Page 25 of Storm of Stars

Briar was rain through trees, cool and soothing, a balm.

Ezra, sharp and burning like whiskey, left warmth lingering on my tongue.

And Zaffir was floral and light, once a scent reminiscent of the Praxis amenities, but now... now it was just him. Something reclaimed. Something real.

That was the kind of reclamation I believed in. Taking back the pieces Praxis had stolen, the scents, the symbols, the parts of ourselves they had tried to brand with their ownership and making them ours again.

I caught the subtle moment Zaffir reached for Ezra’s hand, fingers curling around his, a gentle squeeze shared between them. Their eyes met, and though no words passed between them, the depth of feeling did. I could feel it too.

I wanted peace for them. I wanted Zaffir to be able to love both of us openly, without guilt or fear. I wanted Ezra’s name tobe cleared. I wanted to finish what Thorne and Briar’s mother began.

We didn’t speak as we left the room.

We didn’t need to.

We walked together, step by step, toward the stage.

Toward the choice that would change everything.

Toward the spark that might finally light the fire.

CHAPTER

EIGHT

Bex

The stage lights were blinding,hot and white and merciless. From the shadows of the wings, Briar and I stood pressed together, the harsh glow spilling just far enough to paint our faces in slivers of silver. Zaffir had made his way to the audience to set up his camera. Ezra and Thorne were lined up on the other side of the stage, but I could see their faces from our spot.

Annalese welcomed everyone to the trial with her usual cheery disposition. Then she introduced the first Challenger. Devrin entered the stage.

He sat at the grand piano with no introduction, no flourish, just stillness. Then his fingers found the keys, and the music poured out like a confession. It was a Saltspire folk song, familiar and aching despite never having heard it, the kind sung to children on long winter nights or whispered during stolen moments in the dark. He didn’t sing, but he didn’t need to. The piano told the story for him.

“He’s good,” Briar murmured beside me, her voice soft but full of something almost reverent.

The crowd was on their feet, hands raised high, chanting his name.

I narrowed my eyes at the sea of them. “I wonder if he earned those fans before or after he nearly killed me,” I whispered, the words sour on my tongue. Were they cheering for the music, or the violence? Did they care about the art, or the blood?

Briar leaned her head gently against my shoulder. She didn’t say anything, just comforted me with her touch. Praxis didn’t earn its bloodthirsty reputation through rumor alone. These people had been trained to applaud destruction.

When the final note faded, Annalese swept onto the stage with her usual theatrical flourish, grabbing Devrin’s wrist and raising his arm high into the air like he’d just won a boxing match.

The crowd roared. Devrin didn’t flinch. No smile. No bow. Just a cold, defiant stare into the nearest camera.

“What’s that song called, Devrin?” Annalese asked, pushing the mic too close to his mouth.

He paused for a heartbeat, then said clearly, “The Moth.”

My breath caught. Briar’s eyes snapped to mine.

“Did he just…” I started, glancing across the stage to see Ezra and Thorne having a similar silent shocked conversation.

“There’s Runaways everywhere, I guess,” she finished, her voice barely audible, like saying it too loud would collapse the moment.

As Devrin stepped off the stage, he didn’t look at me. Not at first. But just before he vanished into the shadows, he flicked a single glance my way and gave the smallest nod. A signal. A promise.

He knew what I was planning.