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The simple sleeping clothes left folded on the bed feel thin and unfamiliar against my skin, a poor armor against the things unraveling inside me.

I wash my face in the basin of cool water, scrubbing hard enough to sting. Trying to erase the memory of his lips on mine. Of the weight of his mind, full of strategy and calculation and an endless, grinding vigilance.

Afterward, I stretch out on the bed, and stare up at the ceiling while I try to organize my thoughts. Tomorrow, Sacha said he’ll begin teaching me how to control whatever abilities I’m developing.

That’s good.Practical. The key to finding my way home might lie in understanding how I affect this world’s magic.

But the thought of facing him after what happened makes my stomach twist.

Will he pretend nothing happened? Analyze it with that cool detachment? Or worse, file it away as another tool to be used when it suits his plans?

Because one thing seeing inside his mind confirmed beyond doubt is that he’salwaysplanning. Always calculating. Every action, every word, positioned like pieces on a board I can’t fully see. And now I’m part of it. A wild card he doesn’t fully understand, and therefore can’t fully control.

Sleep seems impossible with my mind racing like this, but exhaustion eventually drags me under.

My dreams are fragmented.

Chicago streets become mountain passes. The tower turns into Stonehaven. Familiar shapes bend and break into unfamiliar patterns, stitched together by seams that shouldn’t exist.

Through it all, shadows move. Not aimlessly, but with purpose, gathering into half-recognizable forms before dissolving again. And beneath the shifting dreamscape, a voice calls to me. A voice without words, whispering meanings I don’t understand.

I wake to a firm knock at my door, disoriented and groggy. Pale light filters through a small ventilation shaft high in the wall, suggesting early morning.

“Yes?” My voice comes out rough with sleep.

“It’s time.” Sacha’s voice carries through the door, as cool and formal as ever, as if last night never happened.

His footsteps retreat before I can respond. Sitting up, I push tangled hair away from my face, while reality reasserts itself. The formality in his voice stings a little. I should be relieved. I should be glad everything is normal. But apparently I’m not.

I’m not even sure what I expected. A heartfelt conversation about our feelings? Acknowledgement? Something real instead of distance? Hardly Sacha’s style, even before I glimpsed the analytic mind that drives his every interaction.

Throwing back the blankets, I wash and find clean clothes in the chest at the end of the bed. More pants in the same soft material, a simple tunic, and boots.

Whatever abilities I’m developing, learning to control them is the priority. Everything else, including confusing kisses and mental connections, can wait.

The main chamber is empty when I enter, but there is clear evidence of Sacha’s presence. Open books, handwritten notes, and a small plate with bread and cheese.

The maps from yesterday have been replaced by a new one centered around what looks like a city. The drawing shows walls, buildings, and openings that I assume are entry points.

I study it while waiting, trying to figure out what the symbols and notes mean. Whatever the place is, it looks formidable, with multiple walls, limited entry points, and markings that might indicate guard posts.

“Ready?”

I turn too fast.

Sacha is standing near the door. Gone are the formal clothes of last night, and he’s back to being dressed in dark clothing similar to those he wore in the tower, his blade secured at his hip.

My eyes jerk to his face and away again, but not before I see the perfectly blank expression. Distant. Formal. Exactly the way he chooses to be seen.

My stomach twists sharply.

“I guess so.” I’m glad to find my voice stays steady. If he’s going to pretend nothing happened, then so will I.

He nods, walking around the table. “Today, we focus on trying to understand your new abilities. We’ll start with trying an intentional manifestation, rather than an emotional response.”

All business then. Fine. I can work with that.

“Okay, how do we start?”