Page 152 of A Court of Thralls and Thorns

“I’d rather face the world alone,” I said, “than ever feel like I owe youanythingagain.”

The air around me thickened, crackling with the weight of something dangerous—something unstable. My pulse thundered in my ears, and before I could stop it, my magic surged. It wasn’t controlled or measured; it erupted from me like a storm breaking free from the sky.

The surrounding air darkened, static crackling through the room. The wooden walls groaned as if they might splinter, and the single lantern above me flickered wildly. Sparks danced across my fingertips, snapping like serpents as the lightning coiled around my arms.

Cyran stumbled back, eyes wide with something that looked dangerously close to fear. His hand went to his blade, buthe didn’t draw it—maybe he knew better than to provoke me further. Or maybe he was finally realizing what I was capable of.

“You,” he spat, “are a fucking menace. I should never have sent you to the castle.”

I laughed, but the sound was hollow. Bitter.

“I hope you didn’t spend all that money in one place.” My voice shook, but not from fear—from the raw power that coiled in my veins, begging to be let loose.

A surge of energy crackled from my hands and slammed into his desk, sending papers and glass shattering across the room. The air smelled like burnt metal, sharp and acrid. My father flinched—flinched—and for the briefest second, I saw something else flicker across his face. Not just anger. Not just frustration.

Fear.

The realization snapped me back to myself. My breathing hitched, my magic flickering and stuttering before finally ebbing away.

I bolted.

I didn’t wait to hear whatever threat or insult he was preparing. I tore through the tunnels, up the stairs and past the tables of startled patrons, my boots pounding the stone until I was outside in the cool night air. The wind lashed at my face, sharp and cold, but it couldn’t burn away the heat still curling inside me.

I didn’t stop running until I reached the barracks. My chest heaved, and my hands still trembled as I shoved the door open.

The squad was there—all of them. They’d been talking, but the moment I entered, the room fell silent. All eyes locked on me.

“What the hell happened?” Jax asked, his gaze sharp and assessing.

“You look like you’re ready to explode,” Naia added, her voice softer but no less concerned.

Riven stepped forward. “Ashe…?” Her tone was cautious, like she wasn’t sure if she needed to comfort me or tackle me.

“I’m fine,” I muttered, but the words didn’t sound convincing—even to me.

“You’re not,” Cordelle said quietly, eyeing the faint glow still pulsing beneath my skin. “You’re amped up.”

I flexed my fingers, watching the flickers of power dance over my knuckles. “I just... need a minute.”

Jax snorted. “Yeah? Well, try not to burn the place down while you’re at it.”

I shot him a glare, but there was no heat behind it.

“I mean it,” Riven said, stepping closer. “Whatever this is—whatever’s happening—you’re not alone, Ashe.”

“Do you want to burn some energy off in the ring?” Riven’s voice was quiet, but there was no judgment—just concern.

The squads were finished for the night, and the grounds were quiet except for the faint murmur of voices from the dining hall. I knew what she was offering—a chance to release whatever storm was still rolling inside me.

I nodded. “Yeah... yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

We grabbed our gear and headed outside. The air was crisp, cool enough that I could feel the heat still radiating from my skin. The faint glow beneath my fingertips had dulled, but I wasn’t calm—not yet.

The Thrall ring was empty, but as we reached it, I caught movement from the far side of the grounds. A couple of Warborn cadets were sparring in another ring, their movements sharp and precise beneath the torchlight. I ignored them and focused on Riven as we stepped into the circle.

“You sure you’re up for this?” she asked, rolling her shoulders.

“You worried?” I shot back, smirking despite myself.