Page 59 of Awakened Ash and Alchemy

“Yes. We live under heavily constructed magical wards that keep Katarra and his kind out. For now.” The words echoed hollow in her ears. Because if Katarra consumed magick to grow stronger, and if realms had already fallen, then this wasn’t just a battle—it was a war that may not have an end. And where did that leave her?

“I’m here as a prisoner, aren’t I?”

“Strategic containment,” he corrected.

“Is that how you rename your crime?”

“I did not bring you here to use you as a weapon. And I will not allow you to become a casualty in our war.”

Angela closed her heavy eyelids. “Fine.” The word sounded so thin it echoed off the tiled bathroom, when nothing about this entire situation was fine.

She sat up and rolled her shoulders, reclaiming the space inch by inch. “Right, then we negotiate. Otherwise, I’ll be living in this bathroom with this fire poker as my new forever friend, while I work on that size-eight figure by refusing food because I won’t open the door again.”

It sounded preposterous.

But preposterous was better than being powerless.

Of course, there was silence. It was as if negotiating were beneath this noble warrior.

But this was a test, too. If she wasn’t a prisoner, if this were truly a strategic containment, then he’d have to be up for some form of bend to his steely rules.

And if he refused?

Her pulse practically pole-vaulted in her neck. What then? A cold cell with steel bars instead of stone.

“State your terms,” he finally said.

“Right.” Her spine straightened against the wooden door. “You don’t touch me without permission. You don’t glamour me, or alter my memory, or treat me like a specimen in a science lab.”

“I agree,” he said immediately.

“And I want a plan to protect my aunt. Not some vague promise. I want to see an actual plan I’ll understand.” She wasn’t going to let the enemy use her aunt as a tool to get to her.

“Done.”

“And I’m not fighting in your war.” Angela didn’t know how to fight her way out of the tangled curtain of a dressing room. Which made her realize how silly it was for her to hold the fire poker like a weapon.

“I don’t want you anywhere near Katarra,” Zarek snapped fiercely. “I will not risk you like that.”

“And if someone orders you to?”

“I still won’t. Even if it means breaking rules, I vow no one will ever harm you while you are under my protection.”

Heat rolled off him in a low, steady wave; she could feel it through the door. Not enough to burn her. Yet, it carried an unexplainable, strained weight that pressed outward, as if it wanted to wrap around her like a shield.

There wasn’t any bravado in his promise, but there was some hidden cost in his words. She could almost taste it the way she could taste the air change before a storm, and how the pressure built against her ribs. It was his magick coiled beneath the surface like something wild and restless he was trying to control.

Rules mattered to him. That much she’d realized from the way he spoke of the Accords, of his duty and the realms. Zarek was a soldier; a captain. Hierarchy was not optional in his world. And no doubt oaths were not so easily shared.

And yet, it was as if Zarek was stepping outside of that hierarchy by somehow placing her above it all. It was enough to make her shoulders tighten from the strain.

Why would he do that, risk everything for someone he’d just met?

What’s worse is she shouldn’t be feeling any of this, as if they were connected—but she did, making it harder to rationalize the impossible.

Most of all, she hated that she believed him. And the irrational urge to reach for him, when she had every reason to recoil from him… instead, she wanted to soothe him.

What is wrong with me?