Once they reach the roof, Polo attacks first, with a quick jab to Talia’s side—more aggressive than she usually is. Talia blocks with her arm, sliding backwards to put some distance between them. Polo closes it in three long strides, forcing Talia to roll to the side to escape a spinning kick. She counterattacks with a kick of her own from her position on the ground, aimed at Polo’s stomach.

Polo predictably blocks it and Talia flips backwards, sliding into another defensive stance just in time for the side of Polo’s hand to connect with her arm. The impact jolts all the way up to her shoulder, but she doesn’t waver, planting her feet and forcing Polo back a few steps, ducking down under a clothesline. Polo’s expression is almost approving as she centers herself again.

Talia doesn’t give her any room to breathe, pushing the offensive as she darts forward with a series of jabs to Polo’s torso. Polo blocks each one, but as their arms meet on the last hit, Talia feels something. Almost like a … spark. Like that unknown thing inside of her is stirring, waking from slumber like the creatures in the forest. Like suddenly, they’re both in danger of catching on fire.

Polo shoves her back, harder than normal, and she scrambles to regain her footing, nearly taking out a drying sheet fluttering in the faint breeze. For a moment, there is alarm on Polo’s face, in her eyes, but it’s gone in a blink—before Talia can ask what just happened. She sidesteps Polo’s next attack, then vaults backwards, using her momentum to kick at Polo’s face. Her shoes connect hard with Polo’s palms and the spark inside her flares again.

Polo takes a deep breath, as Talia lands and immediately leaps again for an overhead strike. Polo doesn’t dodge quite fast enough and the blow lands hard enough to knock Polo sideways a small step.

Talia seizes the opening, feinting to the left and then striking from below—just like Polo once taught her. She sweeps Polo’s feet out from under her in one powerful motion. Polo catches herself, but raises a hand in surrender, just as Talia presses the side of one hand to her neck.

“I yield,” she says, gruff but proud. “You win.”

Talia blinks. “I’m sorry? I win?”

Polo huffs an amused laugh and rises to her feet. “Yes, you win.”

Talia pretends to rub at something stuck in her ear. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I quite heard that.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Polo admonishes with a light smack to Talia’s shoulder. She shakes her head, a rueful smile crossing her lips. “Soon, I’m not going to have anything left to teach you.”

Talia swallows against the panic that trills down her spine. “Don’t say that,” she insists. “I’m a terrible student, I’ll always have more I need to learn.”

“You are very hard-headed,” Polo agrees. “But you’ve never been a bad student. When you apply yourself.”

She takes a seat on one of the benches lining the side of the apartment’s roof, stretching out her long legs. The sun is starting to set and the city glows gold around them—a different kind of magic hour. Talia mops sweat off her brow with the bottom of her t-shirt, hating how warm and sticky the air still is.

She debates asking about the spark she sensed. It looked like Polo felt it too, but what if it was just her imagination? She’s been so out of sorts with Clara leaving and the return of the strange nightmares … and how does she even begin to put it into words? It sounds like something out of one of Clara’s books—something that belongs in a far-off land full of magic and dragons and knights and Chosen Ones.

Still…

“Do you ever feel … wrong?” She asks as she takes a seat next to Polo.

“Wrong?” Polo asks, turning to her with a frown.

Talia chews on her lip. “Like … there’s a part of you that’s missing? Or doesn’t belong to you? Like there is something … bigger inside of you and sometimes it wants to get out?”

Talia’s not making any sense, she knows that, but Polo doesn’t brush her off immediately. Polo is unnaturally quiet, and there is almost something like understanding in Polo’s eyes. She turns to look back out at the city and Talia stares at the tense line of her jaw.

“We should celebrate your birthday,” is what Polo says, throwing Talia off guard.

“What?” They’ve never really celebrated it before—Talia has never cared to. It’s just another day and if she doesn’t give it power, then it can’t make her feel empty or alone. “Why?”

“Turning eighteen is important,” Polo insists. She glances back and all of her walls are up again, making it impossible for Talia to guess what she might be thinking. “It should be celebrated.”

She sighs and suddenly she looks old in a way she never usually does. “And I think it’s time for you to have some answers. About the questions you’re asking. About the future.”

A new rush of fear. “Are you going to leave?” Talia asks.

“No,” Polo promises and a voice hisses in Talia’s mind that it’s a lie, lie, lie. “But there are things you should know. Important things.”

The vanishing sun bounces off the skyscrapers, casting Polo’s face in shadow. “Things bigger than you or me.”

The forest whispers. The ocean roars.

Talia whispers, “Okay,” and tells herself she isn’t afraid. That it doesn’t feel like the ground is shifting once again beneath her feet, ready to swallow her whole.