Jace POV

I lean against the canyon wall, watching the slow, steady flow of people migrating through the pass. Above, Elias floats a few supply trucks down with that flashy telekinesis of his, standing on that oversized board like he's starring in his own post-apocalyptic action film.

I’m exhausted.

As the caravan pushes forward, I spot a young family—a father helping his wife over a jagged stone, then lifting their daughter in his arms as they descend. Beside them, a group of elderly folks is carefully assisted by earth users forming small steps and ramps. There are children. Pregnant women. Tired eyes. Limping bodies.

And suddenly, the weight on my shoulders doubles.

I twist the silver ring on my finger out of habit. It calms me, grounds me. I don’t know why. I just know that without it, I feel wrong.

It takes hours for everyone to descend safely into the canyon base. I scan the crowd as I move—on duty, but also looking for an excuse to avoid my parents and Patricia. I don’t want to hear them call my name. I don’t want the awkward, performative family guilt, or their shallow concern.

They feel like strangers.

My gaze lifts, and I spot a familiar silhouette high above. Lying alone at the canyon ridge, a massive black mana beast curls in a lazy sprawl, tail flicking over the dust.

Sparkle.

Which means Avery is there too.

He’s withdrawn, as always, isolated from the rest of us. And yet earlier today, he’d taken out four of those mana centipedes on his own, with practiced grace and frightening precision. While my team and I handled the rest with formation tactics, Avery had gone in alone. Efficient. Untouchable.

For someone so lean, he’s stronger than he looks. Much stronger.

I sigh.

I need a shower.

I start heading toward the rows of vehicles and temporary structures. Among our mobile base, there are a handful of modified trucks, armored containers, and two oddities: a luxury tour bus—retrofitted as my family's personal moving mansion—and a compact trailer van that Elias and I share.

Unfortunately, they’re parked side-by-side. Because of course they are.

I push through the crowd with nods and half-hearted greetings. A few people stop me for quick thank yous, or to ask about supplies, but I keep moving. If I’m fast enough, I might avoid any more interactions.

Just as I reach the van's door, a voice cuts through the noise.

“Jace!”

High. Shrill. Familiar.

Patricia.

I curse internally and turn around. She walks toward me with that fake model strut, all flawless blonde waves and calculated smiles. She’s conventionally beautiful, and she knows it. Unfortunately, the second she opens her mouth, all appeal vanishes.

“I’ve had a long day, what is it?” I ask flatly.

She takes a step closer, placing her manicured fingers against my chest.

“Well, Mom and Dad sent me.” She pauses, letting her fingers trail lower.

 “Actually… just me. I figured since you’ve had such a long day, I could help you blow off some steam.”

I resist the urge to groan. 

I really want to punch past-me for ever sleeping with her. A few times, out of convenience, weakness, boredom—I don’t even know anymore. It never meant anything. Just release. Mechanical.

“Not tonight,” I say, catching her wrist mid-trail.

Not tomorrow either. Or ever.

Hell, I haven’t even felt remotely interested in anyone lately. I don’t know if it’s stress, or the weight of command, or just a hollow ache I can’t explain.

Her smile turns brittle.

“Then when? You’ve been saying that for months, Jace. Months. I have needs too, you know. Are you seeing someone else? Some other bitch caught your attention?”

I feel a headache forming behind my eyes.

“Look,” I say, trying to keep my tone even.

 “I don’t have time for this today. I’m exhausted.”

I turn, ignoring her escalating voice as she calls my name, again and again.

I step into the van and close the door behind me.

Silence.

This place isn’t big, but it’s mine. Ours, technically—Elias and I split it. It’s retrofitted to be self-sustaining: mana-powered utilities, water recycling, basic appliances. A real little home on wheels.

Each of us has a room, there’s a compact kitchen, a seating nook, and a shower that still produces hot water thanks to our water ability users.

I toss my boots aside, strip out of my gear, and dump it all into the washing machine. The machine hums quietly in the corner as I step into the shower. The hot water cascades down my back, washing away the dirt and blood and tension.

For a moment, it feels like the world hasn’t ended.

I close my eyes and let the steam fill my lungs.

When I step out, I pull on a pair of shorts and head to the kitchenette. I boil water for instant noodles, not even checking the expiration date. I haven’t cared about those in years.

There’s something sacred about this routine.

These stolen pockets of peace.

In here, I’m not the Commander. Not a Mercer. Not a symbol.

I’m just Jace.

Even if I don’t really know who that is.