Page 32 of The Sol Crown (Fractured Lights #1)

T raining resumes the next morning, and we’re thrown straight into a strategy exercise.

The air is thick with heat as we wait for Barnett to arrive, humid and clinging. I twist my hair into a messy bun at the top of my head, but a few stubborn tendrils escape, curling damply around my temples and the nape of my neck.

I purposely avoid looking at him, but I can feel Stone’s presence behind me—steady, undeniable. The energy between us thrums like a pulled thread, no matter how hard I will it not to. No matter how much I want to snip it.

“How good are the private rooms, though?” Junie nudges me with a grin. “Not that I don’t miss your charming company or anything.”

It’s no surprise that every remaining member of our team secured a place in the army and was granted a private room. Even Brynn wasn’t part of the bottom twenty per cent that were sent home.

“They’ve certainly made my evenings far more peaceful.” I laugh.

“Well, they’ve made my nights a lot more enjoyable,” Deacon adds with a smirk, elbowing Sam twice in quick succession. “You know what I mean, hey, Sammy boy?”

Sam doesn’t dignify him with a response, just places one large hand on Deacon’s head and shoves him away.

“I haven’t missed your snoring,” Trent says with a grin .

“What the fuck, man?” Deacon looks genuinely offended. “I don’t snore.”

He turns to the rest of us, jaw slack. “Lina, tell him I don’t snore.” He stares at me, but I simply stare back, not rushing to deny the rumours.

“Oh, Deacon, baby… there’s something we need to tell you.” Junie rubs his arm in mock comfort. “We didn’t want you to find out like this.”

“No.” He shakes his head, appalled. “No. I don’t snore!”

He’s about to launch into his defence when Barnett strides over without a preamble.

“Split into two teams,” he says by way of greeting.

“Well, hello to you, too,” I mutter under my breath. Junie huffs a laugh, having heard me.

We shuffle to organise ourselves, aiming to balance speed, strength, and stealth between the groups. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Stone approaching.

“Elina, can we—”

“You’re with Deacon,” I say flatly, cutting him off before he finishes.

I don’t meet his eyes. My tone is sharp and final, the brush-off deliberate.

He hesitates, jaw clenched, then nods and steps back to join Deacon, Junie, and Brynn.

I turn away and fall in with Trent and Sam. The message is clear: stay the fuck away from me .

“Choose a member of your team to hide. They will be referred to as the jewel. The objective is to retrieve the opposing team’s jewel while protecting your own,” Barnett drones, already scribbling in that damned notepad of his, barely glancing up at us.

“I bet he’s just drawing a bunch of dicks,” Trent mutters beside me .

A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. The strange tension that’s lingered between us since he disappeared after the teamwork assessment fades just a little. It’s good to be smiling with my friend again.

“Can the jewel move?” I ask Barnett.

“Yes, they can evade capture however they want. Who are you going to choose?”

“Junie and Elina will be the jewels,” Sam announces after we all have a small discussion, both teams opting to hide their smallest members.

“Elina’s team, east and southeast are your territories. Junie, west and southwest. Stick to the outer grounds only. Entry into the castle is not permitted,” Barnett adds. “The first team to capture the jewel wins.” He waves us off like we’re a nuisance. “Off you go, then.”

We scatter immediately, instinctively. A blur of motion and adrenaline.

I know this terrain like the back of my hand, but that’s the problem—so does Deacon. If I hide in any of our usual haunts, he’ll find me in seconds.

“I don’t need defending,” I tell Sam and Trent firmly. “You’re both better off trying to retrieve Junie.”

They don’t argue. Just nod and sprint off west.

I break away, slipping through the trees like a shadow, veering past the combat rings and heading for the ruins at the far edge of the training field.

The stonework is brittle and fractured with age, wrapped in climbing shrubs full of cascading clusters of small lavender and gold flowers offering cover, more than enough for someone my size, and it’s a great vantage point.

I crouch low behind a half-collapsed pillar. The shade welcomes me, wrapping around my sweat-damp skin. I close my eyes, breathing deeply to attune myself to the environment .

Far off, the waves crash against the cliffs, the rhythmic thrum soothing and steady. The sea breeze plays with the wisps of my bun, tickling the base of my neck. A crow caws overhead, perched on one of the taller columns. I can feel its beady eyes fixed on me.

I open my eyes again just as an ivory butterfly flutters, floating by the ruins, its delicate wings catching the light, fighting against the pull of the sea wind.

“Elina!” Deacon’s sing-song voice carries across the field. “I’m coming for you!”

It’s bait—designed to jolt me into panicking, to flush me out. I don’t move. If there’s one person I’ll never be afraid of, it’s Deacon Hart.

I slow my breathing, grounding myself as I press my hand to the cool stone floor, feeling for even the slightest vibration. Nothing. Not yet.

From where I crouch in the shadow of the ruined pillar, I spot movement. Brynn is lumbering around the combat field like a ginger bear, checking beneath the rings and peering into the weapons boxes. His copper hair like a torch.

Not exactly the model of stealth and finesse. Which means they’ve sent him out to comb the obvious hiding spots while Stone and Deacon do the real work—circling, closing in.

The game has shifted into something more than a test of strategy; it’s become a hunt.

And I know how to be a fox.

After a few minutes of silence—no sign of Deacon or Stone, and with Brynn’s bumbling form no longer in sight—I begin to creep backwards, inching toward the brush that skirts the edge of the cliff.

They won’t expect me to hide so close to the drop.

Deacon and I never dared venture here as children.

I was always too afraid he’d lose his footing and I’d lose him .

I crouch low, making myself as small as possible, and slip through a narrow gap in the brambles, crawling to stay hidden.

The branches claw at my skin and snag my clothes, but I press on.

Clusters of black fruit burst under my weight, smearing sticky juice on my palms. The tart scent fills the air, cloying and sharp.

I wince as my hand lands on a fallen branch thick with thorns. Gritting my teeth, I lift my palm and pluck two needles from the flesh.

That’s when a hand clamps over my mouth.

The panic hits instantly, flashing me back to the outpost, to the night I was caught off guard by a blue-eyed shadow I hadn’t heard coming then, either. My heart pounds as I’m spun around in the tight, enclosed space, branches scraping my shoulders.

Stone.

There’s blood dripping down his arms from fresh scratches and a thin pink line near the corner of his eye that wasn’t there earlier.

Not that I’d been paying attention to his face.

He scowls down at me, voice low and tight with irritation. “Did you have to hide in a fucking thorn bush?”

He plucks a thorn from his forearm, and my eyes catch the tension in the muscle beneath. I look away quickly.

“How the hell did you even fit in here?” I sneer. “And how did you do it without making a sound?”

His gaze lifts to me now, and the grin on his face is maddening. “So you are impressed.”

“I said nothing about being impressed. Just confused how something that big can move so quietly.”

“You think I’m big?” he teases.

If looks could kill, Stone Carlisle would already be buried.

“Turn around. I’ll follow.”

“No.” He drops to the ground like we’re here to have a picnic, settling in with maddening calm. “We need to talk.”

“I’d rather kiss an arrow-tailed viper.”

I spin on my knees to crawl away, but the brambles thin out toward the cliff’s edge. A few feet more, and I’ll be risking a fall. I whirl back to face him, catching a sharp branch across my cheek.

“Move, Stone.”

“I had no idea Roxianna would be waiting for me at the end of the trial.” His hands lift in a show of innocence, palms open.

“None of my business.” I shift, inching toward his left, where I think I can squeeze past.

His hand wraps around my bicep. “But it is your business, Elina. I’m your business.” His voice is soft, solemn.

I suck in a deep breath, steadying myself before turning to face him.

We’re close. Too close. His breath grazes my lips, and I see his eyes flick down, noticing it too. It would only take a small shift, a twitch, and we’d cross a line neither of us can come back from.

But I hold his gaze, and when he meets my eyes again, he flinches—just slightly—at the coldness I know is there.

“No, Stone. You’re not my business. You never were. And I sure as hell am not yours.”

I push past him without another word, crawling toward the thinning edge of the brush and into the open space of the training field.

Laughter cuts across the air.

“Run, Junie!” Deacon calls, and Junie squeals, carefree and full of light, it’s so painfully at odds with the heaviness still burning in my chest.

Through the brambles, I see Trent chasing her across the sandy ground near the combat rings.

Sam leans against a wall, one leg propped, looking the picture of ease—but his eyes are locked on me.

There’s relief in his features as I emerge, scratched and berry-stained, just as Trent catches Junie, and they tumble into the dirt in a fit of laughter.

“Yes! We win!” Trent hollers, pinning Junie beneath him and pumping a fist into the air.

Behind me, the brambles groan.

Stone emerges and doesn’t argue with Trent’s declaration, even though he clearly caught me first. In fact, he doesn’t even look at me. He pushes past, climbs to his feet, and walks away like I’m nothing more than thorns in his path.