I opened my eyes—and it felt like someone had erased the dream a second before I woke. Still, my chest was heavy. Something had tried to hold on—and then slipped away. It left behind a hollow ache, like trying to remember the face of someone you once loved, only to find the world had wiped them clean.
The clock glowed. Too late to sleep. It's too early to start the day. There's no point in fighting it. So, I left.
The wind outside brushed my skin like cold water on an old burn.
The path between the trees was silent—too silent. As if the forest still slept. Or maybe I was the only one awake at the wrong time. The feeling from the dream trailed me to school. Not pain—just absence. Something was missing. Something unnamed.
Jace was already in class, as always. Our eyes met—and my heart stuttered. How long had it been since we really talked? Did he forgive me? Or was this pretending?
"I thought you wouldn't come," he said at last. Calm voice. Tight.
"I'm here." My tone was dry. Present, but brittle.
"You look tired."
Of course, I felt tired. He didn't know what Oliver had done. Or maybe he did? He didn't ask—and I wasn't sure I wanted him to. I shrugged. "Private lesson with Oliver. It didn't go great."
He tried to smile. It never reached his eyes.
A smile to soften, not to heal.
I said nothing more. The silence between us weighed heavier than words.
By the time I reached the training room, he was waiting as if he'd been standing there all along.
Oliver.
Silent.
Eyes glowed with a subtle light—neither hostile nor safe.
"I hope you've recovered," he said, his voice like ice. "Because today, it's serious."
My heart slammed. My hands tensed before I could stop them.
"We fight."
The sword gleamed in his grip. This wasn't a lesson. This was a trial.
He lunged. Crimson wings flared, fire flashing across the room. Heat seared my skin, and the scent of ash and iron filled my lungs. The air itself ignited.
No time to think—only react.
I dodged at the last moment. But his shadow fell over me again, casting an oppressive gloom.
I wasn't the same helpless girl anymore.
The cut stung—but something deeper burned. Anger. Frustration.
Or… a power I had never touched before.
Blood slid across my lip. Bitter. Metallic. Rust. His grip locked down like frozen steel.
He struck.
I fell.
But I rose.
Shaking. Trembling. But standing.
The blade's tip kissed my throat—too close. Cold steel stretched my skin, stealing my breath. I couldn't move. Every nerve bowed to it.
I knew he wouldn't kill me. Not truly. But… did he know?
And for a heartbeat, I wasn't sure if he had ever once shown me genuine support.
Gratitude twists with hate. Needs tangles with resentment.
And then something in me broke. Or rebuilt.
I tore free.
Struck with everything in me.
He flew back, breathless.
"Good," he said. His tone was sharp and commanding. "Again."
I stood—lungs ragged, body battered—but whole.
The pain was still there. But this time it didn't rule me.
I ruled it.
Maybe he wasn't trying to kill me. Maybe he was preparing me.
But even that terrified me.
Because what if the real fire—the one burning inside—
Is it more dangerous than anything standing before me?
And the sharpest question of all pierced me deeper than any blade.
Can I ever truly trust him?
Or is the real enemy not Oliver?
But me?