My knees buckle.
I pull back, my magick ebbing like the tide returning home to the sea. The air loses its razor edge, softening into a breeze that brushes my skin like an afterthought. The world around me begins to sway out of focus. I feel emptied. Hollowed out.
But alive.
Gavrail drops to a knee, his body a shield in front of mine, shadows curling tight as if they alone can hold me together.
Noa crosses the distance in two strides, hands still glowing. He hooks an arm around my waist and hauls me upright, pulling me into his chest like he can anchor me there.
Gavrail rises beside us. Noa reaches out, clasping his forearm—firm, deliberate. A nod passes between them.
Trust. Truth. And me.
I taste salt, but I don’t know if it’s blood or tears, or both.
The current is still there. Raging inside me.
And I see him. My father. A memory?—
Sun, sea, and my bare feet in the sand. I was six, maybe seven. I hadn’t meant to go that close to the shoreline. I watched as a monstrous wave crested toward me, mesmerized by the way the light fractured off its surface—the tide sucking back like a breath before the bite. Suddenly, arms were around me as he grabbed me, pulling me back, his voice raw, warning me to run. The wave crashed around us anyway. Cold and furious. We came up sputtering in the surf, and I saw pure fear in his eyes. Not for himself.
For me.
But I didn’t run. And now that wave isn’t outside me—it’s in my blood, roaring and endless. And I don’t know who I am now that I’m not holding it all back.
But still.
I don’t run.
* * *
I stand outsidethe Admin building, the questioning in the council chamber finally behind me. Vaylor and his team were already inbound after Noa’s intel—only to arrive moments too late, after Thorne had already made his move.
The unburied truths now press into every silence. The general’s normally aloof presence softens—just slightly—when he speaks of my father.
Justice, at last, being served.
He’s already called my mother. Her voice cracks when she reaches me on the phone, frantic and thick with grief. The pain of losing him fresh and raw all over again.
I watch as they lead Thorne away, flanked by two Service soldiers. That unshakable mask of his is firmly back in place. He doesn’t look at me.
Noa is still inside with Vaylor, already being inducted into the Service. They walk out together. The general clasps Noa’s shoulder with a firm hand—half comfort, half pride—before moving on. Noa catches my eye, a sad smile brushing his lips before he turns to speak with Finn.
The school buzzes with whispers and theories. Stories spreading like wildfire.
My squadmates find me. Rozsen says nothing—just pulls me into a bone-crushing hug. The tears come without warning, spilling into the crook of her shoulder. The others circle around us, cradling us both with their love.
I spend the next hour retelling everything, carefully repeating the story Noa, Gavrail, and I agreed upon. Secrets, lies, and buried truths all spill out in a tangled web. This is my life now—a delicate balance between trust and truth, protection and deception.
General Vaylor wants my lineage kept classified. The boys agree it’s safer that way.
Two names. Two legacies. Two halves of the same coin.
But some truths are meant to be protected. Some lies are born of love. I carry both now—and walk the line between them, no longer afraid of what it might cost.
My name is Celeste Thalrien.
And I don’t run.
