I don’t think I’ll ever be used to people speaking up for me. A treacherous feeling of belonging creeps into my heart, begging me to let it stay, but I tuck it away, squashing any hope blooming within me.
It starts to rain, a slow drizzle against the faint moonlight, a poetic mirror of my heart weeping at the thought of failing my sister. Sure, we caught the puppets, but we’ve also discovered a greater conspiracy. Even if I wanted to do something, I am powerless now, my fate in the hands of the Principal Grand Master.
I stand alone for a moment, taking in Dearly Departed behind me, Little Lake Albion across the street, and the stupid bench where I used to eat lunch with Mara every day. One week is all it took for me to become a stranger to this place, and with the raindrops trickles a sobering truth: Albion is not my home anymore, and neither is Gorhail.
Sylas’s car is parked farther down the lake. Next to it, the overseer holds a clipboard, signing a few pages before leading the Firstline officers toward a second car a few feet down the road. I linger on the sidewalk a second longer. Once I cross this road and get into the car, my future solely rests in Priya’s hands.
I step onto the road.
“Wait.” Sylas’s hoarse voice sets my heart alight when it should freeze over. His steps scrape against the pavement, hesitant.
Don’t turn around. I do.
The raindrops run in rivulets down his face, washing away some of the blood and dirt. My breath falters, and a faint shiver ripples through me, trailing goose bumps along my skin. I don’t know if it’s the danger or therain, but tonight Sylas is devastating. He watches me carefully, pausing at my neck. In a single step, he’s in front of me, his hooded eyes darkening. “You’re still bleeding.”
I didn’t even know I was bleeding.
He pulls a piece of cloth from his pocket and gently presses it to my neck. “Hold it there,” he whispers. “I… Railesza is with Beau.”
“It’s fine.” I replace his hand with mine, darting my eyes away. My traitorous cheeks flush. He is standing painfully close to me, the warmth of his body once again wrapping me with safety Ishouldn’tfeel around him.
“Why did you jump in front of me?” he asks, and I forget how to breathe.
Instinct. I was certain Mara was going to kill him, and I couldn’t leave Beau and Lyria without their brother. But if I’m honest, I don’tknowwhy I jumped in front of him. I just did.
“I am immortal.” He points to Raiek. “You’re not. Don’t do anything this foolish again.”
Don’t do anything this foolish again. His words sober me up, and I let out a long breath. First, my magic is wretched, now my actions are foolish. I don’t know why I stand here and let him riddle me with insults.
“There won’t be a second time.” With one final nod, I begin to cross the street. The fights, the magic, and the constant brush with death crash into me with a wave of exhaustion, and all I want to do is crawl into my bed in Albion and sleep. But instead, I’ll have to talk my way out of death in Riverview.
“Don’t do it,” Sylas says behind me.
My legs obey him like he’s their master. I stop and turn around, but this time he’s not fooling me with his constant push and pull. “Do what, Sylas?”
“Don’t get rid of your magic. It’s all over your face.”
“Why do you care? You hate Mortemagi.”
He sucks in his lower lip, and my stupid, stupid eyes fall to his mouth. I quickly look back up, and he sighs in frustration. “Gorhail is where you belong. Despite how I feel about your magic, you deserve to study it.”
I don’t deserve anything. “I don’twantthis magic. This world has taken too much from me for me to want to be a part of it.” I force a smile. Sylas has a way of drawing out my deepest fears and laying them bare. “Do you know what it’s like to hate the very fiber of your being?”
To my surprise, he replies, “I do.”
His eyes are distant, lost in a memory that wells them with tears. They are so raw, so human, like they contain a multitude of sorrows. The more I tell myself that his sorrows aren’t mine to ease, the more I want to reach over to wipe away the tears before they fall.
“Vi.” He doesn’t break our gaze as he walks up to me, and my traitor heart leaps. Even drenched and covered in blood, Sylas still looks like he was blessed by the six Gods.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“I—” I pause, a lump in my throat. What do I even say to that?
“Come back to Gorhail.” His brows are furrowed, his voice a plea that knots around my heart. And all I want to do is surrender.
“DOTS—” I remind him.
“I won’t let them.” He cuts me off.