Page 25

CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

Bex

I slipped carefully from Ezra’s arms, not wanting to wake him. His face was soft in sleep, the faintest crease still etched between his brows like even his dreams carried too much weight. I glanced over at the other side of the room, at Zaffir’s empty bed. He hadn’t come back with us after the interview, and it didn’t look like he ever made it home. Guilt prickled under my skin. I should’ve brought Ezra to my room. The one the boys insisted I have to myself. I hoped I hadn’t made him feel like he couldn’t sleep here.

Tugging on Ezra’s discarded button-down, the only piece of clothing left intact after last night’s chaos, I let a ghost of a smile tug at my lips.

My poor dress was beyond repair. I glanced at it. Lying there on the floor. Torn to shreds. And as my eyes scanned the ripped fabric, I found myself picturing what it might be like to truly shed the labels and the station that Praxis forced on us. It was a small ember that had been building to a flame. I wasn’t naive enough to believe I had the power to change anything single handedly…but recent events had me thinking dangerous thoughts. Like…what if I could?

Buttoning the shirt, I shook my head. It was too early to have such rebellious thoughts. I padded through the house and made my way to the kitchen, where the house was still draped in early morning quiet.

I set about brewing coffee, one small, familiar ritual in a world that had spun so violently off its axis.

We had today off to prep for the coming gauntlet of trials. Nova had stopped by after the interview last night, all sugary smiles and empty congratulations. None of us had it in us to pretend it felt like a victory. Dani’s screams still clawed at my mind. Nova, as always, either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

She rattled off the schedule, oblivious to our hollow expressions. Two trials a day for the next several days, then a brief break, followed by a longer, grueling event meant to stretch two to four days. My stomach twisted at the thought.

The coffee finished brewing, and I poured a cup, savoring the bitter warmth as it slid down my throat. Luxuries like this wouldn’t come with us when we returned to Canyon, if we returned at all. Thirteen trials still loomed ahead, and though some of them shifted to more mental contests this week, I knew better than to relax. Nova claimed that the medical trials had been shuffled to the end of the Run, likely to maximize the drama now that the audience was fully invested in our team and my goal.

They were planning to make my desperation to help my brother their wicked season finale.

Nova, to my surprise, hadn’t said a word about my little rebellion on live TV. Instead, she’d gleefully reported that our appearance had already blown up across the networks. My kiss with Thorne was everywhere. Ezra’s confession had the public in an uproar. There were even rumblings online about ousting Canyon’s leadership.

I couldn’t say I’d mourn their downfall… though I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t terrified of who might take their place.

I savored the rare hush of the morning, leaning my elbows on the counter and cradling my mug between my palms and languidly taking sips. The bitter warmth soothed my throat as my mind replayed the montage they’d shown last night. Beautiful, intimate moments stitched together in the soft glow of early light. Zaffir had given me such a beautiful gift. And I haven’t even been able to thank him for it yet. I found that I missed him.

I closed my eyes, letting their faces drift through my head like ghosts that, for once, weren’t trying to haunt me.

“Well, well, well… what’s got you all smiley this morning?”

I jolted, nearly sloshing coffee down my borrowed shirt. My eyes snapped open to find Thorne leaning casually against the doorway, his signature smug grin firmly in place as he reached for a mug.

“Ezra was that good, huh?” he teased, pouring himself a cup and giving me a side glance that was all too pleased with itself.

I felt my face heat instantly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied, taking a long sip in a feeble attempt to hide behind my cup.

Thorne let out a soft, knowing chuckle and sidled up beside me, close enough that his arm brushed mine as he lifted his mug and blew over the hot liquid. My gaze, traitorous thing that it was, dropped to his lips, the memory of them against mine last night flashing like a warning sign. Or maybe a challenge.

“You kissed me on TV,” I blurted, the words tumbling out before my brain caught up .

He tilted his head, one brow arched in mock offense. “Did I?”

“Yes, you did,” I shot back, narrowing my eyes.

Thorne made a show of considering it, tapping a finger to his chin. “Hmm. I feel like I’d remember our first kiss, love.”

I smacked his arm with the back of my hand, earning an exaggerated wince as he clutched his chest. “Glad to see I was so memorable.”

I laughed in spite of myself, and before I could protest, he set his cup down and tugged me toward him by my waist, turning me to face him. His eyes softened, though the glint of mischief still lingered.

“See,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek, “if I were gonna give you a first kiss, it wouldn’t be in front of cameras. Wouldn’t be for show. Wouldn’t be because we needed to make the crowd swoon.”

He pressed a kiss to my cheek. Then the other.

“I wouldn’t do it to even some score, or because Zaffir told us to play nice for the narrative.”

A kiss to my temple. To the tip of my chin.

“If I were gonna kiss you, love…” His voice dropped, a smoky promise, “I’d get you alone. I’d tease you until you couldn’t stand it. Make you crave my mouth. Have you begging for it.”

His lips ghosted along my throat, and my breath hitched, my body arching just slightly toward him.

“If I were gonna kiss you,” he whispered, his mouth grazing my ear, “it’d be just for us. No audience. No cameras. No scripts.”

When he pulled back, his eyes met mine, and the heat there was scorching. My chest rose and fell, a thousand words I couldn’t say jammed up in my throat. Because damn it, I was burning for him .

And he knew it.

Then, with a patient, smoldering fire, he kissed me.

His hands cradled my face, thumbs brushing tenderly over my cheeks as if I were something fragile, something sacred. His touch was both a promise and a possession, and I melted beneath it, sinking into him like the world beyond those walls didn’t exist. The kiss was intimate, incendiary, but unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to unravel me piece by piece.

His lips molded to mine with a kind of reverence that made my pulse pound, his tongue flicking along the seam of my lips, asking…no, begging…for entrance. I opened for him without hesitation, and when our tongues met, it wasn’t frantic. It was deliberate. A slow, sensual dance meant to savor, to memorize, to mark.

Every pass, every stroke, every tilt of his mouth against mine poured with aching, consuming heat. My hands wove into his hair, tugging him closer, refusing to let an inch of space remain between us. Our bodies fit together in perfect, unyielding heat, fire meeting gasoline.

When he finally broke the kiss, it was only enough to let us breathe, our foreheads pressed together as we panted, breaths mingling, hearts racing in sync. His hands still cradled my face like I was the most precious thing he'd ever held.

“Now that is the only first kiss that matters to me,” he whispered, voice rough with desire.

Before I could catch my breath, he stole another kiss, soft, lingering, full of promise and unspoken things, leaving me wrecked, ruined, and already aching for more when the front door flew open.

I startled, instinctively trying to step back but Thorne’s arms stayed firmly around me. A protective cage I wasn’ t getting out of so easily. He turned us both toward the entrance, and that’s when Zaffir walked in.

He looked… horrible.

Still wearing the same clothes as yesterday, his shirt rumpled, collar stained with sweat and something darker. His copper hair was a tangled, damp mess, clinging to his forehead. But it was his face that made my stomach twist. Hollow. Gaunt. Bruised. His eyes were empty, a glassy, distant stare. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion, every step dragging like his body might give out at any second. His lip busted and bleeding.

His gaze flicked up, found us tangled in the kitchen, and he gave the smallest, almost imperceptible nod.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, voice hoarse and cracking around the edges like it hadn’t been used in hours. Or maybe it’d been overused. The thought twisted my stomach. “I was hoping I wouldn’t wake anybody.”

He turned to cut across the living room, aiming straight for the hallway like he could disappear before anyone stopped him. But I was already moving, stepping out of Thorne’s arms. He didn’t try to stop me, he knew I needed to get to Zaffir.

I met him halfway, planting myself in front of him so fast he nearly stumbled trying not to crash into me. He looked down at me, and for a heartbeat, his expression crumpled. Pain or shame, maybe even something worse.

“Zaffir,” I breathed, scanning his injuries. There were bruises, fresh ones at his jaw and the edge of his throat. His lip was split and dried blood caked his skin. A raw, chafed mark circled his wrist like a shackle had been there. Fury boiled in my veins.

“What happened?” I demanded, my voice softer than I felt .

He shook his head, eyes darting past me like he could slip away unnoticed. “You don’t have to worry about me,” he said tightly, trying to sidestep.

But I matched him, cutting him off again. “Too late,” I challenged, lifting a hand to touch his arm. The second my fingers brushed him, he flinched, a sharp, involuntary jerk like a wounded, cornered animal. It broke something in me.

“Zaffir…” I whispered again, voice cracking.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. A lie so thin it barely held shape in the air between us.

“What happened to you, Zaf?” I choked, tears blurring my vision as I looked at him. Because no one came back from wherever they took him looking like that unless something terrible happened. And from the way his hands trembled and his body flinched at my touch, whatever it was, it was worse than I could imagine.

“Who did this to you?” I asked, my voice low but sharp, trembling with the fury burning hot in my chest. It coiled inside me, heavy and molten, ready to consume the world for him.

Zaffir’s hollow gaze met mine, and for a moment, the ghost of the boy I knew flickered behind those empty eyes. “Nobody you can do anything about,” he murmured, his voice rough like gravel, but steady.

But I already knew.

Praxis.

Archon Veritas.

The names struck like cold steel against my heart.

“This was… this was because of what I said, wasn’t it?” I whispered, the guilt crashing over me like a tidal wave. My stomach twisted, and it felt like my ribs cracked under the weight of it. Tears blurred my vision, spilling hot and fast down my cheeks. “I did this to you. I ran my mouth, I was reckless, an d I…I didn’t even think what it could mean for you. You told me to thank them, and instead I go and antagonize them. Call them murderers. God, I was so stupid, and childish…”

“Stop.” His voice was gentle, frayed around the edges, but unshakable. His face softened, like it physically hurt him to watch me fall apart. “No, sweetheart. No, this wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed, my throat tight and aching. “I’m so, so sorry, Zaffir. I was stupid. I didn’t know…I didn’t think…”

Thorne’s hands settled on my shoulders from behind, steady and grounding. Zaffir reached for my hands, his fingers trembling but warm, curling around mine with surprising strength despite his condition.

“It wasn’t what you said, Brexlyn,” he whispered, and my name in his voice felt like both a blessing and a curse. “Veritas already had a reason.”

I blinked up at him, confused, my breath hitching. “What do you mean?”

“She warned me once. That Praxis and the Collectives were like wolves and lambs. And you… you were off limits.” He shook his head, his red hair falling in front of his eyes. “She had footage,” he said, his eyes flickering with old pain. “From the trial. When Briar pulled you out of the water and you weren’t breathing.” His voice cracked. “She saw my face. She saw how I reacted… how it broke me. She saw how you meant to me. She saw that the lamb had all the power over the wolf.”

I sucked in a sharp, shaking breath, horror twisting inside me. “She tortured you because you care about me?”

He shook his head once, slowly, like this was the one thing he wouldn’t let me misunderstand. “No,” he said, voice rough but clear, his thumb brushing away a tear on my cheek. “Because I love you. ”

My heart cracked wide open, the jagged edges splintering and bleeding in my chest. I couldn’t breathe through the storm of sobs wracking my body. My throat burned, my vision blurred, and I clung to the frayed edges of myself.

“I’m so sorry, Zaffir,” I choked out, my voice a broken, desperate thing. “I never meant for this… I never wanted-”

He caught my face in his calloused, trembling hands and pressed a soft, gentle kiss to my lips, silencing my panic in one breath-stealing, heart-shattering moment.

“Don’t,” he whispered, his forehead resting against mine as his thumbs caught the tears sliding down my cheeks. His voice was raw, cracked open and unafraid. “You opened my eyes, Brexlyn. You made me see this place for what it is. I’ve been living in this… poisonous privilege, so used to the blood under my feet I stopped noticing the bodies it came from. Watching Praxis take and take. Lives, freedom, futures, and give only what keeps us docile. And I told myself it didn’t matter. That it wasn’t my problem.”

His eyes locked on mine, blazing with a clarity I’d never seen in him before. “Until you. You woke me up from the bullshit I was sleepwalking through. You gave me something to fight for. Someone to love.” His voice broke, and he swallowed hard.

“I am so sorry Zaffir,” I cried, pressing my fingers to his bruised flesh, feeling like each of his injuries were my own.

He shook his head, cupping my face. “No, no, hey, listen. I’d take a million nights like last night if it meant protecting you. Loving you. I’d burn this whole goddamned regime to ash if it meant you’d be safe. We might just need to be a little more careful for a while.”

I let out a sound that was half sob, half laugh, because somehow, even broken and battered, he was still the reckless idiot I’d fallen for. Tears fell from both of us now, blurring the world into something unbearable and beautiful.

“They’ll hurt you again,” I whispered, my voice trembling, my hands clinging to his. “We shouldn’t… I can’t let them keep hurting you because of me.”

And then, from behind us, a voice broke the fragile, bleeding silence.

“Then why don’t we take them down?” Thorne whispered.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t shouted.

It didn’t need to be.

Because in those four words was a crack of lightning splitting a storm-black sky.

Zaffir and I both turned to face Thorne, stunned.

Thorne stood there like a tempest barely restrained, his jaw tight, eyes fierce and unflinching. The weight of centuries of Praxis control, of blood-soaked loyalties and inherited chains, cracked and crumbled in that moment beneath the quiet, devastating force of his defiance.

“You’re saying…” My voice was a rasp, the words caught between disbelief and fragile, desperate hope.

Thorne met his gaze, unshaken. “I’m saying maybe it’s time we stopped fighting for Praxis” His hand flexed at his side, a storm gathering behind his eyes. “And started fighting against them.”