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

CHAPTER

ONE

Zaffir

After Thorne’s potentially treasonous declaration, we’d all gathered in the living room, the air thick with tension.

Thorne and Briar claimed the chairs across from the couch where Brexlyn and I sat, and Ezra lingered in the back, a storm barely contained, leaning against the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping him from tearing the walls down.

They were shocked when they saw the state of me. I didn’t blame them. I would be too. Even Briar, who was not my biggest fan, seemed to vibrate with worry and anger for me.

That was a pleasant shift. Not that I blamed her for her wariness toward me, considering who I was and where I was from.

I sat in front of them, my ribs still aching, voice raw from hours of pain and screams I wouldn’t give voice to now.

Brexlyn was tucked into my side, her hand gripping mine like she thought I might disappear again if she let go.

The weight of her pressed against me sparked a sting where my body was still tender, but it soothed something deeper, filling spaces in my soul no pain could ever reach.

Thorne’s arms were crossed, but his eyes were soft.

Briar leaned forward on the edge of the couch, a crease between her brows.

Ezra stood across the room, like if he got any closer he’d lose every ounce of restraint.

“What happened, Zaffir?” Briar asked.

I nodded slowly and forced a breath into my lungs. “The interview ended and I went to go upload my footage to the server. I slipped into the production office, but it had been cleared out.”

“And that’s when they took you?” Thorne asked, voice low.

“Yeah,” I said. “Guards were waiting. They grabbed me before I even saw them coming. Dragged me straight to Veritas.”

I tried to keep my voice even, measured. “She said a lot of things about me not being motivated enough to do my job right. Said she’d have to try harder to inspire me.”

Brexlyn turned in closer, her free hand resting lightly on my chest now. “What did she do to you?”

I hesitated.

“She—” My voice snagged. “She made sure I knew what it would cost if I defied her.”

There was a beat of silence, the air sharp with it.

“Zaffir,” Brexlyn whispered, her voice so soft it ached. “Please. Tell us.”

Her eyes met mine, wide, glassy, and terrified. I felt her pulse in her fingers. I felt the tremble in her body she tried to hide. And I knew, if I told her everything, every detail etched into my skin and memory, she would carry it longer than I ever would.

She’d file it away, just like she had everything else.

So I shook my head, slowly. “No. Not to you.”

“Why?” she whispered.

I touched her cheek gently, brushing away a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen. “Because you’ll see it every time you look at me. And I need you to remember me like this . Alive, holding you. Not like that.”

Her lip trembled, but she didn’t argue. She just curled into me tighter.

She never directly told me about her memory.

But I’ve spent a lot of time watching people.

And after scrubbing through every second of her trial footage, I started to notice it.

The way her eyes tracked things, how she hesitated just a beat before speaking, like she was flipping through a mental filing cabinet.

It wasn’t obvious at first. But the more I watched, the more I realized—her brain worked differently.

Sharper. Faster. That’s why I took the gamble and showed her that image of the filtration system.

I didn’t know if she’d be able to memorize it.

I just had a gut feeling. And it worked.

She locked it in like it was nothing. Like she’d seen it a hundred times.

That’s when I knew. So no, I wasn’t going to recount my torture in any more detail than needed, because I don’t want that image to be glued to her mind whenever she thought of me.

I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing her in. “I’m okay,” I said softly. “I’m here now.”

Ezra hadn’t spoken once. But I could feel him watching me like I was a grenade about to go off. His jaw was locked tight, one muscle twitching. His hands were fists at his sides, knuckles white.

When I finally went quiet, when there was nothing left to say without splintering, he turned without a word and stalked down the hall.

Brexlyn stirred against me, lifting her head. “I’ll go,” she whispered, already starting to push herself up.

But I stopped her, pressing a hand to her shoulder. “Let me,” I murmured.

She gave a small nod, settling back as I forced myself to my feet, every bruise and cracked rib a fresh reminder of the night before. I followed him down the hall.

When I pushed open the door, Ezra was pacing, a caged animal barely holding it together. His eyes, when they landed on me, were molten.

“It’s okay, Ezra,” I whispered.

“They almost killed you,” he ground out, his voice low, scraped raw by fury.

I swallowed hard, wincing as the split in my lip tugged. “They didn’t.”

“But they will,” he spat, raking a hand through his hair. “They’re coming for you, and they’re coming for Bex. And you’re just sitting there acting like it’s nothing.”

I closed the door behind me. “It’s not nothing.”

“Then why the hell are you acting like it is?”

“Because we can’t afford to fall apart right now.”

Ezra’s fist lashed out, slamming into the wall. The crack of it split the air, plaster splintering under his knuckles. His face was so close to mine now that I could see the wild glint in his eyes, the flicker of something raw and wounded beneath the rage.

“Bullshit,” he hissed. “They laid hands on you. Veritas…” His voice broke around her name. “I should’ve been there. I swear to God, Zaf, I’ll burn Praxis to the ground for what they’ve done.”

And damn me, some twisted part of me wanted that. Wanted to watch him tear the world apart in my name.

“I want that too,” I whispered, my voice frayed and small. “But not yet, Ez.”

His brow knit, his fury colliding with confusion. “Why not? What are we waiting for? Just say the word.”

And God, he meant it. I could feel it in every fiber of him, in the space between us. That bone-deep promise.

I reached out, fingers wrapping around his wrist before he could pull away. His hand was bleeding, knuckles split, skin hot under mine. I let my thumb trace the sharp line of bone, and watched his breath catch.

“Because Bex needs you standing,” I said, voice barely a breath. “Not broken. Not reckless. Not dead.” I breathed. “We both do.”

His gaze dropped to where my hand held his, his other fist slowly uncurled at his side.

“I can’t lose anymore family,” he murmured, the words catching in his throat.

For a long, aching moment, I didn’t speak. Then something between us shifted, softened. He leaned in, and our foreheads touched, the lightest, ghosting brush of skin.

“You’re not going to,” I whispered. A quiet, desperate vow that reached inside and wrapped around something in me I hadn’t even realized was bleeding.

I closed my eyes, let myself have that second of peace. The warmth of him. The weight of the moment. The fragile, fierce thing blooming between us that neither of us dared name yet.

When he finally pulled back, the rage in his eyes had cooled, tempered into something sharper. Protective.

When Ezra and I returned to the living room, we came shoulder to shoulder, an unspoken solidarity settled between us. I dropped carefully back into my spot on the couch, ribs screaming with every movement, my skin a patchwork of bruises, but it didn’t matter. Not now.

Brexlyn looked up the moment I sat down, her eyes finding mine. She gave me a soft, knowing smile, the kind that didn’t need words. Like she saw what I couldn’t quite say out loud yet, like she’d always known that Ezra was more than just another Challenger to me. That he meant something.

Ezra settled onto the couch beside me, his thigh brushing against mine, and for the first time since the nightmare of last night, it felt like the room had steadied.

Brexlyn curled against my other side, her head tucking gently against my shoulder.

Between them, I could finally breathe, even if it hurt like hell.