The hatch creaked open.
Boots touched stone.
Heavy. Careful. Measured. Not like someone invading. Like someone hunting.
Selaithe's body shifted in a heartbeat. She threw herself into a casual sprawl, one leg kicked over the other, the lantern settled low beside her hip so it cast just enough light to make her expression unreadable. Her fingers twitched once near the edge of her tunic—probably near the hidden blade she'd shown me once with a wink and a grin.
Now? There was no grin.
Torchlight spilled down the hatch, stretching long shadows over the stone floor.
She didn't flinch. Didn't blink.
Just yawned.
"Private property," she called, voice lazy, drowsy, effortless. "Go get lost or I'll tell the rats you're trespassing."
A beat.
Then a second.
Then the voice—low, dry, familiar.
A voice that smelled like sweat and discipline.
"Selaithe," Calden said. No question. No demand. Just the weight of my name in another mouth.
And then…
Him.
Veyr.
Even before he spoke, I felt him—like cold breath down my neck.
I clamped my eyes shut, trying to still the breath rising too fast in my lungs. The mana in my chest stirred like a cornered animal. It clawed, pressed, begged. My veins felt too narrow. My ribs too brittle. My control frayed like old rope.
I swallowed it. Again.
Veyr's boots struck stone next. His voice followed—velvet-wrapped arrogance.
"I've had enough of your games," he said, each syllable like it was practiced in front of a mirror. "We know someone's been sheltering the Selkareth heir."
Selaithe stood.
Not quickly.
Not startled.
But slowly, like a predator unfurling.
She stretched her spine with a feline roll and twisted to face the torchlight head-on. Her eyes glittered like mauve gems, calm and unbothered.
"You think I care about some snot-nosed noble?" she said, brushing imaginary dust from her tunic. "You think I'd waste my blanket space on a spoiled brat with trust issues and a soft jaw?"
She smirked. "I've got standards, pretty-boy."
Veyr's boots scraped forward. "This building is under suspicion. If I find even a trace of him—"
"Then what?" she snapped. "You'll gut a girl with half an ear and no family name? Slap a collar on me in the middle of the city? Try it. I'll bite."
And somehow, I believed her.
Calden's boots hit the floor next. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just solid. Steady. Like a tree being planted where one wasn't before.
That was when the trembling started.
Inside me.
It wasn't fear anymore.
It was pressure.
Magic, thick and molten, swelled in my core like it wanted out. It burned along my nerves. My fingers twitched. My eyes blurred. My throat clenched like I was drowning.
And the worst part?
I wanted to let go.
I wanted the ground to shake. For Veyr to burn. For everyone to know.
But not like this.
Not here.
Not with her.
"Nothing down here," Calden said flatly.
His voice cut through my haze like steel through cloth.
"She's alone."
Veyr didn't answer immediately. I could hear the smugness beginning to crack.
"You sure?" he asked. Too sharply. Too suspicious.
"Positive," Calden replied, calm as ever. "If the boy had passed through here, I'd smell the fear in the walls."
A long, awful silence.
I didn't move.
I didn't blink.
And then, at last—
Bootsteps. Receding.
The hatch closed above us with a dull clack.
I exhaled. Finally. The shaking stopped… mostly.
Selaithe stood frozen at the base of the ladder. Her posture hadn't changed—but her eyes had.
The playfulness was gone. Her jaw was tight. Her eyes glinted like polished knives.
Then, slowly, she turned to me.
"You almost burst," she said, voice hushed and sharp. "I felt it. It was humming so loud I thought the damn stones would shatter."
"I couldn't stop it," I whispered, slumped against the crates. "I tried—"
"You held it," she corrected. Then, softer, crouching beside me, "You held it long enough. That's what matters."
Her hand found mine.
Not softly.
But real.
"You're still here," she said. "And no one's bleeding. So I'm calling that a win."
The rest of that night blurred together. After the danger passed, she lit a second lantern from the first. We didn't speak much. Just sat near each other, her presence like a heartbeat in the dark.
Later, I tried to sleep.
I think I did.
But even in sleep, the image of Calden's face lingered.
The way his eyes swept the room.
The way he didn't flinch when he saw me.
The way he chose silence.
When we crept outside again—sunlight just beginning to kiss the rooftops—I saw it.
Resting beside the hatch door.
A sword.
Steel. Scarred. Familiar.
I knew it before I touched it.
Engraved near the hilt, almost worn smooth by years of use: C.T.
Calden Thornec.
Wrapped in oil cloth, tied with leather cord. And pinned to the hilt with the smallest nail—
A note.
"You passed. Don't come back. Not yet."
My throat clenched.
I picked it up slowly. It was heavy.
And it meant something.
Selaithe stood beside me now, chewing a stem of grass like she was born in that moment.
"That your old man's?" she asked.
"Instructor," I said, almost without breath.
She raised a brow. "He knew where you were. And didn't say a word?"
I nodded.
"He saw me. Through the crates."
She let out a low whistle. "I like him. He's got that tired bastard energy."
I didn't laugh.
Not exactly.
But something in me eased.
As we climbed the slope out from behind the apiary, the wind caught the cloth. The sword creaked in my grip. The note fluttered once.
Far away, back on the cobbled road—
"Where's your sword, Thornec?" Veyr asked sharply, glancing at the empty scabbard at Calden's belt.
Calden didn't flinch.
"Snapped it," he said simply. "Clumsy kid knocked it loose during drills."
"Hmph," Veyr replied, dismissive. "You should get that replaced."
"I will," Calden said.
But he wouldn't.
We both knew it.