forehead to her scales.

"I am a dragon," Davina replies, with a huff of something like amusement. "Wisdom comes standard."

I mount Davina with a breath that feels too big for my lungs.

"Let's just fly," I tell her.

With one great sweep of her wings, we leave the shore — and everything I don't want to think about — behind us.

Davina climbs higher, cresting over a ridge of dark rocks that hem the island like broken teeth. We follow Violet, falling into formation without thought. The ocean sprawls beneath us, grey and endless.

I'm just starting to settle my breathing when movement below catches my eye.

A shadow sweeps across the water — Aotrom.

Ridoc appears from behind Aotrom's massive form. He moves like he always has: controlled, precise. But I see it. The way his shoulders hold more tension than they should. The way he hesitates, just for a second, before swinging into place.

It shouldn't hurt to watch him move.

It shouldn't feel like this.

His head lifts, almost like he senses me. Like he's been waiting for this exact moment.

For one breathless, fragile second, our eyes meet across the sky.

The world tilts. Not forward, not back — sideways, like falling into a memory. His gaze pins me in place, sharp and unreadable beneath the wind and distance. Something flickers there. I think it's anger. I think it's grief. I think it's all the things we didn't say last night.

Then he looks away.

Just like that.

Gone.

Aotrom leaps skyward, brown wings slicing through the air. Ridoc follows the others without sparing me another glance.

I blink. Once. Twice. The burn behind my eyes settles somewhere deeper, somewhere quieter. I bury it like I've buried everything else.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Davina's steady voice brushes against my thoughts. "Let it pass. Like a wave. Don't drown in it."

I don't answer. I just press my palm to her scales, ground myself in her warmth, and follow.

And the sky swallows us whole.

Chapter Text

The walls of Basgiath loom ahead like teeth carved from bone.

Home.

Or something like it.

Davina circles once above the vale, her shadow cutting a slow arc over the hall, the watch towers, the stone-faced dorms lined up in rows like coffins. Below, dragons are landing in practiced, efficient waves — riders stretching stiff muscles, dragging themselves toward debriefings or their dorms. No one lingers long.

It's strange, how something so familiar can still feel so alien. Like I've stepped back into my life but nothing fits the same anymore. Not my skin.

I don't look for Ridoc. Not really. But my eyes still find him anyway.

He's halfway across the field, striding toward our squad with that same damn posture. Straight-backed. Head high. Like nothing touches him. Like he didn't shatter something between us that night on the beach.

For a breath, he glances my way.

For a breath, I almost forget how to stand.

But his gaze slips past me without slowing, like I'm just another obstacle in his path. A stranger in familiar skin.

Fine.

I blink, and whatever I feel sinks deeper beneath the surface where it belongs. Where it can't reach me. I move on with my thoughts.

There's a sort of strange sensation of disappointment that lingers in the air, cutting through my skin.

We failed our mission.

We didn't find the seventh breed of dragon.

And we didn't find a cure for Xaden.

The thought lodges in my throat, sharp and unrelenting. From the moment we landed, one truth has been pulsing like a war drum in my head: I have to keep this from the squad.

I swore to myself that I'd do everything—anything—to protect this secret. To protect them. But the more time passes, the harder that's becoming.

When Violet kept the existence of the Venin from us, it nearly fractured everything we'd built.

So what happens now?

And this isn't even my truth to share. But gods, it burns.

What makes it worse is knowing Xaden's still going to be around them. We have to work together. That changes things. Changes everything, more than I realised—
—until I see her.

I'm immediately hit with someone's laughter cracks through the air. It's Rhi.

Gods, I missed that sound.

The wind off the fields smells like salt and ash, faint but familiar, like it's trying to remind me I'm still tethered to something

I barely feel my legs as I start walking faster—then jogging, then full-on running down the last stretch of space like the earth itself can't hold me anymore.

"Mae!" Rhiannon crashes into me so hard we almost topple over. Her arms are around me in seconds, and it's tight and real and warm in a way nothing else has been for days. I grip the back of her and press my face to her shoulder, breathing her in like oxygen. I fucking missed her so much my knees almost give out.

"Gods," she says, voice thick. "I missed you way too much."

"You can't even begin to imagine," I murmur, smiling into the fabric. I feel her laugh, short and wet, against my cheek. Her hair is in braids like it usually is, but the familiarity of it sparks tears in my eyes.

Then a second pair of arms joins in, practically lifting me off the ground. "You didn't die. That's so unlike you," Sawyer quips from behind me, but his voice cracks halfway through.

I turn and grab him by the collar, pulling him into the mess of limbs that is now our reunion. His hair is longer, windswept and chaotic. There's a gash across his cheek that looks fresh. He doesn't mention it. I don't ask.

Liam walks up slower, more cautious, but the moment our eyes meet, he doesn't hesitate. He folds me into him like he's afraid I'll vanish if he doesn't hold on long enough. For a minute, none of us says anything. I just listen to their breathing, to mine. Like we're syncing again.

"Missed you, troublemaker," Liam murmurs against my temple.

When we finally pull apart, Rhi's eyes scan me up and down, and she tilts her head. "You're going to love me."

I grin. "Why."

"I wrote out notes for classes you missed."

"Rhiannon, I could kiss you."

We all laugh then—sharp and sudden and loud—and it feels like something inside me is finally allowed to exhale.

I haven't felt this free in days. It's been three weeks. Three weeks apart and it feels like it's been months. I'm standing in front of the people I call home and I can't help but think about Xaden. About Violet. About Ridoc.

Inevitably, my eyes drift across to where Ridoc stands again, apart. Watching. Always watching. His face is half-lit in the sun, the other swallowed in shadow. He doesn't smile. Doesn't wave. Just turns away as soon as I meet his gaze.

My chest tightens.

He didn't even come over.

I can feel my heart cave in on itself. How am I meant to keep all of this from Rhi? From Sawyer? From Liam?

Rhi follows my line of sight. "Ridoc," she exclaims, but her eyes catch mine. Her grin falters.

"He's been off," I say quietly.

I try to mask the way my face twists, but she sees it.

Sawyer steps up beside me, folding his arms. "You know he's in love with you, right?"

I shoot him a glare, but it's weak at best.

"I'm serious," he says. "The guy looks at you like he's in a dream he's scared to wake up from."

"Then why does he keep pushing me away?" I whisper, more to myself than them.

"Because he's dumb?" Rhi offers unhelpfully.

"Because something's wrong," Liam says, voice steady. His tone knocks me back into reality.

I nod slowly. "Yeah. I know."

Rhi gives me a knowing look. "Wait, are you guys...?"

I can't bring myself to answer her. I can't even accept it myself.

A long silence passes between us before Rhiannon exhales. "Do something about it."

I look at her.

She crosses her arms. "Whatever's eating him—it's eating you too. And honestly? Watching you two mope around in mutual misery is exhausting. And it's been two minutes"

"I'm not moping."

"You're one-thousand percent moping. And more than that. You look a bit broken, Mae."

My eye catches hers and I can feel my throat go dry. I hate that her noticing makes me want to come apart immediately.

I snort, covering it up. "And you're insufferable."

"Only because I love you."

My throat tightens. "I love you too."

Rhi throws an arm around my shoulder and rests her head against mine. "So fix it. Or fight him. Or kiss him. Or punch him. Or all of the above. Just... don't let this ruin what you've got left. I don't know what happened when you guys are gone but I know what I saw before you left."

Sawyer raises his hand. "If it helps, I vote 'kiss then punch.' Good balance of catharsis and closure."

Liam chuckles, but it's soft. "Whatever you do, Maeve... don't wait too long."

"Vi!" Rhi squeals, already breaking into a run. The others follow close behind, laughter spilling in their wake like nothing's changed, like no time has passed.

Only Liam lingers.

He looks at me, hesitation written clear across his face. There's a question there — something caught between concern and uncertainty — but he doesn't ask it. Not here. Not now.

I offer him the only thing I can manage: a small, hollow smile.

His expression softens. Wordless understanding passes between us as my arm slips through his, a quiet anchor in the noise. We fall into step together, crossing the yard toward Violet.

Sometimes, you don't have to say a thing to know someone's still got your back. Even when you don't know where you're going next.

I glance over to Ridoc again. Sawyer has crowded him and it's the first time I see relief in him. He crashes into Sawyer's arms, shutting his eyes really tight like he's afraid to let go.

Too late already echoes in my mind.

But I shake it off. Not yet.

I'm going after him tonight.

Even if it breaks me.

Chapter Text

Ridoc

The world was quieter the day I almost died.

I remember that first—the silence. Not the kind that feels peaceful or still, but the kind that rings in your ears like everything around you is holding its breath. I was nine. Or maybe ten. The kind of age where everything still feels big and bright and endless. The kind of age where you believe you'll live forever.

It had started as a dare. One of those dumb things boys do when they want to prove they're not afraid. And of course, my dumbass loves shit like that.

We were racing along the river just outside of my home like we always did. I don't exactly remember the games we would spend days making up but I remember the wind roaring in my ears—how it made me feel like I was flying. I was fast. I've always been fast. But I was also stupid. Reckless.

Cliffs kissed the river at a certain point and we took it too close one day. I took the corner too hard. My foot slipped. The world tilted.

And then I was falling.

It wasn't like the stories say. My life didn't flash before my eyes. There wasn't a moment of clarity. Just wind and rock and a scream caught in my throat. I remember seeing the jagged shoreline below—sharp, merciless—and thinking, Oh. Just that. Oh.

Then everything went black.

When I woke, I wasn't in pain.

I wasn't even on the ground. I was floating in something that looked like starlight. Not water. Not air. Just endless space, lit by shimmering specks of light that pulsed like heartbeats. My body felt weightless, but I knew I wasn't dreaming.

I looked down and saw myself—small and broken. My arm bent the wrong way. Blood on my temple. A smear of crimson on the rocks beneath me. I didn't understand it at the time. How I could see myself and be separate from that broken version. I just stared, breathless.

Then the space around me shifted.

A figure emerged—not from light, but from the absence of it. A shape carved out of shadow, tall and blurred at the edges, like the void had decided to wear a body. There were no eyes, no face. Just presence. And when it spoke, it didn't use words.

It filled my head.

You're not meant to be here yet.

I blinked. My voice didn't work. My mouth tried to move, but no sound came out. I was a kid again, just a scared little boy in front of something ancient.

You fell.

I nodded slowly.

You should have died.

The weight of that truth sat heavy in my chest. I looked back down at the rocks below, at the blood, the angle of my body. I knew it was true.

But you were seen.

The figure stepped closer, and the starlight dimmed.

You were chosen.

I didn't understand what that meant. Not then. I just stared up at the god made of luck and shadow, and for the first time since I fell, I didn't feel afraid.

Something brushed my forehead. Not a hand. Not exactly. It felt like warmth, like the shimmer of a coin catching sunlight, like a spark from a fire. It felt like a kiss, if a kiss could carry the weight of destiny.

And then everything exploded.

I woke up screaming.

The healer shouted for help. Someone said my name. Over and over. I remember choking on the air like it was too thick, too real. My bones ached like they were knitting themselves back together. My body had been broken—ribs, arm, skull. But I was alive. Somehow, impossibly, alive.

They called it a miracle. Said I must've landed just right, must've hit a ledge before the rocks. But I remembered the fall. I remembered the void. The voice. The kiss.

I didn't tell anyone about it.

Not for a long time.

The mark showed up weeks later. A strange shimmer beneath my skin at the base of my neck, like a faint glint of gold when the light hit it right. Doctors said it was nothing. Nerves or healing tissue. But I knew.

I'd been kissed by a god.

Zihnal. The God of Luck. The shadow in the stars.

Nothing felt the same after that. I began to notice things. A coin always landing in my favour. The wind always shifting just in time. A door creaking open when I needed to run. A test I forgot to study for having all the questions I knew. It wasn't constant. It wasn't always loud. But it was there. Just enough.

I was different.

And I learned, slowly, that Zihnal's touch didn't come with chains. Not then. Not for a boy too young to understand bargains. It had been a gift. A twist of fate. A debt the world hadn't called in yet.

So I kept it quiet. I let the world call me lucky. I let the miracle of my survival fade into myth and accident.

But I remembered.

And sometimes, late at night, I still felt that shadow at the edge of my thoughts. Not cruel. Not kind. Just... watching.

Waiting.

Because luck, I would one day learn, is never truly free.

It only waits for the right moment to ask what you're willing to give for it.

Chapter Text

The moon is bloated and full tonight, a heavy thing hanging in the sky, casting silver over the the walls of my dorm. It spills over the carpet like a path that could lead somewhere better—somewhere easier.

I sit on ottoman just in front of the fire, knees pulled up to my chest, arms locked around them. The heat is comforting.

At dinner, I caught Ridoc glancing my way. Just once. He looked guilty, like he always does now. Like I'm a wound he keeps reopening with every choice he makes to stay silent.

He's acting so different.

There was a time when we didn't even have to speak. When a glance was enough. When I could tell exactly what he was thinking from the twitch of his mouth or the angle of his brow. I used to love that about him. The quiet way we existed. Together.

It wasn't even that long ago yet the week that's stretched on since he broke my heart has felt like years of agony.

But lately... it's like something inside him has fractured. He stumbles over words now, like his tongue's been cursed, and it feels like there's this invisible wall between us, one I can't name, but I feel it like a bruise.

At first, he tried to downplay everything and pretend like we'd never even existed. But It's like something is growing in him. Something he can't avoid anymore.

I shift on the fabric, rubbing my thumb absently over the edge of my wrist. I think of all the moments lately where I've seen something in him—not just guilt, but fear. Real, raw fear. And every time I try to push, he backs off like I've pulled a knife on him.

I've had time to think. Not that it was entirely my idea. Davina's been... persistent about making sure I don't bury this too deep, about forcing me to sit with it instead of running. I can't even begin to explain how grateful I am for her. Without her steady presence these past few days, I'd be an absolute wreck.

Still, no matter how many times I turn it over in my head, I can't bring myself to believe it's really over.

Or that he meant it.

He loves me. I know he does.

But he won't say it. Won't let himself feel it. Not out loud. And it's killing me.

There have been signs. So many. Moments we should've died, and somehow didn't. Pretty much the whole beginning of our relationship. Him pushing me away. The fight before the trial mission. None of it was luck. It was us.

But sometimes I see the way Ridoc flinches at those moments. Like luck isn't his. Like he knows it's borrowed.

I look toward the fire again. I can't keep doing this. Not without knowing. Not without understanding why he's retreating from me like I'm something that will burn him if he gets too close.

Because the worst part isn't that he won't tell me he loves me. It's that I know he wants to. And something, something I don't understand, is stopping him.

At least that's what I've gathered in the week we've spent apart.

I push off the ottoman and my breath hitches slightly as I walk toward my door. Then out into the hallway. Towards his room. Toward him.

I open his door, and there he is. He looks at me with those gorgeous fucking eyes like he just knows.

He used to say "Fancy meeting you here."

But there's no dance tonight.

And I didn't mean to pick a fight with him. Not really. Not at first.

But the words came out faster than I could stop them, and once they did, there was no going back.

"You've changed, Ridoc. And I'm not stupid. Something happened. Something's happening—and you keep shutting me out. And not like you tend to do. This is...fuck I don't even know. I can see it eating you alive. And I just want to talk to you. Please."

He didn't even flinch. Just stood there, jaw tight, arms crossed over his chest like he was holding something inside and terrified it would get out. The fire behind me cracked and spat, casting flickers of orange across the sharp line of his cheekbones.

He didn't answer.

I took a step closer. "You won't even look me in the eye anymore. You act like I'm a stranger—like I did something wrong. Did I? Just say it, Ridoc. Did I do something to you?"

His gaze flicked to me, finally, and it was like getting punched in the chest. He looked...wrecked. Tired in a way that had nothing to do with lack of sleep. Haunted.

"No," he said quietly, voice hoarse. "You didn't do anything."

"Then what is it?" My voice cracked, louder than I meant. "Why won't you let yourself be close to me anymore? We were—"

I stopped myself. But he knew what I meant. More than banter and stolen glances and nights spent inches apart, pretending not to fall. We loved each other. We love each other.

His shoulders rose and fell in a heavy breath. "Maeve, please..."

"No. No, don't please me like that. Don't say my name like you care when you're acting like I'm a plague you have to avoid."

His hand twitched at his side.

"Just tell me the truth," I said, softer now. I felt like I was balancing on a crumbling ledge. "Is it someone else? Is that what this is? Did you mean what you said? Was it really just a mistake to you?"

Ridoc's eyes went wide, and for a second—just a second—I thought he might break. I thought he might finally say it. That everything I thought I felt between us wasn't just in my head. That the nights we'd done more than sleep, the times he looked at me like I was the only thing anchoring him to this world—they weren't lies.

But he didn't say any of that.

He took a step back. And something flashed behind his eyes. Something I've never seen in him.

It felt like a knife to the gut.

"Yes," he said flatly.

I blinked.

"There's nothing real between us. There never was."

My breath caught. I felt my nails digging into my palms and didn't care.

"Say it again."

He hesitated, then looked me dead in the eyes. "I mean it Maeve. I think it meant something different to you then it did to me. Maybe something more. And we should just stop."

Silence crashed between us.

I stood there, stunned, hollowed out. Like the waves had just knocked the air out of my lungs. My body didn't even know how to move. I wanted to scream at him, shake him, make him feel what I felt. But I couldn't speak.

He turned away.

That did something to me. Something awful.

"You liar," I spat.

He froze.

"You liar," I said again, louder. "You're lying to me. Right to my face. And you're not even good at it. You look at me like I'm the only damn thing you want in the world, and then you run away like a coward."

He didn't move.

"Tell me why," I begged. My voice cracked again, thick with something I didn't want him to see. "Tell me why you keep pushing me away. I deserve to know, Ridoc. If I mean anything to you—"

He spun around suddenly, and I stepped back. His eyes were wild. Not angry. Something worse. Frantic. Desperate.

"You don't get it, Maeve. You can't get it. I'm doing this for you."

That hit me like a slap.

"For me? For me? You think walking away from me without an explanation is some kind of kindness? You think making me question everything we've been through is for my benefit? What kind of bullshit is that?"

His hands were shaking.

"You wouldn't understand," he muttered.

"Then make me understand. Try. Because this? This is breaking me."

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Then something shifted in his expression. Like a shadow passed over it. He staggered back a step, eyes wide, like he'd heard something I hadn't.

"No," he whispered to the air.

I stared at him. "What did you just say?"

He blinked hard. Shook his head like trying to clear something from it. "Nothing. I didn't—"

I was crying now. Tears burning down my cheeks, unwanted and unstoppable. "You said no. Who were you talking to? What the hell is going on, Ridoc?"

His face crumpled, just for a second. That same devastation I'd seen in his eyes before. But he smothered it. Locked it away.

"Forget it," he said, voice flat again. Hollow. "I told you. It was nothing. It's always been nothing."

I felt something in my chest crack wide open.

He turned again and looked away.

I watched him and felt like something vital had just been ripped out of me.

The fire burned on behind me, bright and cruel. I stood there in the silence, shaking, and thought about the way he looked at me before he broke. The way he said my name like it meant everything. The way his voice caught like it hurt to lie.

With a simple nod, I didn't waste another moment in his dorm, slamming the door behind me and regretting the move immediately after.

He was hiding something. I knew he was.

But whatever it was... he'd chosen it over me.

And that—

That was what hurt most of all.

Chapter Text

The pillow was stiff beneath my cheek, dried stiff from last night's tears.

I didn't even remember falling asleep. Just the way my body crumpled after the door slammed, the silence swallowing me whole, the ache so thick in my chest it was hard to breathe. I must've passed out crying. Pathetic.

My throat burned. My eyes ached. But I didn't let myself stay there—not in that bed, not in that room still echoing with all the things he didn't say.

He was everywhere in my fucking room. Books I leant him to help him study. Books he leant me because he knew how much I loved the archives.

I sat up slowly, the cold air biting at my skin, and I didn't look in the mirror. I didn't need to. I already knew what I'd see. A girl who begged someone to love her. A girl who was told she meant nothing.

I shoved it all down.

Let it settle beneath my ribs, in the hollows of my stomach. Let it harden.

Fire and ice will never work.

The only reason I have the will to get myself up is because I have a training session with Carr. A little harsh to do it the first day back, but I'll take any distraction.

Carr told me to meet him by this secluded field that seemed to stretch on for ages—we'd be testing my capability. Mist curled low over the grass, thick and clinging, and the sky hadn't quite decided whether it would rain or scorch us alive. I hoped for the latter.

Professor Carr was already there, of course, waiting like he always did. Arms crossed, gaze cool and unreadable. He nodded once at me when I approached, but there was something in his eyes—just the faintest flicker—that told me he noticed the new stiffness in my posture, the way my jaw wouldn't unclench.

"Rough night?" he asked casually, like he was asking about the weather.

I didn't answer. Just lit the air around my fingertips in a low simmer of flame.

He arched a brow. "Good. Let's channel that."

We began with the usual drills—controlled bursts, manipulation of heat, forging a line of fire across the edge of the field. But something was different today. I could feel it building, like a storm trapped beneath my skin. And Carr wasn't going easy on me.

"Faster," he barked.

"Cleaner. You're sloppier than last week."

I clenched my teeth and made the flame coil tighter, faster, snapping like a whip through the air.

"Still too soft. You're holding back."

"I'm not," I snapped, and the heat in my chest flared dangerously.

"Then prove it."

Something inside me cracked.

The world narrowed. My hands curled into fists. My heart pounded so loud it drowned out the sounds of the yard, of Carr, of everything except the inferno rising in my core. My throat felt full of ash. My skin too tight. I wanted to let it burn.

"Again," Carr said. "Let's go. Push it—"

"I am pushing it!" I screamed.

The fire exploded out of me like a wave breaking free.

It wasn't just a burst. It wasn't controlled. It wasn't beautiful.

It was chaos.

Flames erupted from my body in every direction, searing through the air with a sound like a living roar. The ground around me blackened instantly. Smoke rose in thick, choking clouds. I didn't mean to scream, but I did—raw and guttural and ripped straight from whatever broken place Ridoc had left inside me.

Carr took a step back. I saw it.

For the first time, he looked shocked. And that alone made something inside me jolt.

The fire raged for a second longer, then fell all at once, like a collapsed lung. I stood in the centre of it, breathing hard, arms shaking, the tips of my fingers glowing like embers.

The silence after was deafening.

Carr stared at me for a beat. Then he gave a short nod. "Good."

That was all.

He didn't ask what happened. He didn't comment on the rawness in my voice or the tears still clinging to my lashes from god knows when. He just watched me with that calculating look of his and said, "Looks like you're finally done holding back."

I blinked.

My gaze flicked to the scorched earth at my feet. The blackened grass. The smoky air still trembling with heat. I had done that. Not Davina. Not some training weapon or borrowed power.

Me.

Something in me had broken open. And gods, it felt like bleeding—but it also felt like truth. Like I'd been gripping fire too tightly and had finally let it devour me.

I looked down at my hands again.

They were steady now.

But my chest—my chest was still splintered, still filled with smoke and Ridoc's words. There was nothing real between us.

Liar.

I took a breath. It stung.

Carr stepped forward, his voice low. "Harness that. Don't waste it."

I nodded, but it wasn't for him. It was for me.

Because maybe if I kept burning, I wouldn't have to feel this cold.

Even after the fire had died down. Even after I left the yard, boots crunching over scorched grass and ash. Even after Professor Carr had dismissed me with a simple nod like I hadn't just cracked something vital open in front of him.

I didn't know where else to go. I couldn't go back to my room—where the air still smelled faintly of him, like worn leather and forest wind and the smoke of our last argument. I didn't want to see anyone else. Couldn't stomach the usual noise of the dining hall or the curious stares of the other riders. I felt stretched thin, like my soul had been dragged across too much fire-glass and left raw.

So I went to the only place that still made sense.

The Archives.

Chapter Text

Ridoc

One thing I've learnt from Maeve Blackwood is that the archives truly are an escape from reality.

Not just for her—but for me now too.

I never used to get it. All those times she'd disappear into the stacks for hours, chasing the smell of parchment and dust like it was some kind of therapy. I didn't understand until I started coming here on my own. Until the quiet became comforting. Until her voice started echoing in my head every time I passed a shelf. "You'd like this one, Ridoc—dark, clever, twisted just enough to keep you awake at night." That one time she dragged me into the history aisle and ranted for fifteen minutes straight about misfiled war records? I swear I'd never been more in love.

It's ridiculous, really, how often I find myself walking the rows with her in mind.

Today's no different.

I finger the spine of a thick volume, leather-bound and faded, and immediately think of her. Of the way she'll cock her head as she reads the title, lips parted in that little "hm" sound she makes when something intrigues her. I tuck it under my arm and keep browsing.

There's no real system to what I choose. Just instinct. A collection of half-memories: things she's mentioned, offhanded thoughts, full-blown obsessions. One book on ancient elemental runes, another on the politics of dragon-rider alliances in the last rebellion. And a third—fiction, surprisingly. A love story set during wartime. She won't admit it, but she's a romantic.

By the time I leave, my arms are full and my heart is light. It's stupid, probably, how much I want to see her face when I hand these over. But there's something about giving her things—things that say I know you without saying the words—that makes me feel closer to her than any kiss ever could.

The walk to her room is short, familiar. My boots scuff the stone like they've done it a thousand times. I've been here before. I'll be here again. And maybe—if I'm lucky—I'll always be coming back.

I knock once, softly, like I always do.

Her voice is muffled. "Come in!"

I push the door open with my shoulder, the books stacked high in my arms.

She's curled up on her bed, hair in a loose braid, oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder. The late afternoon light hits her just right, catching in her lashes, turning her skin to gold. And then she sees me—and her face breaks open like sunrise.

"Oh my gods," she gasps, sitting upright. "Are those for me?"

I don't even get the chance to answer before she's scrambling off the bed and padding across the room in socked feet.

"You raided the archives?" Her hands hover over the books like they're sacred. "For me?"

"I figured you could use a few distractions." I try to sound casual. Cool. Collected. But my voice is already giving me away.

She plucks the top book from the pile—the love story—and her whole face just glows. "Ridoc," she breathes, looking up at me with wide eyes. "You got me this?"

I nod, heart thudding like I just survived a battle. "I thought you'd like it."

Then, without warning, she grabs the rest of the stack, dumps it onto the desk, and tugs me by the collar into her room like I'm not even remotely allowed to leave.

"Maeve—"

She shuts the door behind me, turns, and just wraps her arms around my waist, pressing her cheek to my chest. And I swear, every breath I've ever taken before this one pales in comparison.

I rest my chin on the top of her head and close my eyes.

This—this right here—is everything. The soft warmth of her. The way she fits against me. The way she lights up when she's happy, especially if it's because of something I did. I don't think I've ever felt anything so real. So easy. So home.

She leans back just enough to look up at me, her hand sliding along my jaw. "You are—genuinely—the best thing that's ever happened to me."

I can't speak.

So I kiss her.

It's slow. Familiar. Reverent. Like I'm tasting the memory before it becomes one. Like I'm afraid if I open my eyes, she'll vanish and I'll wake up in the archives again, chasing her through shelves she's already passed.

The room is lit by nothing but a single candle on her bedside table she lit by herself. The flame flickers softly, casting gold shadows over her face, her hands.

She's lying on her stomach, ankles crossed in the air, sweater sleeves pushed halfway up her arms. Every now and then, she brushes her hair behind her ear, bites her bottom lip when a line hits too hard, or smiles—gods, that smile—when something amuses her. She does it unconsciously, like her body was made to react to stories.

And all I can do is watch.

I'm propped up against her headboard, one arm behind my head, the other lazily resting across my stomach. I told myself I'd read too, or maybe nap. But I haven't turned a page in twenty minutes. I'm too distracted by the way she looks like she belongs in a painting—something timeless, something meant to be adored in silence.

She shifts slightly, curls into the pillow, and hums. "You sure you don't want me to read it aloud?"

I grin. "No, I'm good. Just enjoying the view."

She turns her head, giving me a mock-glare, but it's all softness underneath. "You're such a sap."

"Says the girl blushing over fictional characters."

Her eyes narrow playfully. "They're in love during war, Ridoc. It's tragic. And I swear, if either of them dies—"

I laugh under my breath. "Then I'll go back to the archives and find you one with a happy ending."

That earns me a smile again. The kind that starts in her eyes before it ever reaches her lips. And then, quieter, she says, "You always know what I need."

There's a beat of silence. A heartbeat I want to memorise.

She flips the page slowly, dragging her finger along the edge as she reads. Her breathing steadies. The room holds its breath with me.

And gods, if I'm being honest—I think this is what love really is.

Not the chaos. Not the arguments or the passion or the way we fight beside each other in battle. No, it's this. The stillness. The quiet knowing. The way I could watch her read a book I picked for her and feel more complete than I ever have with anyone else.

I glance at her again. Her face is relaxed, her brows slightly furrowed in thought. And it hits me—how lucky I am to be the one she lets see her like this. Unarmored. Undone. At peace.

"You're staring again," she says without looking up.

"Can you blame me?"

She closes the book gently, marking her page with a ribbon before rolling onto her side to face me. Her voice is soft now. Drowsy. "What?"

"I just..." I reach out, brushing my fingers against the back of her hand. "You make things feel... easy. Like maybe life doesn't always have to be so heavy."

She presses her palm to mine. "You make me feel seen."

I swallow around the sudden lump in my throat.

She squeezes my hand. "I mean it. Sometimes I feel like people only ever notice the parts of me that are loud or useful. But you—you notice the things no one else thinks to look for."

I want to say something. I want to tell her that I notice everything. That I remember the way she flinches at sudden thunder, or how she always presses her fingers to her temples when she's trying not to cry. That I know her favorite smell is old ink, and that she always rereads the last page of a book twice when it's good. That she talks in her sleep, sometimes in full battle strategy, sometimes murmuring my name.

But I don't.

Because she leans in first.

She kisses me like it's the only thing that's ever made sense. Slow. Sweet. Familiar in that achey, beautiful kind of way.

And when she pulls back, her forehead rests against mine. Her breath is warm and steady.

"Don't ever stop doing that," she whispers.

"What?"

"Loving me like this."

I close my eyes and smile, because I'm already gone. Always have been.

"I couldn't stop if I tried."

Chapter Text

The archives always smell like ink and dust and parchment. Like knowledge and time, layered and patient, waiting for the next soul brave enough to carry their weight.

It's quiet here. Not the silence of avoidance or the silence that wraps around my thoughts like a vice when I let them drift too close to him, but a soft, almost reverent silence. Like the air itself is holding its breath so the past can speak.

That's why I come here.

It's break day, which means I'm not required to train, fight, or pretend I'm not unravelling by the thread. So I do what I always do when I need to escape the echo of Ridoc's voice telling me it was all a mistake. I take a breath, walk into the archives and search for something older than my pain.

The books are warm from sunlight filtering through the high glass windows. I run my hand along their spines and let my fingers choose at random. Three books. One on elemental theory. One on dragon behaviour in wartime. One on old Navarrian poetry. None of them will tell me how to sew a torn heart back together, but maybe they'll teach me how to carry it better.

I find an empty table tucked in the back corner. No one's around. Good. I don't want to talk. Don't want to fake a smile or pretend I'm not hollowing out from the inside.

I crack open the poetry book first and let my eyes blur across lines written by someone who knew what it meant to ache.

I don't notice Jesinia until she's already pulled out the chair across from me.

"Maeve?" she signs, her brow furrowed. Her hair falls over her shoulder as she leans forward, her eyes scanning mine like she's cataloging the damage. "What are you doing here? Where's everyone else?"

I blink at her, forcing a smile that I almost manage to make convincing. I raise my hands slowly, my fingers forming practiced shapes in the air. "Break day. Just needed quiet."

She watches me for a beat too long, then nods. "And Ridoc?"

My hands hesitate—just for a second—but I recover. "He's... he's doing well."

She doesn't press, thank the gods. Just nods again and signs something polite before walking off to her a spot in the rare texts section.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

I finish the poetry book before the sun shifts too far across the floor and something in me starts to ache again. I slide the other two books down my arm and rise, brushing the crumbs of nothingness off my pants as I walk slowly toward the exit.

I almost make it.

"Maeve!"

The voice is familiar. Steady. Warm.

Liam.

Of course.

I turn just as he jogs up the steps, his chest rising with the exertion, his eyes bright and kind in that way that makes people trust him without question.

"Hey," I say, hoping I don't sound as frayed as I feel.

He tilts his head, the corners of his mouth twitching like he wants to smile but doesn't quite dare to. "Wasn't expecting to see you here. You okay?"

"I'm fine." Lie. "Just needed a break." Half-truth.

He nods slowly but doesn't move. "You've seen Ridoc?"

My blood stills.

I lift my shoulders in a shrug, too slow to be natural. "Yeah. He's... sick. Nothing serious."

Liam's brow furrows, his expression flickering with something close to concern—and then sharper. Knowing. "I haven't seen him in two days."

There it is. That tightening behind my ribs again. That impossible weight.

I look at the stone wall behind him like it might give me something to hold onto. "He just needs space. He's fine."

Liam steps forward gently, the way someone might approach a spooked animal. He doesn't touch me, but his voice softens in the way that always cuts deeper than shouting.

"Mae," he says, "are you sure everything's okay?"

I meet his eyes. And for a split second, I want to say it. I want to scream that no, it's not okay, that Ridoc said he didn't love me, that the look in his eyes when he said it didn't match the words, that it felt like watching the sun go out in slow motion. That I'm trying not to drown in a version of myself that exists without him.

But I can't.

So I smile.

I lie.

"Yeah. Everything's fine."

He nods, but I can see the doubt in the way his eyes narrow, the way his jaw tenses. Still, he lets me go.

And I walk away before he can see me break.

Because the truth is, I'm still in love with someone who told me he wasn't in love with me. And that truth is a poison I swallow every damn day, just to prove I'm strong enough to live with it.

Even when I don't believe it.

Chapter Text

Two weeks have passed.

Two weeks of pretending I'm fine. Two weeks of walking around like a hollow version of myself while everyone else goes on laughing, breathing, living. Two weeks since I lost him—not just the person I loved with everything in me, but my best friend. The only person who ever truly saw me.

The days are usually tolerable. I walk to class with Liam and the rest of the squad, and I force myself to smile, to laugh at their stupid jokes like nothing inside me is breaking. Like I'm not bleeding out in silence. They believe me. Or maybe they just want to. At least no one looks too close.

But when night comes, I unravel. There's no one to fake it for then. No one to distract me from the truth. My bed feels colder than stone now, so I don't even bother trying to sleep. I just lie awake, staring at the dark, wondering how something that once felt so warm could vanish without a trace. Wondering how my bed got so cold.

I've blamed myself a thousand times over. For being too heartless. Too cold. For not giving him the benefit of the doubt when maybe—maybe—he deserved it. Maybe if I'd just held on a little tighter, we wouldn't have ended up here. Maybe he'd still be mine.

But then I remember that look on his face the night everything shattered. Like he was trying to drown me out so he could survive. That desperate look like he was clawing his way out of something I couldn't reach. Like he was already gone before I even knew to fight for him. 

And the thought burns: if he loved me the way I loved him, he wouldn't have let this happen. He would've fought for us. For me. Wouldn't he?

Then the guilt crashes in again. Maybe I didn't deserve his love. Maybe I took too much for granted. He was always there—so constant, so certain—that I forgot to cherish the small things. The quiet ways he cared. He was never a side character, not to me, but gods...I made him feel like one, didn't I?

So this is on me. All of it.

Liam's the only reason I'm still standing. I showed up at his door that night with tears I couldn't stop and he didn't ask questions. He just stayed, kind and patient. He's the only one who knows how bad it got. How the first few days before battle brief and then after were nothing but a blur of misery where even breathing felt impossible. I told myself if I ignored it, if I buried every thought of him deep enough, the ache would fade.

That illusion shattered the second I saw him again. Two days later. Battle brief.

He'd skipped the day before—of course I noticed—then showed up like a ghost. I thought I was ready, but one look at him and every piece of me splintered like a fucking tidal wave. Those dark circles under his eyes... I've never seen him look so wrecked. So far gone. And gods help me, even then, all I wanted was to touch him. To fix whatever broke inside him, even as he was the reason I was breaking.

I haven't seen him since. Haven't let myself. His eyes hold too much power over my heart. Avoidance has become an art form—late nights in my dorm, pretending to study until the pages blur, dragging myself out of bed only when I have to. Sleep. Breathe. Repeat. Just enough to pass for alive.

Thank the gods, Xaden's been merciful on sparring. He told me that I was allowed to have a week off training in order to get my act together and that it was for the better that I don't risk everyone's safety during lessons where we strengthened our signets in battle. When I couldn't hold it together and cried in front of him like some pathetic child, Violet tore into him until he gave me another week. 

I can't tell her everything, though. She knows me better than I do myself at times and more so when I don't have control over myself like now. Worse—she knows him a tragic amount too. If I tell her, she'll tell me to talk to him. We'd have an argument because I have no intention of patching any of this up so we can hurt each other again. She'll say it's worth saving, that I'm strong enough to fight for this. For us. 

But I can't. Because the truth is, I'm not strong. Not anymore.

I curl up on the floor in front of the fire that roars into my skin because I can't bear the cold anymore. I press myself so close that the heat stings my body, like maybe the flames can burn the constant numbness or hurt out of me. I let it hurt. I lie there until the pain becomes too much and then I flip over, exposing the other side to the blaze, like some broken ritual that might make me whole again. It never does.

My days blur together, one bleeding into the next and I only ever know what day it is because Liam tells me.

Three soft knocks snap me out of my thoughts. I flinch, realizing the fire's heat has been searing my skin for far too long. I scoot back quickly, fear prickling at the edges of my mind. How long had I been sitting there, burning without noticing?

"Maeve?" A familiar, gentle voice floats through the door, muffled but edged with curiosity. My gaze flickers to the doorknob, my body frozen in hesitation.

"Mae," the voice calls again, softer this time, weighted with concern. "You skipped dinner," he says, like a quiet accusation wrapped in worry.

Sawyer.

My throat tightens. I don't know how to answer, so I give him the smallest piece of truth I can manage. "I had a nap," I murmur, my voice barely carrying.

"You've never slept that long," comes another voice, immediate and firm. Rhiannon.

"Can we come in?" Violet asks gently.

Gods. Was the entire squad outside my door?

I roll over and brace on the bed, forcing myself upright. "I need to study," I say, my voice thin. "Catch up on battle brief."

"We can help you...maybe a group study session?" Liam offers, his tone hopeful.

That makes my head turn. Liam. He brought them all here? The thought almost stirs irritation, but it doesn't land. Instead, warmth trickles through the cracks of my grief. It's such a Liam thing to do—sweet, stubborn, impossible to ignore.

"Let them in," Davina speaks softly in the back of my mind, her voice the first I've heard all day. It catches me off guard. 

She's given me space these past two weeks, patient and steady, never pushing, never asking. Just...there. Enough to keep me tethered when everything else feels like it's slipping away.

I drag my feet toward the door, heart pounding. One final breath—and then I twist the knob.

Four familiar faces greet me in the hall, and something in my chest cracks wide open. Liam. Vi. Rhi. Sawyer. My family in everything but blood.

Tears sting my eyes before I can stop them, and then Violet is moving—fast, like she can't get to me quick enough. Her arms wrap around me, pulling me into a fierce, grounding hug. I sink into her shoulder, the salty taste of my own tears on my lips as I cling back like she's the only thing holding me up. 

Then Sawyer's arms are there too. Then Rhiannon's. Liam's. Warmth and strength closing in on all sides, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself be held. We're just a tangled mess in the hallway, one big ridiculous hug and they don't let go until I do.

When I finally step back, I look at their faces—each one bright with love, with quiet determination—and the thought hits me like a punch: did they do this for Ridoc too? 

I hope they did. 

As much as I want to be angry with his actions—his decision. I can't bring myself to do it. I can only hope that he is getting the same amount of love and support. He deserves to be loved.

We spill into my room like a tide I didn't know I needed. Rhiannon immediately kicks the door shut with her boot, like she's afraid I'll change my mind and run. Vi clears a pile of clothes off my chair without judgment and plops down, while Sawyer wanders toward the fireplace, muttering something about me trying to roast myself alive. Liam, of course, grabs my desk and starts pulling out the battle brief notes like he owns the place.

"This place looks like you've been nesting for winter," Sawyer remarks, lifting an empty mug from my nightstand. "Tea or...is this something stronger?" His tone is light, teasing, but his eyes flick to mine with that same undercurrent of concern.

"Tea," I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. "Mostly."

"Mostly," he echoes, grinning like he doesn't believe me for a second. "Oh and we brought you this."

He hands me a napkin full of fresh food from dinner. There's chicken and a piece of corn that immediately catches my eyes. I smile up at him with tears almost forming again, but they don't reach the surface. 

Vi sits cross-legged on my bed, patting the spot beside her. "Come on. No escaping this time. Squad intervention." Her voice is soft, but there's a command in it that sounds awfully like Xaden's influence. Reluctantly, I shuffle over and sit down, my shoulder brushing hers. 

Liam spreads the maps across the foot of the bed like it's the most natural thing in the world. "Alright, study session. But fair warning—if anyone fails after this, I'm not taking the blame."

Rhiannon smirks. "If anyone fails, it's because you spend more time flexing than reading."

"Hey," Liam shoots back, mock-offended, "these arms carry the team. Literally."

I almost laugh—almost—but it catches in my throat like something foreign. I look down quickly, pretending to straighten a page so no one sees the crack forming in my armour.

Sawyer drags the chair closer and sits backward on it, chin resting on his folded arms. "I think Maeve should quiz us. She needs to feel powerful again."

"Gods, no," I mutter, shaking my head. "I barely remember what day it is."

"Thursday," Liam says without missing a beat. "You're welcome."

That earns a small snort from me before I can stop it. Violet grins like she's just won some secret battle. "There it is," she says softly, eyes warm.

We actually study—well, kind of. Rhiannon and Sawyer keep turning every mnemonic into something wildly inappropriate, and Liam keeps threatening to report them for 'corrupting the academic sanctity of battle brief.' Violet tries to keep us on track, but eventually even she's laughing. And I'm not just sitting here. I'm part of it. The laughter feels rusty, like a blade that hasn't been sharpened in weeks, but it's real.

For a while, I forget about the weight pressing down on my chest. For a while, I let myself lean against Violet's shoulder when she shoves the notes into my hands and makes me read. For a while, I let myself exist in this little pocket of warmth, even if my heart whispers that I don't deserve it yet.

When they finally leave, hours later, my room is quiet again—but it doesn't feel as hollow. My cheeks ache from smiling. My throat from laughing. And maybe, just maybe, the tiniest spark of light has cracked through the darkness I've been drowning in.

I'm not ready to feel better. Not yet. But... maybe I don't have to do it alone.

Chapter Text

Ridoc

They say time heals.

But I've been counting every second since I lost her and all I feel is the burn.

The burn of whiskey down my throat.

The burn of her gaze when she won't meet mine for longer than a second.

The burn of a curse I invited into my ribs because I thought dying was worse than living without her.

I was wrong.

I've bargained and begged my way out of more classes than I can count—hell, I'd take any mission, no matter how reckless, just for an excuse to get away from here.

The first few weeks were unbearable. I couldn't even breathe in the same space as her. Every time I caught sight of her face, it shattered me all over again, leaving me hollow for days, too broken to eat, too numb to move. By the time I could finally stand on my own two feet again, I caught her scent. I heard her laugh. And it hit me like a fucking tidal wave I couldn't outrun.

The voices in my head were merciless back then—louder, darker, almost constant. Whenever I looked at her, it felt like invisible hands clawed up my spine, pressing down on my shoulders, dragging me under the weight of what I'd lost and could never have again.

It's been a month now. My chest still feels carved out, but at least I can breathe the same air as her without collapsing. After a brutal, too-honest talk with Violet, I finally admitted how much damage I was doing—to myself, to her, to the squad. 

My heartbreak felt like the end of the world every single day. Then I started to notice the way the air shifted when I walked into a room. The pity in everyone's eyes. The way silence stretched, sharp and suffocating. I promised myself I wouldn't let my wreckage bleed into everyone else's.

So I forced myself to start speaking to her again. I found that if I buried the voices deep enough— if I shoved them into some corner of my mind, I could manage a few words with her. I could keep a straight face. I could almost pretend my skin didn't erupt with goosebumps at the sound of her voice. Almost.

We're walking side by side, close enough that I can feel the ghost of her warmth, but not close enough to be real. The others are a few paces ahead—Sawyer and Rhiannon teasing Violet about something, her quiet laughter cutting through the night like a knife I want to bleed on.

Maeve hasn't looked at me once.

But then, suddenly, she speaks.

"So," she says, voice light but stiff around the edges, "you're still growing that awful excuse for a beard, I see."

I blink. Her tone isn't sharp. It's not warm, either. Just...neutral. Practiced.

Like she rehearsed the line in her head a few times before saying it out loud.

I glance at her, but she keeps her eyes forward. Always the soldier.

"That's rich, coming from the girl who once dared me to grow it out," I say, trying not to let the surprise leak into my voice. I almost sound normal. Almost.

"That was before it started to look like a hedgehog crawled across your face and died."

I bark out a laugh—too loud, too sudden. I forgot what it felt like to talk to her like this. Even this version of her, held together with duct tape and duty.

I look at her again, slower this time. She's wearing that old jacket she stole from me two winters ago. She probably doesn't even realise. Or maybe she does.

"Nice to know I'm still living rent-free in your thoughts," I murmur.

Maeve finally looks at me.

Just for a second.

And it hurts more than it should.

"You're part of the squad," she says flatly. "This isn't about you."

Right. Of course it's not. She's talking to me for them. For Violet. For Rhiannon. Because she doesn't want to make things worse.

Because I already did that.

I nod slowly, looking down at the cracked stone path beneath our feet.

"Right," I echo, quieter.

She exhales through her nose, something bitter flickering across her face. Regret? Sadness? I can't tell anymore. "They deserve a night without tension," she says. "So I'm trying."

"I know," I say, and my voice is softer now. Raw. "I see you trying."

She stiffens at that. Like I've touched a bruise I wasn't supposed to know about.

I clear my throat. My eyes flick to the side, just long enough to pretend I'm not studying the shape of her silhouette against the moonlight.

"Rhiannon said Violet tried to start a drinking game last week and nearly poisoned Sawyer."

I snort softly. "Classic Vi. Did he deserve it?"

"Depends on how long he'd been talking," she responds so casually, giving a small shrug.

"So... probably," I counter.

She laughs quietly. Briefly. "Probably."

A beat. Neither of us say anything for a moment and I start to feel the energy within me shift—darkness clouding my vision ever so slightly.

"You're still quick with the sarcasm."

She doesn't look at me. "Some things survive, I guess."

"You're damn right. You're unapologetically yourself," I say, watching the curve of her smirk as we step into the bar. My heart trips, just a little. I remember that smile pressed to my collarbone. Her breath against my neck. The way she used to look at me like I was something holy.

"That's part of what I—"

I catch the words too late.

Loved about you.

Still love about you.

Will always love about you.

A sharp pain coils low in my gut, and I bite my tongue. Literally. Blood floods my mouth. The gods are always listening.

I clear my throat, force a crooked grin. "Never mind. Let's get some of those cheap-ass shots."

She laughs softly. It's not the laugh she used to give me. It doesn't bloom. It doesn't linger.

As soon as we sit down, I drink.

And drink again.

And again.

It's easier than feeling. Easier than watching her be polite, distant. Easier than waking up every morning knowing I made the right choice—and that it's still slowly killing me.

Violet nudges me at one point and raises an eyebrow. I pretend I don't notice. She's got her own grief to carry. So does everyone here.

But none of them are cursed with hope. That's the cruelest part.

Hope that if I could just say it—just tell her what I feel—we might have a shot. Hope that maybe, just maybe, this curse was a lie.

Hope that always turns to horror when I remember what that asshole said:

If you speak the truth of your love, her heart will stop before your sentence ends.

I knock back another drink. The taste doesn't even register anymore.

Maeve's not really talking to me tonight. Not like she used to. She laughs with Rhiannon. She leans into Violet's side. She throws a napkin at Sawyer when he says something idiotic.

But me? She looks through me.

And I get it. She's still angry. Still hurt.

I left her.

I left her without a reason, without a warning. Because there was no good way to say, "Hey, I made a deal with a trickster god so you wouldn't die when I did. And now I can never love you out loud again."

So I drink.

Because it's the only way I feel close to her without reaching for her hand.

And every time she glances my way, every time her jaw tightens or her mouth twitches like she's holding back everything, I feel the shards of the life we should've had slicing through my chest.

Chapter Text

The night ends, eventually.

We walk back to the dorms in a loose line, the kind of silence that follows a good night heavy in the air.

But I feel off. Fractured. Like I'm pretending too well.

I can't even remember what Ridoc said earlier. Not really. I just remember how he looked when he stopped talking—like something inside him caved.

It's been a month.

One month since he came back from the dead.

One month since he looked me in the eye and told me we couldn't be together anymore. No reason. No explanation. Just distance, like love had been something imagined.

I thought I'd be furious. I was.

But now?

Now I'm just... numb. And tired.

He's been drinking more. Laughing less. There's a hollowness in his eyes that wasn't there before. It scares me.

We all head to bed. Lights off. Breathing slow.

But I can't sleep.

I toss. Turn. Stare at the ceiling.

Until I hear it.

The unmistakable sound of someone dry-heaving into the bushes outside.

I slip from my bed, barefoot, and move silently down the hall and out my dorm door.

I don't know why I go. Maybe I do.

I stop at the edge of the barracks. The night is still, the moon sharp above us.

And there he is.

Ridoc.

Bent over, one arm braced against the side of the wall, vomiting his guts out under the cold white glow.

His shoulders shake once. Maybe from the sickness. Maybe not.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, leans back against the wall, and slides to the ground like gravity's finally caught him.

And he just sits there.

Head back. Eyes closed. Hands limp at his sides like he's not even inside his body anymore.

My heart clenches so violently I almost step forward. Almost kneel down beside him. Almost press my fingers to his jaw and say I still love you, you stupid, stubborn bastard.

But I don't.

I stay hidden in the shadows.

Because he left.

And I don't know how to open the door he slammed shut.

So I say the only thing I can, softly, like maybe it won't hurt this time.

"You were going to say something earlier."

His eyes flick open.

He doesn't look at me. Just at the stars.

And his voice is hoarse. Raw. "Yeah."

I wait.

But he doesn't say anything else.

And when I finally walk away, I leave a part of myself there, sitting on the cold ground next to him.

Because the truth is—

I think he's breaking. The secret he's keeping is breaking him from the inside-out.

And I don't know how to save him if he won't let me in.