Page 27 of Angel Lost (Fates Academy #3)

Chapter Twenty-seven: Lorelei

The rebels’ training hall is half-open to the night, a cavernous space where stone pillars support a high-beamed ceiling. Brazier flames flicker along the walls, their shifting light casting deep shadows across the stacked weapons and racks of armor. The scent of smoke, metal, and sweat lingers, thick as the tension pressing against my ribs. I had to come, to skip out of Fates, again. Farrell deserves it. Having Chano and Kai at my back is only a little more reassuring than coming alone.

Farrell sits at the long wooden table in the center, dragging a whetstone over his dagger with slow, deliberate strokes. Sparks catch in the dim light. He doesn’t look up at our footsteps.

Chano saunters in like he owns the place. Passing a weapons rack, he plucks up a knuckle duster, turning it over in his palm like he’s weighing its worth. With a small amused snort, he slips it onto his fingers and flexes his hand. He leans casually against the wall, his sharp gaze landing on Farrell. Assessing. Waiting.

Kai hangs back near the brazier closest to the exit. His fidgeting is worse tonight—the sharp points of his nails tap a frantic rhythm against the hilt of his dagger. It’s like he’s subconsciously responding to the tension in the air. Or he’s being deliberately annoying.

Another glance at Farrell. His set jaw. His scowl. I deserve this.

For a second, I hesitate. Then I cross the space between us, boots scuffing against the stone floor .

“I came to talk.” My voice is steady. Measured. There are too many witnesses here to come apart at the seams. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of his new Hand edging closer.

Farrell’s blade whispers against the whetstone again.

I square my shoulders. “Farrell, I came to talk.”

The whetstone stills. The knife turns in his fingers, catching the dim light as he finally lifts his gaze.

Golden slit pupils lock onto mine, unreadable. The firelight makes them look molten, burning with something dark beneath the surface. “Did you?” His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge, sharp as the dagger in his hands.

My stomach clenches again. This could go badly wrong.

I clear my throat, trying to shake the weight pressing on my chest. The whole room is holding its breath—waiting for Farrell to snap.

“I should’ve told you sooner.” The words are too small for what I’ve done. For what I haven’t done.

The new Hand laughs, and Farrell sets his blade down with a deliberate clink. His fingers linger on the hilt.

Behind me, Kai's nails tap faster. Chano, on the other hand, looks like he’s watching a stage play. He drops onto a bench, stretching out, one boot hooked over the other. Absentmindedly, he traces patterns in the dust on the table with one fingertip, like the whole room isn’t one wrong word away from combustion.

Farrell’s gaze flicks toward him, then back to me. “You should’ve.” His voice is calm, but there’s a simmering edge beneath it, like banked embers waiting for air. “But you didn’t. And now you’re here to ease your conscience.”

I open my mouth—

Footsteps slap across stone.

A rebel scout stumbles in, breathless, clutching a crumpled scrap of parchment. His eyes dart from me to Farrell, then back again, like he’s trying to gauge whether Farrell’s more dangerous right now than whatever’s written on that note.

Farrell snatches the paper without a word. His eyes scan it, pupils contracting to razor-thin slits. Smoke hisses from his nostrils.

“Your illusion failed.” His voice is low, like the crack before thunder as he faces his new Hand. He crushes the parchment in his fist. “They know it’s not the fae.”

Kai rears upright and violently kicks a chair across the room. It crashes into the stone wall with a splintering crack.

“You used my people as cover?”

Farrell doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink. He just lets the crumpled note fall from his fingers.

“It was necessary.”

“Necessary?” Kai’s laugh is jagged, humorless. “The Angel King spent years grinding us down. Indoctrinating the young, making sure no fae steps out of line. He even forced his own sister to marry my father—the Fae King—just to keep us under control. And you? You gave him an excuse to crack down even harder. My people are suffering, and now we know why.” His fingers flex like he wants to grab something—Farrell, his dagger, my throat, maybe. “And you, Lorelei, you knew?”

Chano pushes off the bench, stepping between us. “Kai, my violent friend, let’s not act surprised.” He flicks a hand, sharp and dismissive. “This is Farrell. Tunnel vision and terrible decisions are basically his whole idiota personality. You’d think he’d have learned after tossing Zephyr aside, but no—same shit, different day.” Chano snorts, eyes narrowing. “Lorelei just got caught up in it. Question is, how long before the rest of us get screwed over too?”

Kai stares at me, long, hard, then nods just once. He points his dagger straight at Farrell. “You are just as responsible for crushing the fae spirit as the king himself. ”

Farrell pinches the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t do it to put your people in danger. I did it because it worked.” His voice is even, but his knuckles are white where he grips the table edge. “Until it didn’t.”

For a second, I think Kai is going to lunge. I step forward instinctively, tugging Kai’s knife arm down.

“Think it through,” I murmur, glancing at the rebel soldiers around the room as they inch ever closer. “If you go for him, we all know how that ends.”

Kai’s breath comes hard and fast, but he doesn’t shove me off. His eyes stay locked on Farrell. “If one more fae dies because of this, I will hold you personally responsible.”

Farrell finally meets his gaze. “Fair.”

That single word lands heavy in the space between them.

Kai exhales sharply and steps back. He gives a slow, deliberate clap. Once. Twice. A mocking smile flickers across his face, sharp and wrong. His anger isn’t gone, it’s just buried, waiting, coiled tight like a spring ready to snap.

I shift uneasily. “So, what now?”

Farrell picks up the fallen parchment, smooths it flat, and holds it out. “Now, I fix it.”

The scout coughs nervously. “They sent out search parties, sir. They’re searching for clues about the real rebellion now.”

Farrell snatches the nearest map from the war table, scanning battle reports with a clenched jaw. The candlelight flickers as the heat in the room spikes.

“How many saw through the illusion?” His voice is low.

The scout swallows. “Enough.”

Farrell’s grip tightens on the map until it crumples, and smoke belches from him. “Get me a full report. Now.”

The scout bolts before Farrell can set him alight. The silence left behind is suffocating. The air crackles, charged with the energy of everything left unsaid .

“Farrell, I came here because—”

“Because what?” His voice slices through the air, sharp and hot. “You didn’t come here to warn me. That would’ve been useful. You didn’t come to help, either.”

The embers in the brazier glow brighter, the fire responding to him.

“So what do you want now, Lorelei?”

My throat tightens, but I refuse to back down. He can burn as hot as he wants—I’m not leaving until I get through to him.

I force steel into my voice. “To fix this.”

Farrell shakes his head like he can’t believe I’m standing here, like he can’t believe I’m still talking. “Fix this?” He slaps his palm flat on the table. “You mean the mess you helped create? Very kind.”

I flinch, but I don’t step back. “The king figured out by himself that something was off about your father. That wasn’t on me. But I never meant to keep you in the dark about your father being moved.”

“But you did.” He shoves a hand through his curls, movements taut with frustration. “You knew where he was sent, and you said nothing. You let me walk around blind while the king held him under his boot.”

The firelight flickers, casting shadows over his sharp features. My stomach twists.

“I didn’t keep it from you on purpose, Farrell. There was a rip—hellions got out. I barely had time to breathe, let alone tell you.”

His nostrils flare, a brief puff of smoke curling from his nose. “And yet you found time to party with some big-boy demons. Trying to find some new blood for your little harem?”

I grit my teeth. “I don’t have a harem.”

For a second, I think I see it—a flicker of something behind his eyes, something less molten, less rage-fueled. But then he looks away, jaw tight.

I step closer. “I know you’re angry, but I’m not your enemy, Farrell.”

His gaze flickers over my face, searching for—what? Excuses? Lies? Maybe just proof that I actually give a damn. Chano slowly, deliberately, moves closer, but for now, he bites his tongue. Even Kai stills, watching, waiting.

Farrell finally drags a hand down his face, muttering a curse. “You don’t get it, Lorelei. It’s not just about my father. It’s about all of them. Every soldier, every rebel who trusted me to keep them hidden.” He lets out a bitter breath. “I don’t know how many we’ll lose because of this.”

The words are sharp, but they don’t cut as deep as before. Not as much fire, not as much venom.

Cautiously, I place my hand over his. “Then let me help.”

The silence stretches. His fingers flex under mine, like he’s warring with the need to lash out. Then he snatches his hand back, spreading the map out, smoothing the crumples.

“Fine,” he bites out. “You want to help? Then start acting like it.”

It’s not forgiveness—not even close—but it’s something. A way forward.

“Tell me what needs to be done.”