Page 5

They circle me like vultures, slow and predatory, each of them bouncing slightly on their feet like they can barely contain themselves. And I know—I know—they’re not just here to fight. They're here toplay. That’s what he always does. Even when it matters. Even when it’s life or death. Especially when it’s me.

One of them whistles low. Another winks.

“Looking good, Vael,” the Silas to my left calls, flipping a dagger between his fingers with maddening ease. “Is that the infamous Lust pout, or are you just happy to see me?”

He’s flirting.

While we fight.

It’s infuriating.

The problem isn’t that he’s annoying—heis, unbearably so. The problem is that beneath the chaos, he’sbrilliant. Fast.Lethal. And even though his mouth never stops moving, his daggers never miss. He doesn’t fight to win. He fights to unhinge you, to get under your skin until you're too distracted to block the blade.

I don’t want to fight him. Not because I think he’ll win. But because he’s myfriend. My irritating, impossible, unpredictable friend. And Branwen knows that. She’s always known where to dig.

One of the Silas’ lunges first—too early, too obvious. He’s bait. I don’t fall for it. I flick my wrist and send the length of my whip slicing through the air. It catches him across the ribs, splitting illusion from reality. He hisses, stumbles back, but the others don’t react. They just laugh.

“C’mon, Caspian,” another one drawls from behind me. “Don’t tell me you’re holding back. You know what that does to me.”

I pivot on instinct, whip lashing in a sharp arc. He ducks, flips over a low stone, and lands in a crouch beside the original—at least, Ithinkhe’s the original. It’s impossible to tell now. They’re bleeding into each other, energy mixing, warping, cracking at the edges. He’s stolen something volatile this time. Time magic? Maybe shadows. Something dangerous enough that he’s barely hanging onto his form.

He moves too fast.

Not fluid like Riven. Not precise like Lucien.

Erratic.

Beautiful.

Disastrous.

And still—he grins like we’re playing tag in the courtyard. Like this is foreplay.

“You’re not even looking at me,” he says, breathless with movement. “That hurts, Cas. Thought we had athing.”

“You’re trying to stab me, Silas.”

“Flirtingandstabbing. It’s called multitasking.”

He darts forward again, and this time he doesn’t fake it. One dagger slashes toward my thigh. I twist, snap my whip to intercept—and miss. Barely. He’s closer now. Too close. His hand grazes my chest and I feel it—that heat, thatpull. Not his, but mine. My magic flares without permission. Lust, coiling like smoke between us. I feel the first edge of it—thewant—rising, dangerous and sharp, and Ishove it down.

Not on him.

Not like this.

But he felt it too. His breath catches, just for a second, before he laughs.

“Ohshit,” he grins, backing off, eyes wide. “Did I just make you blush?”

“You’re not that charming.”

He shrugs. “Could be. I’m not saying I’m impressed, but Iamfeeling things.”

I strike again. Not out of anger—precision. The whip wraps around his wrist mid-spin and I yank, hard. He tumbles forward into my space, and for a second, he’s inches away. His breath ghosts over my cheek.

“Hi,” he whispers.

I release him with a grunt, shoving him back.