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A s if to confirm Dayn’s words, the convergence lights flicker once, twice, then stabilize into a new configuration—still seven streams, but no longer forced into a tight spiral.

They flow more naturally now, weaving around each other in an ever-shifting dance that seems almost joyful in its newfound freedom.

Dayn rises unsteadily to his feet, his usual grace temporarily abandoned. He looks different somehow—less contained, more vital. The air around him shimmers slightly, as if barely containing the power within.

“So,” I say, still trying to stabilize my breathing, “if I hadn’t drunk your blood, I wouldn’t have survived that, right?”

He shakes his head. “Incorrect. You would have survived. It would have been a strain, and painful, but your bloodline is powerful enough to ensure there wouldn’t have been permanent damage. I guarantee you that.”

I frown, narrowing my eyes on him, wondering how he could guarantee such a thing.

His expression appears matter-of-fact, earnest almost, but his words don’t make sense.

If it’s true that I could have survived the unbinding ritual without his blood, then why did my grandmother desperately insist I needed to drink it?

She wouldn’t have said it for no reason.

One of the two stories has to be subverting the truth. And my grandmother isn’t a liar.

Dayn likely knew I would die before the ritual was completed. And, of course, he didn’t tell me.

I glance at him, not sure why it even bothers me. It’s not like I ever thought he was trustworthy.

It doesn’t bother me, I decide, and focus on the immediate issues. Like trying to come to terms with the new sensation of… power coursing through me. I feel almost hesitant to move, like my body is a stranger to my own brain, like I’m no longer certain of my own abilities.

The shrilling of alarms grows louder overhead.

“We need to move. Now.” Dayn is across the room in an instant, his movements once again fluid and predatory. His fingers close around my wrist, the touch uncomfortably electric against my still-sensitive skin.

The urgency in his voice propels me forward despite my lingering disorientation and the fact that he’s the last person I want touching me right now. He pulls me out of the room toward the spiral staircase, his grip unyielding.

“Where are you going?” I ask, wrenching my hand away as we reach the base of the stairs.

I cast one last glance back at Mazrov’s lifeless form before beginning the climb.

Maybe I should feel a little somber, given that, at the end of the day, Mazrov was just a pawn in Heathborne’s power play: honored only for his usefulness, valued simply for being a willing guinea pig.

But it’s a struggle to feel much except relief.

The shrilling grows louder, more insistent.

Dayn doesn’t answer my question, just scales the steps, casting illumination from his palm to guide us.

We ascend the staircase at a punishing pace, but somehow my muscles don’t burn as much as they should after the effort of the ritual.

My own body feels strange, lighter somehow, my movements imbued with a vitality that wasn’t there before.

The relentless wail of the alarms is joined now by distant shouts—guards mobilizing, the whole Academy awakening to threat within its walls.

When we reach the hallway at the top of the stairs, it pulses with red warning lights, the alarm system fully activated.

“Dayn,” I try again, frustrated. “Where exactly?—”

I stumble, a wave of sensation suddenly slamming into me with such force that I nearly double over. It’s like nothing I’ve experienced before—a presence, no, multiple presences, flooding my awareness with an unmistakable signature.

“Darkbloods,” I gasp, my head snapping up toward the ceiling. “There are darkbloods in the building.”

The realization hits me with perfect clarity.

Not just any darkbloods—trained operatives, at least two dozen, maybe more.

I can sense them moving through the upper levels of Heathborne with deadly purpose.

My newly heightened senses map their positions with startling precision, like pinpricks of familiar energy against the backdrop of clearblood signatures.

Is this something like what Mazrov felt, when he sensed me?

It hits me suddenly, and I can’t help but wonder if, in an ironic twist, I myself now have abilities similar to, or even stronger than, Mazrov’s.

After all, we were both subjected to dragon essence, albeit via different methods.

How far do these abilities stretch? I feel suddenly even more uncertain in my own skin.

A distant crash reverberates through the stone walls, followed by shouts and the unmistakable crackle of combat magic. Darkbirch agents.

“My people are here,” I whisper, then louder, “They’re here!” Urgency courses through me.

“Esme—” Dayn starts, but I’m already moving, breaking away from him and heading toward the nearest stairwell that will take me up.

“They’ve come for me,” I say, certainty flooding through me. The timing can’t be coincidental—my grandmother’s warning, the urgency in her fractured message. She must have sent them, knowing what was about to happen. I need to get to them.

Dayn moves with inhuman speed, suddenly blocking my path. “You can’t go up there.”

I stare at him in disbelief. “Get out of my way!” I hiss. I try to sidestep him, but he mirrors my movement.

“Your magic is unstable,” he insists, his eyes flaring gold at the edges. “The blood exchange, the ritual—you have no idea what you’re capable of right now. It’s too dangerous.”

“For whom?” I demand. “For me, or for your plans?” Whatever they even are.

Another explosion rocks the building, dust raining from the ceiling. The sounds of battle grow louder—magical discharges, shouts of pain, running footsteps.

“They’re fighting and dying while we stand here arguing,” I snarl. “They came for me, Dayn. I’m not going to hide while they risk their lives!”

I try to move past him again, but his hand shoots out, gripping my shoulder.

I flash him a dangerous look. “Unhand me.”

His fingers dig into my shoulder, the pressure just shy of painful. “No,” he says, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes the air around us vibrate. “I can’t let you leave.”

Something in me snaps. Maybe it’s the dragon blood coursing through my veins, maybe it’s my newly transformed darkblood essence, or maybe it’s just the culmination of days spent dancing to Dayn’s tune. Whatever the cause, power surges through me like a tidal wave, dark and potent.

I don’t think—I act. My hand flies up, breaking his grip with a twist I learned in my first year at Darkbirch. Shadows leap from my fingertips, solid as steel but fluid as water, wrapping around his wrists like living shackles.

Surprise flashes across his face, quickly replaced by something darker. “Interesting,” he murmurs. He flexes his wrists against the shadow restraints, his expression darkening. “Release me.” The command carries weight, but I stand my ground, the shadows tightening in response to my resolve.

“No.” The word tastes different on my tongue—powerful, certain. “I’m going to my people.”

In a blur of movement, Dayn twists his hands in a complex pattern. The shadows splinter and dissolve as he breaks free. Before I can react, he’s on me, one hand pinning my shoulder to the wall, his face inches from mine.

“Your new abilities are impressive,” he says, his voice deceptively soft, “but don’t forget whose blood flows through your veins… whose essence fuses with yours.”

My breath hitches at the cadence of his voice, my heartbeat quickening in spite of myself. But then I rally, and slam my palm against his chest, channeling darkblood energy in a concentrated burst. The force throws him back several feet, his boots skidding against stone as he maintains his balance.

“What do you want, a medal?” I ask.

His eyes flash molten gold. “Don’t make me hurt you, Esme.”

“Funny. I was about to say the same thing.”

We circle each other in the narrow corridor, the alarms screaming overhead. Another explosion rocks the building, seemingly closer this time. My people are fighting their way downward.

Dayn moves first, feinting left before striking right. I anticipate the move, ducking under his arm and landing a blow to his ribs. My enhanced strength surprises us both—he actually grunts a little.

“You’re stronger than you should be,” he observes, eyes narrowing.

“Maybe you’re just weaker than you think.”

His smile is all predator. “Let’s test that theory.”

He lunges, faster than human reflexes could track, but my dragon-blood-enhanced senses allow me to sidestep. I grab his outstretched arm, using his momentum to slam him into the wall. Stone cracks under the impact.

Dayn recovers instantly, spinning to catch my wrist. The contact sends a jolt of electricity between us, our mingled blood recognizing its counterpart. For a heartbeat, we freeze, the sensation momentarily overwhelming .

I recover first, twisting free and summoning a wave of shadows that surge toward him like a tide. Dayn counters with a barrier of golden light that turns the shadows to mist on contact.

“Your grandmother didn’t tell you everything,” he says, advancing slowly as the mist dissipates.

I back away, gathering power for another strike. “Spare me the lecture.”

“You’re becoming something new, Esme. Neither purely darkblood nor?—”

A barrage of my shadow projectiles force him to dodge and weave. Right now, I don’t care what I’m becoming as long as I get to my people. They could be dying—this moment—for me.

I lunge forward, feinting to the right before pivoting left toward a side passage. Dayn anticipates my move, materializing in my path with that infuriating speed of his. The corridor behind me offers no escape either—we’re locked in this deadly dance, neither willing to yield.