Page 181 of Fallacies

Footsteps nearing the column I’m hiding behind, I decide that I’m not built for making these kinds of decisions.

It’s the one thing Callan didn’t train me for—knowing when to fight or stay hidden. If I turn this corner, I’d better be confident in doing so, and I’m not sure that I am. I don’t have any idea who I’d be dealing with, but if Callan taught me one thing…

It’s not to hesitate.

“Trig,” the woman calls after him, but I hear him continue to inch closer. Close enough to the wall I’m hiding behind that I can hear him breathing.

Gods.

“Trig?” she calls again, and I whirl around the column with my hands raised.

Heat singes my skin until it’s scalding, and I surge forward, wrapping my fingers around his throat. The Rogue screams, more of that gods-awful smell spilling into the air.

He claws at my hands, attempting to rip them away, and I push back against him with all my might. His flesh melts beneath my palms, and I’m too focused on holding my grip to notice his head rear back.

The man’s skull collides with mine, and my vision goes black for a moment.

I stumble backwards, reverberations of pain rippling through my brain, a horrible throb left in its wake. Through the blurry splotches in my vision, I see Trig clawing at the open wounds around his throat, and I’m about to lunge for him again when a blast of dark magic nearly slices me in half.

I dart to the side just in time, but I nearly fall in the process, and when I look up, the woman is gearing up for another hit—yellow eyes blazing down the hall.

Moving away from Trig, I raise a firm hand in her direction. I can’t waste much more Sol magic or else I won’t have what I need to light the last fire, but I release enough to slam her against the far wall. Her aim is skewed, and the burst of shadows meant for me ricochets off the ceiling instead. She shouts as her spine smacks the paneling, then crashes to the ground.

Trig lunges at me, slamming into my side, and we collide with the marble floor. His weight crushes my chest, stealing the air from my lungs.

Gritting my teeth, I manage to wedge my leg between us and push on his ribs until I have enough leverage to flip him over.

The back of Trig’s head slams into the marble floor, and in my scramble for his wrists, he lands one good punch to my jaw.

I hiss through the sting, returning his hit with my own. I wouldn’t say it’s stronger, but it does snap his head to the side, giving me a full second to force his arms beneath my knees.

He bucks beneath me, thrashing his shoulders, and I’m one good push away from being thrown off when I finally get my hands around his neck.

I squeeze, smoke rising from where my fingers meet his throat.

Trig opens his mouth to scream, but it’s hardly more than a gurgled grunt. Despite my upper hand, the yellow in his eyes flares, too much fight still left in them.

There’s movement in my peripheral, and I don’t need to look up to know the other Rogue has found her feet.

Turning up the heat, I sear into his skin, trying not to hurl at the smell or the sight of dark blood spilling between my fingers.

There’s so much heat in my veins that smoke rolls past my parted lips, and my fingers are glowing as red as the flaming sky over Streatham.

Trig’s face turns a shade of purple, and his eyes begin rolling up to the ceiling⁠—

A shackle latches onto my wrist, and like a plug being pulled, every ounce of magic drains out of me. It’s there one minute, and completely gone the next.

The emptiness is so jarring that my grip falters, and Trig sucks in a gasping breath.

The woman jolts forward to shackle my other wrist, and I slam my fist up beneath her chin. Void of any magic, I use my free hand to unsheathe the dagger at my side.

I hadn’t wanted this to get bloody, but here we are.

Turning on Trig, I slide the blade across his throat, finishing what I’d started. What I probably should have done from the start.

The woman yells, rushing towards him, and I jump to my feet, head still spinning from the sudden loss of power.

There’s nothing she can do as Trig succumbs to his wounds, faded yellow eyes rolling up to the ceiling.