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“You were given a choice,” Aimee said. “You made the wrong one.”

She turned her back, satisfaction curving at the corner of her mouth.

Then the static returned—but wrong. Not an echo. A… reversal . Each hiss and spark unspooled, collapsing inward like bubbles unpopping.

Aimee whirled, eyes going wide. The sparks slid back into the wiring. The metal hissed as it sealed. The scorch marks vanished as smoke curled inward.

When it was done, the speaker stood untouched.

Aimee stared. Her breath caught. She’d never seen time magic before. It was… unnatural.

“You can keep your family hierarchies,” Talya said, settling the bar onto her shoulders and leaning against it, gaze level.

“This is a training hall. And since you seem to have missed the orientation, let me break down the rules for you. Rule #1: Skye is not allowed in the room before lunch because he does nothing but nitpick your squat form and complain about the volume of the music. Rule #2: quiet hours start at 2bells, so come back then for your precious silence . Rule #3: clean up after yourself. That one’s obvious.

And then, most importantly, Rule #4: all rule changes must be passed by a majority vote .

So, until you can pull together a meeting to revise the official quiet hours, I’ll be listening to my music at whatever volume I want. ”

Then she clicked the remote. The music roared back to life.

Aimee’s chest heaved. Magic flickered blue around her in sharp, blue pulses. She tried to rein it back—to push it down, bury the heat rising in her throat. Men could get away with anger. She didn’t have the privilege.

“I’ll fight you for it!”

Talya turned down the volume. Just like Cori, she couldn’t resist a challenge.

“And how exactly do you plan to do that? I saw your water whip. Calcifer’s morning piss packs more of a punch.”

Aimee couldn’t wait to wipe that smug look off her face. “Fencing. Foils,” she said, nodding toward the dueling platform. “Best of three. Whoever wins picks the music.” Or lack thereof.

Talya laughed. “Fencing? You’re serious?” Her gaze flicked to Aimee’s perfectly manicured nails, then back up with a smirk. “Have you ever held a sword? I thought your style was more… accessorizing than actual sparring.”

Aimee traced the edge of one perfectly manicured nail, slow and thoughtful. Let her laugh. Let her think this would be easy. There was no better opening move than seeming harmless. “We’ll see if you’re still laughing when I beat you.”

Talya raised an eyebrow, but the grin didn’t fade. “Your funeral,” she muttered, ducking out from under the bar. She swaggered over to the dueling platform like she’d already won.

Aimee followed more sedately.

They chose their blades from the wall . Aimee tested the weight of hers, turned it once in her palm, then stepped onto the platform.

Talya mirrored her, blade in hand, smirk still intact.

Aimee lifted her foil. Brought it level. Met her gaze across the distance—calm and flat, like still water before a storm.

This wasn’t a duel. It was a culmination.

Aimee and her brother first came to Harbor Manor the summer she turned 18. The family assembled outside to greet them as their carriage rolled up. Talya stood sandwiched between Sarina and Skylen, human and sullen. They’d locked eyes, and it had been a battle ever since.

Talya fell into her beginning stance. “On your guard.”

Then she lunged. Their blades clashed once, twice—testing.

Aimee parried. Talya turned her wrist, snapping into a precise riposte.

But Aimee was already moving.

She sidestepped, blade catching the riposte mid-line, then slid in low—her foil glancing off Talya’s shoulder in a clean, surgical touch.

“Point,” Aimee said, almost sweetly.

Talya blinked.

It had taken less than five seconds.

Besides social climbing, fencing was her stepfather’s other great obsession. A gentleman’s sport, he called it. And he was always eager to get her in front of influential gentleman.

He’d wanted her good enough to entertain—never enough to win.

She’d learned both.

Aimee stepped back, lifted her blade in a delicate little salute. “Maybe accessorizing isn’t such a waste of time after all.”

Talya rolled her shoulder, testing the spot Aimee struck. “Huh,” she said. “You’re good. Guess I’ll stop playing around.”

She stepped back into position.

Aimee reset too. She didn’t speak. Just angled her foil again, calm and unblinking.

“On your guard,” Talya said.

They moved at once.

Aimee struck first—quicker than before, driving forward with precision. Talya twisted to avoid it, her retreat more dance than dodge. Their blades clashed, then they broke apart.

They circled again. This time, Talya didn’t hesitate. She darted in low, feinted left, then pivoted hard. Her foil slid through the gap in Aimee’s guard and tapped her ribs.

“Point,” she said, smug as ever.

Aimee stepped back, jaw tight. Well, well. The brat had a little bite in her after all. Good . That meant this was about to get fun.

Aimee’s breathing was steady. Sweat beaded on her skin—a minor irritation. She’d sweat buckets if it meant finally winning against this bratty, arrogant, know-it-all loudmouth who had always monopolized all of Skylen’s time and poisoned him against her.

And she could— beat her.

Not with brute force, not with this one. Talya met power with power, pride with pride. She didn’t bend—she dug in.

No, if Aimee wanted to win, she’d have to tip her off center.

They reset, stepping back into position.

Talya liked to talk. And if there was one thing Aimee had learned growing up in her stepfather’s house, it was how to use a well-timed word like a knife.

She shifted her weight, rolled her wrist once, and let her stance settle. “Do you remember anything?” she asked, tone light, like the question was an afterthought.

Talya shook her head. “Anything of what?”

And while her guard was dropped, Aimee lunged.

No warning. No pause. Just steel and speed and fury.

Their blades slammed together. Talya staggered, barely catching the blow. She recovered fast, but not fast enough—Aimee was already pressing forward.

“From before the fire,” she said, each word punctuated by steel.

Talya’s parry came late. Her stance wobbled.

“No,” she bit out, retreating again. “I was barely six when it happened.”

“And?”

Talya’s strikes turned sharper, more defensive. “And how much of your life do you remember from before you were six?”

Aimee knew the words weren’t meant to be wielded as a weapon. Talya wasn’t clever enough for that. They were thrown carelessly, like grenades. No aim. Just damage.

She told herself to stay steady, to keep control. But her jaw locked.

“ Everything .”

She dropped to one knee, parried, and used the new angle to slice at Talya’s feet.

“I remember everything !”

Every detail. Every moment. She’d replayed them so many times, she could see them with her eyes closed.

She’d preserved them in memory crystals—categorized, archived, sacred .

Aimee surged forward, blade flicking toward Talya’s hip. Not to land a touch, but to crowd her. She wanted space to vanish, to force Talya to scramble.

It worked.

Talya’s retreat came fast and awkward, a twist of shoulders, a narrow pivot. Her back foot landed near the edge of the platform, too close.

Aimee didn’t let her recover. She swept in again, feinting high. Steel rang against steel until Talya gave another step.

Her heels hovered just over the line now.

One more step, and she’d fall.

One more step, and she’d be forced to yield .

Aimee drove in hard. And it felt good—so good —to finally feel strong.

The moment hung, poised and breathless.

And that’s when Talya twisted.

A duck, a spin, and she was no longer in front of Aimee but behind her, fast as a striking snake

Then a boot slammed into Aimee’s lower back.

She hit the safety mats face-first. The impact rippled through her, limbs sprawled, body stunned into stillness.

For a moment, she didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Talya grinned down at her from the platform. “Point. Match. I win. Maybe you should’ve gone with a smaller bracelet. Totally wrecked your center of gravity.”

Aimee felt a flicker of… something—something she’d never felt towards the little heathen. Almost like… respect .

That feeling quickly morphed into anger which did a nosedive into white-hot rage .

Of course, Talya won. That was how the world worked, wasn’t it? Everything rearranged itself for her convenience. For her ease. For her triumph .

She got everything.

All she ever did was take .

She took Cori’s voice. Her memory.

She took—

Aimee stopped herself.

She’d been trying not to see it. Not to let the pieces fall into place.

The reason her father disappeared. The mysterious job that took him away for the final time.

But the shape of it was too clear now.

She took him too.

Their gazes locked.

“You killed my father.”

It wasn’t loud. Wasn’t angry. Just quiet.

Talya’s eyes widened.

Aimee surged to her feet. “Don’t look at me like that,” she snapped.

“You don’t get to act surprised. You don’t get to pretend you don’t know what you took from me.

Your mother was my father’s sister, and when she asked for help, he answered her call.

He left us to hide you. You’re the reason he’s not here, and you don’t even have the decency to remember him. ”

Talya only stared at her.

Of course, she didn’t see it. She never had to. She never had to wonder why people stayed. Never had to fight to keep them. She never had to earn love, or loyalty, or sacrifice. She just… existed, and they gave it to her.

“Say something!” The words tore from her throat, raw and furious.

“Please, explain it to me—what is it about you that makes everyone so eager to throw their lives away? What makes you worth it? Because I don’t see it.

You’re a mess. You lie. You disappear. You hurt people—and they still crawl back.

You’re a curse on every life you’ve ever touched, and they thank you for it. ”

Talya flinched. Just barely. But it was enough for Aimee to twist the knife. Because it wasn’t enough that Talya had stolen her happiness—she’d taken her escape from the resulting misery too.

“I did everything right!” The words tumbled out, a torrent of everything she’d kept buried—every grievance, every resentment, every wound left to fester. “I smiled, I obeyed, I simpered. And still he only ever saw you . You with your filthy mouth and your Shards-damn trousers!”

Talya’s mouth opened… and closed. Her expression flickered, but no answer came.

Aimee reached for the platform and hauled herself up—knees first, palms flat, dragging herself from the wreckage.

She rose—no grace, just fire—and leveled her foil.

“One more round,” she said, her voice steady. “First blood. No rules. No points. Just you and me.”

Talya tilted her head. “Shards, you really do just want to get your ass beat.” Then her grin returned. “Fine. Let’s stop pretending this was ever about points.”

She dropped her foil, tip-first, and ground the blunted edge beneath her boot.

Aimee smirked. It was too easy.

She formed the glamour with half a thought. Her form shimmered, then blinked out entirely.

She hadn’t wanted to cheat. She’d wanted a real win against the bitch. But this wasn’t about fairness anymore.

She circled silently, weight in her toes.

Talya didn’t even tense, just stood there, calm as sunrise. “You can slip out of sight, Aimee,” she said. “But not out of time.”

Then she pivoted sharply, blade slashing through empty air—until it met something solid. Steel kissed steel, and Aimee stumbled back.

“Time mage. Remember?”

Aimee’s second strike came from behind. Talya spun with it, deflecting again.

“I’m sorry, by the way.” Talya ducked. Aimee’s blade met air. “About your father. I really do wish I could remember him. For you, and for me.”

Aimee growled. Her next strike was pure fury—messy, wild, desperate to land. Talya blocked it without blinking.

“I’ve taken a lot without meaning to. I know that. And maybe you’re right about some of it. But just so we’re clear.”

Aimee launched forward again—this time not to strike, but to shove.

Talya sidestepped it with ease. “You don’t get to take that debt out of Skye.”

Aimee grit her teeth. Every move she made, Talya was already there. Already waiting.

“I know you think I stole him from you.”

Aimee lunged for her knees. Talya jumped and spun midair, her blade slashing down hard.

“But I didn’t.”

Steel clanged against Aimee’s guard.

“He just loves me. Believe me, I don’t get it either.”

Talya’s next swipe landed across Aimee’s backside. She squeaked.

“You had your chance to take the hint. But since you missed it, I’ll spell it out.”

Then Talya moved—no more dodging, no more deflecting. Just a clean, brutal slash.

Steel sliced through the air. Aimee yelped as it connected.

She dropped hard to one knee, the illusion shattering, light bending, folding in on itself until she appeared, staggered and exposed.

She tried to bring her foil back up—too slow. Talya was already there. The tip of her blade kissed Aimee’s throat.

And as she leaned in, there was an edge to her now. A promise of violence in the hush.

“He’s mine ,” Talya said, voice like flint. “And if I catch you sniffing around, I will come for you. Nod if you understand.”

Every muscle in Aimee’s body quivered with fury, barely held in check. She swallowed hard. Then she nodded. The movement dragged skin against steel, and a single bead of crimson broke free and rolled down her neck.

First blood.

Talya’s smile was all teeth. “I win. Again . But hey, thanks for the warm-up.” Fishing the remote out of her pocket, she clicked back on the music. “Better luck tomorrow.”

But the words were lost beneath the sound of wailing guitars, discordant drumbeats, and garbled human gibberish—as was Aimee’s furious scream.