Page 25 of The Scars of War (Of Ruin and Fire #1)

War and Ruin

I don’t remember walking here.

One minute I was in Riven’s bed—the sheets still warm from his body and my skin raw from what we’d done—next, I’m standing in the doorway of the bar, hands clenched, heart hammering like I ran the whole way here on foot with a storm chasing me.

Only…I am the storm.

The door swings shut behind me with a hollow clack. It echoes in my skull like the crack of a gun, final and sharp. No music. No chatter. Just silence. And the weight of every eye in the room crawls over my skin like they know something’s wrong.

Because something is wrong.

I feel it deep. Under my bones. Under my blood. Like something inside me is stretching, waking, snapping tendons and sanity as it rises. My fingertips tingle. The air sticks to my skin, heavy and wet, like the breath before a scream.

The lights above flicker, just enough to make everyone in the room still for half a second.

I step forward. The floor groans beneath my boots. Concrete shouldn’t creak, but it does, tonight it fucking does. And I know it’s not the floor that’s unstable.

It’s me.

A stool scrapes as someone stands too quickly. I hear the forced chuckle. The chair tipping over. The weak apology. The man doesn’t pick it up. He’s already gone, coat clutched in one fist, pushing through the door like the devil’s teeth are at his back.

A bartender I don’t recognize is working the taps, but she’s not pouring anything. Just going through the motions, head down, movements jerky. She wipes the counter twice with the same stained rag, then disappears through the back like she remembered she left the stove on and never comes back.

Coward.

I envy her .

The heat inside me rises in waves. It doesn’t burn, it suffocates. I can’t think straight. Can’t breathe. It feels like I’ve swallowed coals. Like I’ve been hollowed out and something ancient has curled up in the vacancy, setting fire to everything soft.

I catch sight of myself in the bar’s long mirror, and I don’t recognize what’s staring back.

My red hair is tangled, wild, sticking to my temples like I ran through a storm.

My eyes are blown wide, pupils swallowing color.

My lips are flushed too dark. There’s something feral around my mouth, like I’m one word away from baring teeth.

My skin looks stretched. Too tight. Too pale.

My collarbones are sharp like something inside is trying to break through.

This isn’t me. This is the aftermath of what I did. What I let him do.

That bond, when I took the blade, when I bled into his hands, it didn’t just mark me. It opened something. Peeled back whatever walls I’d built to survive. And now…now there’s nothing keeping it in.

“Lux?” I don’t jump at the voice. Don’t flinch. I feel it like a blade sliding between my ribs. Dragana .

Her voice is small, unsure. She’s still behind the bar, hands steady even though her eyes are not. She watches me the way someone watches a house fire…close enough to see the damage, far enough to pretend they’re not afraid. “Hey,” she tries again. “You okay?” Wrong question.

I blink once, slowly. My breath is shallow, chest tight, like my lungs are shrinking inside me. My hands twitch at my sides. And something in the room answers.

There is a slight shift. The kind that makes animals bolt and strangers look away. I feel the ripple move through the bar like a pulse. People start to leave. Quiet. Fast. They don’t look back.

I haven’t said a word. But they know. They can feel it.

I’m not right.

Dragana is still standing there like she thinks she can talk me down. As if she’s not a breath away from being ash if I lose this battle, I’m barely fighting. She steps around the bar.

I take a half step back. “Don’t,” I whisper. My voice is frayed wire. “Stay there.” She freezes. Her eyes are still soft. Still human. Still hopeful .

I want to scream at her to stop looking at me like that. I’m not some girl who needs saving. I’m the reason the air is too thick. I’m the crack in the foundation. I’m what breaks the glass. And then I feel him before I see him.

Riven.

His presence cuts through the noise in my head like a serrated blade. Hot and clean and violent. My stomach clenches. My skin prickles. My mouth waters, and I hate it. Hate that I need him in this moment.

I turn my head. He’s seated in the back, half in shadow. One leg draped over his knee. Hands clasped. Completely still. Watching. Always watching.

His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are burning. Not with rage. Not with concern. With certainty. He knew this was coming. And he didn’t stop it.

My throat tightens as I take a step forward.

And the floor under me cracks. It’s not dramatic.

No explosion. Just a sharp pop and the sound of concrete cracking.

A thin spiderweb fracture splits outward from my boot, delicate and terrifying.

Like the earth itself is reacting to the thing inside me I can’t hold back.

Dragana inhales sharply. She sees it. Everyone does .

And then…chaos.

A man shouts. A woman screams. The last remaining patrons surge for the exit like rats from a sinking ship.

The door slams open. Someone knocks over a table.

The lights flash again, this time too bright.

Bulbs burst in a cascade of popping glass and the whole room is bathed in that eerie, chemical glow of emergency lighting.

And I just stand there, breathing smoke.

My heart is pounding so hard it hurts. My hands are numb. My vision tunnels, edges black, center burning. Dragana moves toward me again. Slow. Careful. Like she’s approaching a bomb that hasn’t decided what kind of damage it wants to do yet. “Don’t come closer,” I hiss.

She stops. “Talk to me, Lux. Just tell me what’s happening…”

“I don’t fucking know,” I snap. It echoes. Louder than it should. My voice hits the walls, and the air shakes with it. A light fixture swings overhead like I triggered an aftershock. I blink hard. I don’t want to cry. But it’s close.

Riven stands unhurried, no trace of panic in the movement…and then he’s there. A wall of presence between me and Dragana, shutting out everything else until the rest of the room might as well not exist.

I don’t know if I move first or if he does, but suddenly we’re colliding. His hands close around my upper arms, firm but not cruel. I shove him. He doesn’t move. “I said…don’t touch me.”

“You don’t get to make demands when you’re seconds from ripping this building apart.” His voice is low. Controlled. Although I can feel it under the words, that edge. That worry.

“You think I want this?” I spit. “You think I planned this? I woke up shaking. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t stop it.”

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you fucking stop me?”

“Because you need to break.”

That shuts me up. His grip tightens. Just enough to anchor. Not enough to bruise. “Let it happen,” he says, quieter now. “Stop trying to hold it in. That’s what’s killing you.”

I shake my head, wild, feral. “If I let go, I won’t come back. ”

“I’ll pull you out.”

“You can’t. You won’t. You’ll watch me burn.”

“I’ll burn with you.”

And that’s the last thing I hear before it all goes white.

The moment the whiteout hits, I’m weightless.

If feels as if I’ve been ripped out of my body and left dangling in the smoke between seconds.

There’s no sound. No heat. Just brightness and airlessness.

My lungs don’t move. My fingers don’t feel.

And somewhere under it all, there’s a noise, my noise, a low, broken sob clawing its way up from a place I’ve buried too deep to name.

Then…contact. Hands. Warm. Solid. Anchoring.

Riven’s grip closes around me before the panic can take hold. My spine hits his chest, and I finally feel the burn of skin against skin again, a shock of sensation that drags me back into my body like a crash landing.

I’m not standing anymore. I don’t know if I fell or if he brought me down. My knees are on the cracked floor, palms splayed out over fractured concrete still humming with my power. My breath comes in shallow gasps, each one sharp and scraping like smoke-scorched glass in my throat .

Riven’s crouched behind me, his thighs bracketing mine, arms caging me in but never tightening. His body is still, coiled, and ready like he’s holding the leash of a beast he knows could break him if it really wanted to.

“Breathe.” It’s not a command. It’s a lifeline. I inhale. Shaky. Shallow. “Again.” The third breath nearly breaks me.

“I…I didn’t mean to…” My voice fractures into air. My tongue is dry. My throat is raw, like I’ve been screaming, even though I don’t remember making a sound.

“You didn’t lose control,” he says into my ear, the words warm and deliberate. “You gave yourself space to feel it.” I shake my head and try to twist away, but he holds me firm. Not to trap me, just to keep me from falling deeper.

“I could’ve killed them.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I wanted to.” I hate how small my voice sounds. How honest.

His grip slides up, slow and steady, one arm wrapping fully around my ribs from behind while the other drapes low over my hips .

“You think I don’t want to?” he murmurs. “You think this power doesn’t whisper how easy it would be every time I walk into a room?” He lowers his head, his mouth brushing the edge of my jaw, the warmth of it sharp and grounding. “This isn’t about whether you want to. It’s about what you choose.”

I exhale, shaky. A breath stolen through clenched teeth. My hands slide forward on the concrete until my forearms fold and I drop my head between them.

The smell of dust, blood, and ozone clings to the floor. There’s a crack an inch from my nose, deep enough to run your finger through. It wasn’t there before.

I did that. My body shakes with the relief of release.