A groan rolls across from the mat beside me as a body hits the floor with a heavy thud.
Slowing my pace a fraction, I study the recruit as he pushes himself up and continues. He moves fast, blocking his opponent, but I’ve seen better, and before I realise it, I’m already comparing them to him. Talen.
My next inhale snags, and I try to drag my focus back to the fight, but the thought’s already there now, sitting underneath, pulling at other painful memories I don’t want touched. So I shut it down before it can go any further and reach for something easier.
Anger.
He didn’t tell me about the Blood Moon—about the possibility of being burned alive. After everything, he's still deciding what I do and don’t get to know.
My fists curl, nails digging into my palms until my knuckles ache. Good. I hold onto it. Let that pain spread instead. Let it take up space until there’s no room left for anything else—because thinking about him means thinking about what happened. And thinking about what happened means facing the part I played in it.
And I’m not ready for that.
Right now, I need to focus on training. On keeping control. On proving to Ahria I can be strong like my mum—strong enough for her to choose me, and strong enough to take down Serrane.
“You’re fucking crazy, Reya!”
The shout cracks across the tent, and my head lifts, turning toward the mat at the far end where a heavy-built, topless recruit stands opposite a girl in the centre, clutching his arm like it might fall off. Pushing off from where I’m standing, I stroll over.
“I told you to tap out,” Reya fires back.
From the side of the mat, I catch her blowing out a bright orange flame from her palm.
“You nearly burnt my bloody arm off.” His eyes flare wide.
Reya just shrugs and strolls off, leaving the male recruit wincing on the mat. Hissing through his teeth, he rubs his shoulder and follows after her, quickening his pace to close the gap.
“Still seeing you tonight?” he asks in a hopeful tone.
Reya doesn’t look at him as she walks. “Sure. But you know the deal. I win… you’re the one on your knees.”
“Yeah, but you’ve had five years of Citadel training, how are my Threads ever meant to compete with that?” he pants.
“They’re not.”
Stopping beside her, he lets out a short laugh. “Right. So I just keep losing? In hereandin bed?”
“Seems that way.”
He shakes his head, but a smile slips through, pulling at the corner of his mouth, before he forces it flat and he leans down, grabs his shirt from the edge of the mat, then strolls off.
I track him for a second, then turn my attention to Reya as she drops into a nearby seat. Kicking her feet up onto the wooden table in front of her, she pulls out a blade and startspicking at her nails. A second later, a small purple dragon drifts over and nestles into her wavy black hair.
It shifts with the movement, slipping over Reya’s shoulders just enough to reveal the fire tattoo inked into her dark, tanned skin beneath. The trail of flames curls down the side of her neck before vanishing beneath her collar and reappearing along her toned arms where her sleeves cut short.
It draws my eye in without meaning to—over the shape of her, the curve of her chest. So full and nothing like mine. She’s older than me too, probably closer to Talen’s age.
Maybe it’s the weapon, or maybe it's the way she looks—but as I step closer, I stiffen. Still, I shake out my hands and force myself forward as I can’t afford to look nervous in front of Ahria.
“Sorry, I’m done for the morning.” She snaps, not even glancing up as I step in front of her. “But feel free to place your bets for the afternoon slot.” She taps the tip of her blade against a sheet of paper with a list of names scrawled across it.
“Oh—no, I’m here because Merrin sent me,” I reply, trying to keep my tone polite. “He said you could help me with some fire training?”
The blade stills in her hand. “No.”
“Sorry… what?”
Her gaze lifts to mine, bright grey eyes stark against her tanned skin, and my pulse stutters as they narrow, cutting straight through me.
