Page 11 of Storm of Stars (Pride of Praxis #2)

CHAPTER

SIX

Briar

Only four more trials stood between us and the end of the Run.

The final two, the medical trials, were the ones Hollis had her sights set on.

And because of that, so did I. Even with our little secret rebellious secondary mission, we wanted to accomplish what we could while tearing them down from the inside.

It surprised me, if I’m honest, how quickly my priorities had shifted since meeting her.

It was like she’d taken one look at the road I was walking, ripped up the map, and redrawn it entirely.

I still wanted what I came here for. The reasons that drove me into the Run hadn’t vanished.

But now I wanted so much more. I wanted liberation.

I wanted to finish my Ma’s work. But above that all…

I wanted Brexlyn Hollis.

I’d done my best to keep my distance, to give her room.

I wasn’t blind to the way she’d fallen for the others in the house, for Thorne, for Ezra, for Zaffir.

And it didn’t bother me. Hell, I’d told her once I was good at sharing, and I meant it.

She wasn’t the first woman to end up tangled in sheets with both Thorne and me…

at different times, of course. But Brexlyn wasn’t like anyone else.

She wasn’t a passing comfort or a distraction in the middle of all this madness.

She was lightning in my veins, a storm I’d gladly drown in.

I’d kissed her several times now. Each one hotter, deeper, more perfect than the last. And with every touch of her mouth on mine, every soft sigh against my skin, I wanted more.

So much more. But I held myself back, careful not to push, not to make her feel boxed in by the fact that I was here, under the same roof as the men she was already falling for.

The last thing I wanted was for her to feel like she owed me anything.

I desired her, yes. But she had so much on her plate.

And truth be told, so did I.

I was still reeling from the weight of what I’d learned about my mother.

That she was the spark that lit this rebellion, the one who’d started it all…

and she’d never told me. Not once. She carried that secret until the day they dragged her away, and the only person she confided in at the end was Thorne. Not me.

I hated how jealous I was of that. Of him.

Of their connection. She was our mother, but I guess I never really saw her for who she was.

And maybe she never really saw me, either.

I’ve always been good at reading people.

Could peel back their walls, get them to bleed truth if I wanted it badly enough.

But somehow, I’d missed the biggest truth of all when it came to her.

And it was eating me alive.

Thorne had always been her little boy. And I guess, for as long as I had him, I had Pa.

He was my anchor, my best friend, my mentor, the one person who understood me without needing me to say a word.

Even more than Thorne ever did. When he passed a few years before they took Ma, it shattered me in ways I still can’t fully explain.

Losing him felt like losing the only person who really saw me.

And when Ma was taken, it was like the last thread holding my world together snapped.

The grief of losing them both… it was unbearable. Some days, it still is.

So yeah, I had plenty to focus on. Hollis might’ve rerouted my priorities, but the ghosts of the past had their claws in me too. And the closer we got to those final trials, the more it felt like everything I believed about who I was, why I was here, and what I wanted was coming undone.

But maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

Nova, the Canyon’s Praxis liaison, stopped by this morning to inform us about the next trial. Even though I knew it was coming, hearing it aloud still made my stomach tighten with nerves.

The Entertainment Trial was always similar, most years it involved some form of artistic expression, whether it was a performance, writing, painting, or something along those lines.

This year, the task was simple. We’d have to put together a performance.

We’d be paraded across the stage in front of thousands of Praxis citizens, with the screaming masses in the stands and even more watching from home and forced to perform for them.

Even though we'd already been performing for them in a way the entire Run so far.

I loved music. I loved telling a story through words and melody, the way a song could speak to the soul. But I’d only ever sung for my family, the forest, and, I guess, Brexlyn too, now.

But this was why I was here. This trial.

I needed to win. Or at the very least, place high enough to get what I needed.

But now, I wasn’t sure how our little rebellious plans factored into all of this.

Would we ever return to our Collectives?

Did we even want to? If we managed to convince the Runaways to fight back, would we ever see the fruits of the labor we’ve put in here?

Would we unlock all the resources for everyone, or lose everything in the process?

Would we face the same fate Ma did? I didn’t know.

But I did know that when I arrived here, I wanted one thing.

So, when Nova asked what we needed for our performance so she could procure it for us, my response came without hesitation.

“A guitar.”

I sat on the edge of my bed, guitar in hand, and for the first time in over a decade, I felt whole again. The smooth wood beneath my fingers, the familiar weight, the strings ready to be strummed, it was like finding a part of myself I thought I'd lost forever.

The door creaked open, and I glanced up at Bex, feeling the familiar flutter of warmth in my chest as she entered, a soft smile on her lips. She gently closed the door behind her.

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” she said with that smile that had become my anchor, walking toward me before settling down on the bed beside me. Her presence was a balm to the anxious knots twisting in my stomach. I gave her a gentle smile in return.

“Just trying to remember how to do this,” I said, motioning to the guitar in my hands, feeling the weight of it again after so long. “It’s been a while since I’ve played.”

“I’ve never even seen one of these up close,” she murmured, her eyes studying the instrument with a curiosity that tugged at me.

Her fingers traced delicately along the frets, and the motion stirred something in me.

Something raw. I swallowed hard, wondering how it would feel if those fingers explored me instead, but pushed the thought away.

“We haven’t had them in Darkbranch in a long time either,” I confessed, feeling the weight of those words settle between us. Her gaze shifted to me, her eyes intense, as though she could see right through me.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked, her voice soft and full of care.

I sighed, letting my fingers hover over the strings before strumming a single, gentle chord.

The sound was quiet, almost tentative. “My Pa taught me how to play the guitar. How to sing too,” I replied, my voice quieter now, as if the memories were still fresh enough to sting.

She didn’t interrupt, just sat there, her attention unwavering, giving me space to breathe.

“Music was kind of our thing,” I continued, the words flowing now, each one easier than the last. “He worked for an entire year to save up enough to buy me my very own guitar.” My gaze drifted to the instrument in my hands, fingers brushing over the worn wood.

I wished it was the one he gave me. But I knew that guitar was long gone, reduced to ash and dust by now.

I tried to play another chord, but my fingers were stiff and unpracticed, and the sound that came out was harsh, dissonant. I winced, feeling the familiar frustration rise in my chest.

“The year after he died, we lost the Entertainment Trial... well, I guess ‘lost’ would imply we still had someone in the race, which we didn’t.

Our Challenger was long dead by then,” I said, my voice tinged with bitterness.

“They came in the middle of the day. The guards. It was like any other day, except this time, they were there to take it all from us.” My hands tightened around the guitar neck, my thoughts drifting back to that moment.

“They tore through our houses, the community buildings... everything we had left to lose. They ripped it all away. Medicine, technology, supplies, things we’d grown accustomed to because our Challengers tended to perform well. ”

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to breathe through the weight of it.

“They took the guitar right out of my hands. I cried, I screamed, I almost fought back, but Ma… Ma held me close. Whispered that it was going to be okay.” I could still feel her arms around me, her voice a soft lullaby against the chaos.

“I know it’s silly, when you really think about it.

Frivolous. Darkbranch lost so much that day, and with the medicine and the life-saving resources at stake, my little guitar didn’t seem like much.

” I swallowed, the lump in my throat thickening.

“But it meant everything to me. They stole music from me that day. And then, a few years later, they stole my Ma.”

I swallowed hard, trying to hold the tears at bay, but one slipped down my cheek. Without a word, she reached up, gently brushing it away with her thumb. Her touch was soft, tender, as if she knew that in this moment, it wasn’t just about the guitar. It was everything.

“You want your music back,” she whispered, not a question, but a quiet affirmation. “Because it’ll feel like you have him back. Even for a second.”

I nodded, my throat tight. “I’m not used to people seeing me that clearly. That’s usually my job. Am I that easy to read?”