Darren’s head jerks up at him. “They fucking what?”
“And they’re locking down the bridges,” the recruit goes on, raking a hand through his black hair. “They’ve already been slowing people leaving—but now? Borders are closing properly. No one in, no one out. You don’t shut borders just to count people." He jerks his chin over his shoulder. “I’m going to find Lucien now, apparently he just arrived.”
“Wait—Matterson, I’ll come with you.” Darren picks up his tray and stands, urgency cutting through his voice. “Sorry, ladies—you’ll have to excuse me.” He moves to follow, only to double back and press a quick kiss to Neeve’s forehead before hurrying after Matterson.
“Shit,” Neeve mutters under her breath, already returning to her food. “I mean we knew it was coming, but still, this quickly?”
I hear her words, but they don’t settle—only noise around the one thing still stuck in my mind.
If you don’t bond, the dragons will burn you alive.
A blur of green slides by at the edge of my vision as Ahria swoops down, snatching what’s left from Darren's plate, tearing into it right there on the table. A cold sweat prickles across my skin and suddenly she doesn’t seem so small.
“Hey, I have to go.” Neeve’s voice pulls me back. “But why don’t you come help me in the mornings? I volunteer baking the bread, delivering it to the injured. I can fill you in on the Blood Moon Ceremony—and you can help me with some Thread stuff. I’m having trouble unknotting, and Talen said you’re a pro.”
She begins tidying up the plates around us as she continues talking.
“They’re putting Darren in charge of training the new recruits like me, he’s really excited about it—but in the meantime, maybe you could help me?” Glancing to the side, she leans in and drops her voice. “Plus, you can tell me more about your dragon dreams…”
“Oh, uh...” I stumble, not quite sure what to say. I don’t want to cause problems between her and Darren—but I also can’t walk into the Blood Moon blind.
Neeve leans over, nudging my arm lightly. “Please, pretty please. I won’t tell Darren.”
Letting out a short breath, I nod. “Okay, sure.” If I'm going to survive this ceremony, bond with Ahria without being burnt alive, and then take down Serrane, I need to make friends here. There’s no way I'm going to be able to do all that alone.
Neeve leans back, a wide grin spreading across her face as she finishes the last bite on her plate.
“Oh, by the way,” I add. “I need to find someone called Reya... Merrin said she will help me with some fire training.”
“Umm, I saw her this morning—she’s in our tent.” She tenses slightly and her grin drops. “She doesn’t talk to me much, but she’ll probably be in the Combat Tentaround this time.” She tilts her head toward the far end of the table. “It’s right behind here.”
“Great, thanks.”
“So—tomorrow? Six a.m.? Bread baking?” she asks, pushing herself up. “I won’t see you later—I’m crashing with Darren’s tonight. His tent-mate is out on patrol.”
“Sounds good. I’m sure Ahria will wake me up on time.”
I shoot the green dragon a thin smile, but she merely huffs, wings flicking once before she launches off the table and darts for the light outside. Watching her fly off, the smile slips from my face, replaced by that familiar hollow ache—the one that only seems to grow the longer I’m near her, as if she’s carved out a space inside me only she can fill.
Exhaling, I shove back my chair, along with any emotions that will make me appear weak and grab my tray as Neeve does the same. We fall into step together, carrying them over to the cleaning station. I set mine down, then take a long drink from the tap beside it. Nowhere near as satisfying as sausages and bread would have been—but it’ll have to do for now.
From the side I spot Neeve peeling off, her long braid swaying down her back.
“Oh—and hey,” I call after her, wiping my mouth with my hand.
She pauses mid-step, glancing over her shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for the clothes.”
She shrugs, easily. “Anytime.”
I give her a quick nod, then turn and set off in the opposite direction to try and find Reya.
The Combat Tentis easy to find; I hear it before I see it. Raised voices, the heavy rhythmic thud of bodies hitting the ground and then there’s the smell—musty, sweaty air, thick with heat. Lifting the canvas, I duck inside, and the temperature shifts instantly, humidity clinging to my skin.
Ahria darts ahead, weaving effortlessly between the support poles as she flies toward the back of the space. I follow, pushing deeper into the space. Mats line the ground on either side, filled with recruits training.
Most train hand-to-hand, others with weapons, but only a few are using their Threads—and it’s messy, clumsy, nothing like you’d see in the Citadel.
