Page 28 of Traveler (Soulbound #1)

Carion

The Hastings estat e isn’t a home—it’s a tomb dressed in glass and greed. Ten-foot iron gates, twisted into the shape of roaring lions, part silently as my motorcycle growls up the driveway. Security cameras swivel to track me, their red lights blinking like hungry eyes. The manor’s facade is all sharp angles and black marble, a monument to Vernon’s obsession with control. Even the landscaping reeks of it: perfectly symmetrical hedges, fire orchids that bloom year-round with a pulse of his magic, and a koi pond where the water never ripples unless he commands it.

A butler waits at the door, a relic in a world of elemental chaos. Hemsley’s been here since I was five, his face a wax mask of indifference. He says nothing as I stomp mud onto the Persian rug in the foyer, the one Vernon imported from a country he later got bombed in a council-sanctioned “resource realignment.” The air smells like lemon polish and smoke.

“He’s in the west study,” Hemsley murmurs, eyes downcast. “You’re late.”

“Let him rot,” I say, but follow anyway.

The hallway to Vernon’s office is lined with portraits of our “legacy.” My great-grandfather incinerating a village during the Border Wars. My grandmother drowning a rival family’s heir in a wine barrel. And there, in the center, the largest frame: Vernon Hastings, standing over my mother’s body.

Not a photograph. A painting.

He commissioned it the week after he killed her.

I stop, fists clenched, fire simmering under my skin. She’s sprawled on the manor’s front steps, her earth magic still clinging to the rosebushes she’d been pruning. Vernon’s hand is raised, water dripping from his fingers—the element he used to collapse her lungs. The artist captured her face perfectly: wide brown eyes, parted lips, the way her hair fanned out like a dark halo.

I was nine. I watched from the upstairs window.

“Move,” Hemsley says flatly behind me.

I rip the painting off the wall and smash it against the floor. The frame splinters; the canvas tears. Hemsley doesn’t react.

The study is a vault of cold calculation. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the manicured hellscape of the backyard, but the glass is reinforced with Vernon’s earth magic—unbreakable, even for me. The walls are lined with shelves of leather-bound ledgers detailing every backroom deal, every blackmailed council member, every “accident” that cleared his path to power. His desk is a slab of obsidian, polished to a mirror shine, and behind it sits a throne-like chair forged from welded steel.

He’s standing when I enter, swirling amber liquor in a crystal glass. Ice clinks, but his fire magic keeps it from melting.

“You broke the painting,” he says.

“You’re lucky I didn’t break your neck.”

He smirks, setting the glass down. “You’ve been neglecting your assignment, Carion. Four weeks at that academy, and you’ve barely spoken to the girl.”

I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You said get close . You didn’t say rush her.”

“Don’t play na?ve. You’re to gain her trust. Make her want to follow you here. And yet—” He flicks his wrist, and a hologram springs to life above his desk. Security footage of Aly in the academy courtyard, laughing as she juggles flames between her hands. “—you’ve done nothing but lurk in the shadows like a stray.”

My chest tightens. I’ve memorized the curve of her smile, the way her fire dances when she’s angry, the stupid nickname she’s given me ( “Mr. Broody Boots” ). Keeping her at arm’s length is a knife to the gut every day, but it’s the only way. Vernon can’t know about the bond. Can’t know that every time she brushes past me in the hallway, my magic surges like a live wire.

“She’s cautious,” I lie. “Pushing too fast will scare her off.”

“You think I care about her comfort?” Vernon rounds the desk, his tailored suit rippling with suppressed energy. “I sent Kael Vrost to retrieve her last night. He hasn’t reported back.”

Ice floods my veins. Kael Vrost . A mercenary who specializes in “quiet extractions.” The kind that leaves no witnesses.

“If you’ve hurt her—”

“ Hurt her ?” Vernon laughs, a low, venomous sound. “I want her alive . Turns out you don't have to worry your little head. Kael never returned. I wonder why that is?”

Fire erupts from my palms. “If you try to touch her again-”

Vernon’s eyes glint. “What? You’ll burn me where I stand?” He spreads his arms, earth magic vibrating the floor. “Try it, boy. Let’s see if you’ve finally grown a spine.”

Fire spirals from my fists, searing the air. Vernon deflects it with a wall of water, then slams me into the bookshelves with a gust of wind. Ledgers rain down, their pages fluttering like dying birds.

“Pathetic,” he sneers, pinning me with air pressure. “You’ve always been weak. Just like her.”

Her . My mother’s face flashes in my mind—her hands caked in soil, her laughter as she taught me to coax vines from cracked concrete. The way she whispered “Don’t let him see, Carion. Hide your magic. Hide your heart,” before Vernon decided her earth affinity made her “disobedient.”

He strikes me with a whip of water, then a fist sheathed in rock. I taste blood.

“You’ll bring the girl to me,” he says, kicking my ribs. “Or I’ll send Kael back. And this time, he’ll carve through that pretty friend of hers. Vivianne, is it?”

Aly would never forgive me if something happened to her cousin. Rage ignites. I lunge, fire and wind colliding in a cyclone. Vernon stumbles, but recovers fast, ice spreading from his palms to coat the room.

“You care ,” he taunts, frost crawling up my legs. “How sweet. How stupid.”

He freezes me to the floor, my cheek pressed to the ice. “48 hours, Carion. Bring her willingly, or I’ll take her in pieces.”

Hemsley finds me an hour later, thawing in a pool of meltwater. He offers a hand. I spit blood at his shoes.

The ride back to the academy is a blur of pain and fury. Rain pelts my face, mingling with the blood still trickling from my split lip. Aly’s face invades every thought—her smirk during combat drills, her stubborn refusal to back down, the way she’d looked at me yesterday when I “accidentally” incinerated the roses she picked to give to Elliott.

Stupid . Reckless . Mine . Not mine.

I park my bike in the woods behind the dorms, the bond in my chest tugging me toward her window. Her laughter floats through the glass, tangled with Vivianne’s sharp retorts.

I could climb up. Could tell her everything.

Instead, I slide down the wall, rain soaking through my jacket. Arm’s length. For her sake .

I have 48 hours to figure out how to protect Aly. Or Kill Vernon. 48 hours. The clock tower dings almost right on cue and the race is on.

The bond aches.

So, do I.