Page 174 of Wings of Destruction

And I pull up beside them and punch.

Astrid stops in her tracks as I finally land a single, solid punch across her chin. Our eyes lock and more blood drips from my nostrils, but I don’t wipe it away yet.

“Good,” she says, her voice grave. “I was getting tired of watching you fail.”

It’s clear she let me get the hit in. But Astrid managed to prove her point. I’m not ready to throw it all away yet. I want to show everyone what I’m capable of doing. Being alone and stewing in the sanctimonious loneliness doesn’t change my circumstances.

It certainly doesn’t change the world around me.

I turn to break eye contact, and she reaches out to grab my wrist and stop me, pulling our heads together.

“You belong here,” she says in an undertone. “Okay?”

I let out a small cough to cover my surprise. If Astrid takes delight in my shock, she lets none of it show.

“It’s far easier to burn the castle down when you’re already inside its walls.” She flashes me a smile.

Had I heard her right?

My previous assessment of her falls apart entirely. There’s clearly much more to Astrid than I thought. It’s almost like…

She drops my wrist. Quietly, she replaces each piece of armor.

What would I be able to accomplish if our roles reversed?

If I do as she says and channel the anger into my goal, realizing when to leash it and when to rage?

How much bad can a person do in the name of good?

It’s high time for me to find out.

Once she’s composed and complete, she heads to the door, pausing to glance over her shoulder at me.

“Coming?”

I sniff and swipe my hand beneath my nose. “Where?”

“To Headmistress Harbi. We’ll need to get you set up with your room assignment. Classes start again in the morning whether you’re ready for them or not.”

Her gaze flashes with a challenge but she waits for me to meet her at the door.

“Things are going to change,” she reminds me. “I hope you’re ready for it.”

I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready. But—Burn the castle down from the inside, huh? It sure makes a pretty picture.

Thirty-Seven

Morgan

The rain must have started sometime during our sparring match. The moment we step outside of the private gym, its din grows noticeably louder as it pelts the roof, the windows, the walls. The sky outside is entirely engulfed in black.

I stop at the window at the end of the hallway and a bolt of lightning illuminates the belly of clouds hovering over the ridgeline.

How am I going to compete with the others here?

There is a voice inside of me telling me I’m not enough as I am, as myself. I want to tell it to go away but letting go has never been easy for me.

I’m not built to let go.