The Ravenrock Sector Three Library was just as grand as you’d imagine. Large stone steps leading up to the building. Held up by huge unscathed pillars. Thousands of books lining the shelves on the different levels of this library.

It was disgusting.

Sectors one, two, and three were the richest. No one really knows how anyone here can be so wealthy. Most that live there are either doctors or part of the government but it never adds up.

Well, that was until a few months ago I was told that another city within the Forest of Beasts was funding the government out of pity and desperation to keep our grubby hands away from their fine city.

I always rolled my eyes at the thought. The thought that people with wealth would dangle their riches in front of the rest of us but not really caring about us at all unless we get in their way.

Eliot located the computers, no one else at them thankfully, and we got to work.

Ronan took the panel off the back of the monitor and started rewiring, attempting to cut off Thornblade’s access from the computer. It was odd seeing him so focused on something that actually helped us.

Delcan was scrolling through the flash drive files, clicking on one that seemed important, then Eliot was writing at lightning speed.

Ronan snipped a wire — the screen went dark.

“Oops?” he said.

Before Declan could swap seats, the monitor flickered back on, code rearranging itself.

Ronan stared. “I think it’s separate from Thornblade’s monitoring now.”

Declan sat back down and got back to work, making sure Eliot got the information we needed.

I was on guard duty, watching the halls and rows of books, making sure no one got any ideas.

It was mostly empty, You could hear a page turning every once in a while, or the librarian on the other side of the building shelving books, but not much else other than that and Declan’s rapid typing.

That was, until I heard Ronans footsteps. 

He was wandering. Which meant he was bored. 

A bored Ronan was like a lit match in a fireworks warehouse.

I took a deep breath and followed him as he lazily walked through the rows and rows of books like they were nothing more than gravel on the road. 

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

“Gods.” He huffed out a laugh. “Since when did you start sounding like Declan? So serious.” He did a mock-expression of what I guessed would be my scowl over his shoulder.

“We don’t need you doing some stupid shit right now, Ro. We need to focus.” He flinched at my words, I caught it, but then his facade went back into place and he kept with his cocky steps.

Eventually he paused and picked up a book from the shelf. Some old fairytale book about dragons.

His eyes went wide, his smirk dropping as he held the new cover, flipping through the pages like he was reliving something right in front of me.

And I had a feeling I knew what it was.

“Your mom read it to you?” I asked, my voice going softer than I intended. He looked up at me like he forgot I was there—like a startled kid. It’d been a while since I’d seen that look from him.

He nodded, going back to flipping through the pages.

“After my dad died, she was trying. I wasn’t doing great in school and couldn’t read very much even with tutors my parents spent a fortune on. So she’d read to me.” He said, his braced hand tapping lightly against the paperback. “I never knew why she did it. They were just useless stories that I’d never be able to read anyways. Then we moved to my uncle’s house…and you know the rest.” He shrugged, slipping the book gently back into its place.

I knew enough not to wonder what happened next. 

I watched as he tried to put the mask back on, but his hands were shaking, his breath shallower, each movement a little more scared.

Like a spooked fox trying to size up a bear.

Impossible, but he’s determined.

“River, Ronan.” I heard Declan say into the comms, I flinched, forgetting I had the earpiece in.

“Yeah?” Ronan resounded, his usual cocky attitude place in that simple word.

“We got what we need, move out.” Declan said. I heard the library door closing in the distance. Him and Eliot must’ve already left the building.

“Right behind you.” I grabbed Ronans arm and started pulling him towards the exit, as he’s whining about “But I haven’t set anything on fire yet.”

Somehow, the job went as planned for once and didn’t go completely sideways within seconds—and we all left the library with no more scars than we came in with.

Sector Three was the calmest of the sectors, quiet streets, good schools, no evidence of conflict or apocalypse—but I knew what else was at play.

We weren’t the only ones planning something. Thornblade was preparing for a war, and the Holders weren’t ready.

~

The night was quieter than usual. Like the universe finally decided we deserved a break.

Eliot sat in their bed, a small lantern next to them as they wrote in their journal. Large circle glasses sliding down their freckled nose as they concentrated on the paper.

It’s a view I’d never get tired of seeing.

“If you’re going to stalk me, I’d prefer you’d actually try and be inconspicuous.” They spoke, voice clear—keeping their eyes on their page.

“It’s not stalking, it’s admiring.” I smirked, walking over from the bathroom to their bed.

They rolled their eyes, finally looking up at me. Their blond hair falling into their eyes—barely brushing their shoulders. 

“Don’t be weird.” They broke eye contact, fiddling gently with the pen between their pale fingers.

“What’d be weird about it?” I asked, brushing a strand of their hair behind their ear—watching their face closely.

They shrugged, it was weird seeing them unsure. “I dunno, it’s just…weird.”

“Weird to do this?” I asked, bringing my face closer—watching how they’d react.

Their breath hitched, pupils dilating. They tilted their head and leaned closer in the softest kiss.

I let them set the pace—knowing they were unsure. Just keeping one hand on their waist, another on the back of their neck.

They kissed again, pressing closer to me, their hands going to my shoulders—drawing their body closer.

I pulled them into my lap, kissing them back, more insistent.

They responded with matching my energy, kisses getting rougher before they pulled back, forehead resting against mine.

We both were panting, mouths open, chests pressed against each other. I could feel their heart racing in their chest—mirroring my own.

“We should…” they trailed off for a moment. “We should stop before Declan comes in and takes our door with him.” But they didn’t make any effort to pull away.

“Relax, El. The door is locked, he’s not coming in.” I smirked, kissing them again.

They sighed into the kiss, eyes fluttering closed as they kissed me back. 

I gently pulled their glasses off their face so they wouldn’t shatter on either of us, apparently that was the only invitation they needed to kiss me harder, my back falling against the mattress, them straddling my waist.

They hesitated again, like they were unsure of how far they could go. How much could happen before their calm exterior cracks.

“You don’t have to wear the mask around me.” I said softly, thumbs brushing circles on their sides. “I’m not going anywhere.”

They smiled gently, leaning in to kiss me yet again. This time it was slower, deeper in a way that made my head spin. 

We made out for who knew how long before they pulled back to rest beside me, cheeks flushed as they attempted to slow their breathing, eyes half lidded.

It was beautiful.

I guided them up so we could turn around from being backwards on their bed. When I was about to slide under the covers they grabbed my wrist, from but not enough to hurt. Just a warning.

“There’s two beds for a reason.” They murmured, voice horse and lips pink.

I nodded, knowing Eliot was always very clear at making sure their boundaries weren’t overstepped.

I kissed their forehead before slipping under my own covers, hoping that whatever happens with Thornblade that Eliot would stay with me.

~

The next morning was planning our route. The assassination of the city’s dictator should be easy enough. 

What was stressing me out was how fidgety Ronan was. the guy wouldn’t stop moving. Pacing if he was standing, knee bouncing if he was sitting. Pulling at a loose string on his hoodie sleeve until it was the length of his arm. Eyes darting around like something were to explode if he dropped his guard.

The kid was a mess. 

I’d seen his breakdowns, his anxieties, his traumas clawing their way up from wherever he kept them inside—but this was different.

It was anxious to get going.

He was ready for something to happen. He craved it.