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"Y ou're outnumbered three-to-one. The enemy has the high ground on this ridgeline here with established fortifications. What's your plan?" Instructor Pilton's voice cuts through the Military Tactics classroom, his single arm gesturing emphatically at the large map pinned to the front wall.

Two days have passed since my meeting with Voss, and I still can't shake the unusual lightness in my chest. The knowledge that the Rector of Confluence knows what I am, understands it, and doesn't want me dead… to call it a relief would be an understatement. Tomorrow evening, I'll meet with him again for my first official mentoring session. With any luck, I might even manifest my power during our meeting.

Considering my unbound manifestation could be absolutely anything, my mind has been constantly wandering with possibilities. Mostly, though, I just hope it’s not something terrible—something like what Lorkan Grace manifested.

I drag my attention back to the map, studying the scenario Pilton has laid out. The classroom is arranged in tiers, with legacies at the front in comfortable chairs, aspirants behind them in decent seating, and until recently, offerings crammed at the back on hard benches. Now that we're all aspirants, the class feels less stratified, though old habits die hard. Most former offerings still cluster toward the back, myself included. Little by little, we’ve mingled with those who started as aspirants, but it’s slow progress. For the most part, cliques and groups of trust already formed before Confluence Day, and we’re still seen as outsiders.

A legacy in the front row—a tall, thin air with white-blonde hair—suggests sacrificing a portion of his forces for a distraction so the rest of the squadron can get behind the enemy for a surprise attack. Pilton immediately launches into a critique of the approach, his bushy eyebrows drawing together as he paces.

"You could solve this tactical problem easily," Typhon notes dryly in my mind. "One ancient water dragon could eliminate their entire force without complex maneuvering."

"Not helpful," I mutter under my breath.

"Miss Thorne," Pilton calls suddenly, making me straighten. The damn man misses nothing. "You seem to have strong opinions on this matter. Care to share your approach with the class?"

All eyes turn to me, and heat floods my face like I've stuck my head in an oven.

Mireen covers a smile beside me. She knows I hate being called on in class. Ambrose just looks jealous as he lowers his raised hand. Beck is picking something out of his teeth, feet kicked up on the chair in front of him.

After a moment of hesitation, I say what I was already thinking in response to his question. "There's a river to the south. Water primals could use it to create enough fog to get earth and fire primals on top of the enemy before they knew what was coming. Earths could use the cover to raise a wall behind the enemy, then airs could could blast away the fog, letting the fires come in with clear view to destroy the enemy in close range.

Pilton's eyebrows rise slightly, his perpetual scowl easing. "Utilizing elemental strengths in combination. Not entirely without merit." From him, the gruff words are quite the compliment.

As attention shifts back to the front, I sense eyes still on me. I glance sideways to find Bastian watching from his seat among the legacies, his nearly white eyes thoughtful. He offers the slightest nod of approval before turning back to the lesson.

Malakai is watching me, too. Despite warnings that we're not supposed to openly kill one another, he hasn't stopped acting like the commander of a small force of elites within the water first-years. He sits surrounded by a small group of eight muscular, intimidating waters.

So far, he hasn't spoken to anyone about Typhon's true form that I know of, but I can feel the threat of his knowledge hanging over me daily. That, and the obvious possibility that he's going to find a moment when I least suspect it to come for me again. Or Raith.

As stupid and irrational as it is, the idea of him or Serena trying to hurt Raith again scares me more than them coming for myself.

"Foolish," Typhon notes, as if my private thoughts are an open book meant for his commentary.

"Didn't ask," I bite back.

When class ends, I gather my notes, watching as Beck and Ambrose argue animatedly about which of them was first to sleep with a fellow water affinity named Kali. Beck doesn't believe Ambrose even slept with her, but Ambrose is adamant he had her first.

Mireen rolls her eyes at me as she passes them, motioning that she'll meet me later at dinner.

"Interesting solution," a voice says at my shoulder.

I turn to find Bastian standing closer than I expected, his tall frame blocking the view of anyone behind us. Up close, he looks tired—fine lines at the corners of his eyes that weren't there before, a slight pallor beneath his tan.

"Just common sense," I reply, tucking my notes into my bag. "Use the tools you have."

"Like the book?" he asks, voice dropping so low I almost miss it.

I freeze. We haven't spoken in what feels like ages, let alone about the book. "It's been... educational."

His eyes search mine. "Found what you were looking for?"

"Not entirely." I glance around to ensure no one is within earshot. "I never properly thanked you. For the book, and for what you did during Confluence Day."

He gives a slight nod. "No thanks needed. We both got what we wanted."

"And what did you want, exactly?"

Bastian's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "To help, of course."

"Why?" I press. "Why go to such lengths for me?"

He's silent for a long moment. "What you are… dangerous or not, there are people who would value what you can become. And there are people who would see you destroyed before they took the risk of letting you grow. I've seen enough destruction for one lifetime."

I frown. "What does that mean?"

His gaze shifts, focusing on something over my shoulder. "You never did listen about him."

I don't need to turn to know who he's looking at. "Raith has been nothing but helpful."

"Has he?" Bastian's voice cools. "Almost every year, there are those who slip into Confluence under false pretenses. Those with dangerous intentions. Intentions that could harm Empire."

"And you think Raith is one of them?"

"I think there's more to him than meets the eye." He taps my notebook with one finger. "Just as there's more to you. Be careful who you trust with your secrets, Nessa."

"Including you?" I challenge.

His smile is almost sad. "Especially me."

Before I can respond, he moves past me, rejoining the stream of students leaving the classroom. I watch him go, puzzled by the warning—or was it a confession?

As I turn to leave, I catch sight of Raith standing near the door. As usual, he stands apart by his size and the dangerous aura that seems to cling to him like smoke.

Our eyes meet across the room, and electricity arcs between us, sharp and undeniable as lightning splitting the sky. His gaze drops briefly to my lips, then returns to my eyes with an intensity that sends pure fire coursing through my veins. One side of his mouth lifts in the barest hint of a smile before he tilts his head slightly toward the east wing—a silent confirmation of our training session later.

I give the smallest nod in return, and he's gone, disappearing into the corridor with lethal grace.

I exhale slowly, unsettled by how every fucking time our eyes meet I feel like I’m falling apart. Or is it the complete opposite? That the pieces of me are trying to snap back together when he’s around? Whatever this thing is between us, it's getting stronger, harder to ignore.

"Quite the pair of admirers you've collected," Beck says, appearing at my side with a grin. "The legacy prince and the scarred warrior. If this were a bard's tale, there'd be a duel by sunset."

"Don't be ridiculous," I mutter, shoving him lightly. "Bastian was just asking about classwork. And I'm pretty sure he's not a prince."

"Right. And I'm secretly tethered to a dragon instead of a bear." Beck winks, falling into step beside me as we leave the classroom. "Come on, admit it. The two hottest guys at Confluence can't keep their eyes off you. And you know there are plenty of other guys who would love to get into your bed, but they're too terrified of those guys to make a move."

"You're delusional."

"Am I? Serena looks ready to flay you alive every time Raith so much as glances your way."

The mention of Serena, as always, sends a spike of annoyance and rage through me. “If she wants Raith, she has an odd way of showing it. Remember what she tried during Confluence Day?”

“Some women would rather kill a man than see him shared with another. Just ask Brunhild.”

“Who?”

Beck grins. “This girl I met. She’s… something,” he says with a wistful smile. “Speaking of, I’m going to pay her a visit before elemental combat. Wish me luck.”

Beck leaves me at the east wing entrance, heading away with a spring in his step as he dodges a pair of fourth-year earths with hard eyes and absolutely massive muscles. I watch him go, noting how he moves differently now—a new confidence in his stride, strength in the set of his shoulders.

We're all changing, becoming something more than what we were.

“You spend half your day thinking of the fire-touched, angry human,” Typhon rumbles. “You have much to learn. Sexual penetration will not improve your odds of survival. Training will.”

I smile. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Typhon. And it’s training with him I’m thinking about. I learn more sparring with Raith than I do in a week of Weapon’s Class."

"I am not jealous of a human," he sniffs indignantly. "I simply question the wisdom of spending time alone with one who radiates such dangerous heat."

"The heat's not so bad," I reply, feeling my cheeks warm at the admission.

The truth is, I've been thinking about Raith almost constantly since the night outside Voss's office. The concern in his eyes, the roughness in his voice when he said he trusted me, the lingering heat of his fingers on my wrist—all of it repeats in my mind like a song I can't stop humming. And beneath it all runs a current of curiosity about the person he mentioned, this Gareth who mattered so much to him.

I wonder if Gareth is connected to those nightmares that brought him to the top of the academy walls. To the fire that haunts him.

I've seen fleeting glimpses of Raith in the dining hall and during regular training, but except for that moment in tactics class today, he's been surprisingly scarce.

Reaching the training room door, I pause, drawing in a deep breath to steady my racing heart. It's just training, I tell myself. Nothing more.

We've done this dozens of times already, and Raith is always clinical and serious. He's all business, and that's exactly how this session will go, too. And yet my breath still hitches and warmth floods me as I push open the door and step into the familiar empty training room we've used so many times now.

Torches flicker in iron brackets along the walls, casting long shadows across the stone floor. Raith used a trick of his fire affinity to light these, and they seem to burn for days without needing to be lit, even when he's not in the room.

Training equipment lines the edges of the room—wooden dummies, racks of practice weapons, targets for projectile practice.

But I'm the only one in the room.

Disappointment crashes through me like a wave breaking against rocks. Has Raith decided not to come? Or maybe our agreement for this evening wasn't as clear as I thought. I move to the weapons rack, selecting one of the heavier rapiers Raith likes me to train with to improve my strength. I guess I can still work through some forms, even if he doesn't show.

And I can pretend I don't feel a lurching sense of disappointment.

"You're early."

I whirl at the sound of Raith's voice, nearly dropping my rapier. He stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame with casual grace that belies the power in his body. In the torchlight, half of his features lie in shadow, making it hard to read his expression.

"Maybe you're just late," I reply, pleased with how steady my voice sounds despite the sudden swarm of butterflies taking flight in my stomach.

He steps into the room, closing the door behind him.

Closing it between us and everyone else, which is exactly how it feels when I'm alone with him—as if it's only us, even when I know Pyrin is likely hidden nearby and I can sense Typhon's presence.

Raith's eyes never leave mine as he crosses to the weapons rack, selecting his preferred training sword. The fire markings that thread through his scars seem more vivid today, the red lines pulsing slightly like the beating of a heart.

"You've been avoiding me," I say, the words escaping before I can stop them.

This isn't the kind of thing we usually talk about here. I tend to stay quiet and let him lead. I trust him to keep things professional and clinical. But today… Today I'm having trouble holding back.

Raith's brow rises, the unburned side of his mouth curving slightly. "Have I?"

"Two days. Not even a word about when you'd want to train next."

"I didn't realize you were keeping count, Saltcrest." There's something in his voice—a warmth, a hint of amusement—that sends a delicious shiver cascading down my spine. And even if it's a silly nickname, I feel my belly do flips every time he calls me "Saltcrest."

I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. "Just an observation."

He tests the weight of his training sword, the muscles in his arm shifting beneath tanned skin. "I've been busy. They had the fire affinities working with some of the upper years this week. Patrols and inspections of fortifications."

"Fortifications… walls… actually, yeah, I can see why you would know a lot about those."

Raith turns, one eyebrow cocked. He's giving me a look like he's not quite sure I'm actually saying the words he's hearing. "Meaning?"

"You're good at putting up walls around yourself. I can see why they wanted an expert like you along for inspections."

He walks with a slow, deadly grace through the darkness between torches, sword held low and steady in his hand. Many of the waters in my year like to perform flourishes and practice trying to look like experts. Raith has never bothered with any of that.

The way he moves and holds that sword might as well be a whispered threat in the ear of any who lay eyes on him.

Danger, says the voice.

Anyone with functioning instincts knows down to their bones that the word hardly captures the reality of it. Raith is lethal. Barely caged violence. And yet…

"Walls aren't always meant to defend those inside," Raith says as he begins to circle me. He's not yet in a fighting stance, but I feel the electric potential—the near certainty that he'll strike soon.

I sink into my knees like he taught me, imagining my feet as both heavy and fluid, ready to sink in and absorb in a block or flow into an attack at a moment's notice. I relax my wrist, letting my rapier rest with a relaxed wrist, parallel to the ground and pointed straight toward Raith, tracking his movements as he continues to circle me.

"So you'd have me believe your walls are protecting me? Is that it? You've caged yourself in because you're so dangerous?"

Without warning, he lunges, his blade a blur as it arcs toward my shoulder. I react on instinct, parrying the strike and using his momentum to slip past his guard, my own blade stopping inches from his ribs.

"Better," he acknowledges, genuine approval warming his voice. "You're learning."

"My teacher is… decent."

I hold his eyes for a moment, waiting for him to pick up the conversation where we left it. But he steps back, his body language making it clear.

Conversation over. It's time to train.

We settle into the familiar rhythm of training—attack, parry, riposte, retreat. With each session, the dance becomes more fluid, my body learning to anticipate his movements, to sense the shift in weight that precedes a strike, to recognize the subtle signs that telegraph his next attack.

But something is different tonight. There's a tension in the air between us that wasn't there before—or perhaps it was, and I'm only now allowing myself to acknowledge it. Raith moves closer than necessary when correcting my form, his fingers lingering when he adjusts my grip, his eyes holding mine a heartbeat longer than they should.

"You've been practicing," he observes after disarming me for the third time, though it took him twice as long as usual.

I retrieve my rapier, watching him carefully. "When I can."

"With your friends?"

"Sometimes. Usually alone." I settle back into my stance, blade raised. "Beck, Ambrose, and Mireen stay busy. They’re all caught up in relationships. Having fun when they can. Not exactly itching to spend every spare moment training like us.”

Raith's sword lowers slightly, interest flickering in his amber eyes. "Relationships… something you’re not spending time on?”

I put a fist on my hip, raising my eyebrows. “I’m with you or in the library every spare moment I have. When would I squeeze in sex?”

“Good,” he says.

I bite my lip, smirking. “Good? Why does it matter to you if I’m having sex with people, Raith?’

“Because you’re in a great deal of danger. It means you’re keeping your priorities straight. It’s good.” He raises his sword again. "Does your little fish have any guesses on what Aspect you'll manifest? Stories about unbound always talked about unique powers.

The question catches me off guard. I only know about the aspect because of the book and Voss. How the hells does Raith know to ask? "I... no. He hasn't said anything."

"Disappointing. If you're lucky, maybe you'll get a weird crown like him. You two could match."

The deadpan delivery makes me laugh, the sound echoing in the stone room. Raith's expression softens at the sound, something warmer than amusement flickering in his eyes.

"You know, for someone so terrifying, you can be surprisingly funny sometimes."

"Don't tell anyone," he says, mock-serious. "I have a reputation to maintain."

"Tell the fire touched if he mocks me again, I will eat him, starting with his feet. I will chew thoroughly."

"I'm not telling him that."

Typhon glares at me, but says no more.

We resume our sparring, but the atmosphere has shifted, the earlier tension giving way to something almost playful. Raith even offers occasional corrections without his usual brusque efficiency, explaining the reasoning behind certain movements, showing me how to use my smaller size to my advantage.

"You're thinking too much," he says after a particularly complex sequence leaves me winded and frustrated. "You're trying to match my strength instead of using your speed."

"Easy for you to say," I grumble, pushing sweat-dampened hair from my forehead. "You're built like a wall."

"Alright. If I'm a wall, then what chance of winning do you have if you try to be a smaller wall?"

My sour look is all the answer he gets.

"You're quick, Nessa. And clever. Use that. Don’t smash a wall into a wall. Climb it. Find a way around it."

I attack again, trying to follow his advice. Instead of meeting his powerful strikes directly, I redirect them, using his momentum against him. For several exchanges, we're evenly matched—until my foot slips on a patch of damp stone, throwing me off balance.

Raith's training sword halts a breath from my throat. In the same instant, my rapier stops just short of his ribs, a lucky reflex that saved me from total defeat.

"Draw?" I suggest, breathing hard.

His eyes drop to my blade, then back to my face. "Impressive recovery."

We're standing close—too close, with my back nearly against the wall and his larger frame blocking any escape. I can feel the heat pouring off him in waves, sense the barely restrained power in his body. His eyes hold mine, and it feels like there's something there… something more than just a casual training session.

Almost as if I'm not the only one who is battling to keep things clinical.

"Raith," I begin, not sure what I'm going to say.

He steps back, lowering his sword. "Again."

But when we resume, Raith's movements are more aggressive, his strikes coming faster and with more force. It's as if he's suddenly trying to put me through my paces, pushing me harder than ever before.

I match him as best I can, frustration building with each failed attack. He's deliberately keeping me at a distance now, physically and otherwise, and I can't understand what changed.

When he disarms me yet again, my patience snaps. "What is your problem?"

Raith stares at me, breathing hard, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "What?"

"One minute you're actually being decent, almost friendly, and the next you're treating me like I'm just another training dummy for you to beat on." I retrieve my rapier, pointing it at him accusingly. "So what is it? What changed?"

"Nothing changed." He turns away, moving to replace his sword on the rack.

"Bullshit." I step between him and the rack, blocking his path. "Tell me."

"Move, Nessa."

"No."

His eyes narrow dangerously. "You're playing with fire."

"You're more than just a fire, Raith. You're a person. A person I happen to respect and appreciate. So stop acting like you're going to burn me if I get too close."

The words hang between us, loaded with more meaning than I intended. For a heartbeat, I think he'll simply brush past me, end the session, retreat behind his walls again. Instead, he studies me with those burning eyes, something shifting in his expression.

"The only thing you'll get from me is pain, Nessa. I know you think otherwise, but believe me when I tell you that I'll hurt you. I won't want to. I won't try to, but I can promise you that much."

"After everything we've been through here… you really think I'm afraid of a little pain?"

"You should be." His breath is a whisper, eyes lowered to my lips, now. I can sense the resistance in his body language starting to fade.

We're standing close again, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to hold his gaze.

"No," he says suddenly, moving like he's about to walk away from me. "You don't know what you're asking for."

I catch his wrist, feeling the familiar surge of power flow between us. "Raith, wait?—"

He turns back so suddenly that I stumble against him, my free hand landing on his chest to steady myself. I feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palm, the unnatural heat of his skin even through his sweat-soaked tunic. His eyes drop to my mouth again, and everything else—the training room, the academy, the whole world—seems to fall away.

I don't know which of us moves first. All I know is one moment we're standing there, balanced on the knife's edge of something dangerous, and the next his mouth is on mine.

The kiss is nothing like I imagined—and gods help me, I have imagined it. It's not gentle, not tentative. It's fire and hunger and need, raw and consuming. His hands frame my face, surprisingly gentle despite the fierce press of his lips against mine. I respond with equal fervor, my fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic, pulling him closer.

He tastes like smoke and cinnamon, heat and danger. When he deepens the kiss, a small sound escapes me—half sigh, half moan—and something in him seems to break loose. His arms slide around me, lifting me slightly until I'm pressed fully against him, feeling every hard plane of his body.

Power surges between us, stronger than ever before. I can feel his fire affinity flowing into me, warming me from the inside out. But unlike previous times, it doesn't seem to scare him—if anything, the sensation seems to drive him wilder. His kiss grows more urgent, his hands more possessive.

And then, abruptly, he pulls away.

For a moment, we just stare at each other, both breathing hard. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, the amber irises thin rings of gold around black.

"We can't do this," he says, voice raw.

"We just did."

His jaw tightens. "And it was a mistake."

The words hit like a slap. I step back, putting distance between us, grateful for the wall at my back to keep me upright when my legs feel suddenly unsteady.

"Why? What is it you're not telling me?"

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "There are things about me you don't know. Things that would put you in danger."

"So tell me."

"I can't." He shakes his head. "The less you know, the safer you are."

"That's not your decision to make."

"It is when my choices could get you killed." Raith turns away, pacing the length of the room. "This—whatever this is between us—it can't happen. Not now. Maybe not ever."

"Is this about Gareth?" I ask, gentler now. "About what happened to him?"

He stops, shoulders tensing. For a long moment, he doesn't speak. When he finally turns back to me, his expression is carefully controlled again, but I can see cracks in the mask.

"Partly," he admits, "but it's more complicated than that."

"Then help me understand."

"I'm here for a reason, Nessa. A purpose. Getting... distracted... isn't part of the plan."

"So I'm a distraction?"

"You're a complication."

I cross my arms, trying to ignore the lingering heat of his kiss. "And what exactly is this great purpose that I'm complicating?"

Raith sighs, running a hand over his face. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Then don't."

"It's not that simple."

"It could be." I take a step toward him. "Whatever you're hiding, whatever you're here for—I'm stronger than you think. And I'm already involved, whether you like it or not."

"You think I don't know you're strong, Nessa? You fucking flew in on an ancient water dragon and saved my ass when Serena and Malakai were about to kill me. You're the strongest person I know here. But that doesn't mean I'm going to drag you into my mess."

"Maybe I can help you. Maybe I want to be able to help you. You shouldn't have to face whatever it is all by yourself, Raith. You have to let someone in."

Something in my words seems to harden his resolve, wiping any hesitation from his face. "I did once. And now they're dead. I should go, Nessa." He moves toward the door, pausing with his hand on the handle.

"Raith—"

"Goodnight, Nessa."

The door closes behind him with quiet finality, leaving me alone in the suddenly too-large room. I touch my fingers to my lips, still warm from his kiss, and fight the urge to scream in frustration.

"That was... unexpected," Typhon observes, making me feel suddenly awkward. It was so easy to forget he was there, watching and observing everything.

I glare at him. "Were you watching the whole time?"

"Of course. Did you think I would leave you alone with him?"

"Maybe I wanted privacy."

"Clearly," Typhon sniffs. "Though I fail to see what you find so appealing about mating with the fire touched."

"We weren't—" I break off, cheeks burning. "We just kissed."

"A prelude to mating."

"Can you stop saying 'mating'?"

"Would you prefer 'copulation'? 'Reproduction'? 'Sexual congress'?"

I grab my practice rapier from where I dropped it and storm toward the door. "I'm going back to my room now. Feel free to not follow me."

"As if I would leave you to wander alone." Typhon slips into his fish form, wings fluttering as he swims through the air beside me. Despite his many complaints about the form, he has begun shifting into it on his own more often now. Part of me wonders if he secretly likes being so small for a change. "The fire touched is hiding something significant, angry human. I sense conflict in him—divided loyalties, perhaps."

I slow my pace, curiosity overriding my irritation. "What do you mean?"

"His pain runs deeper than those scars. Something drives him beyond simple survival or ambition. Something that frightens him more than death."

"You got all that from watching us train?"

"I gathered it from watching him look at you." Typhon's fish-eye swivels to regard me. "He fears for you more than himself. An unusual trait in humans, I've observed."

"So he's protecting me. But from what?"

"That," Typhon says, "is the interesting question."

We exit the eastern wing into the main courtyard, where evening has already settled. Stars glitter above the towers, and a fresh blanket of snow has fallen. The courtyard is mostly empty at this hour, with only a few students hurrying to their final classes or back to their dormitories, arms clutched tight against the snow, except for a pair of fires who walk with the air shimmering around them like personal heaters.

Lucky them.

I spot Serena across the open space, standing with several other fires. Her gaze finds mine, and the hatred in her eyes is so pure, so undiluted, it pins me in place like a butterfly to a board.

Beside her stands Malakai, his ruined eye covered with a black patch, his remaining one fixed on me with calculating intensity.

I expect them to approach, to threaten or taunt me as they've done before. Instead, Serena simply smiles—a slow, vicious curving of her perfect lips—before turning away, drawing Malakai with her.

"They plot against you," Typhon observes unnecessarily.

"Tell me something I don't know."

"I could eat them both. It would solve many problems."

I shake my head, continuing across the courtyard. "As tempting as that sounds, I don't think consuming students would exactly help us stay under the radar."

"You humans and your tedious moral considerations."

My mind drifts back to Raith, to the kiss, to the walls he keeps rebuilding between us. Whatever secret he's keeping, it's clearly eating him alive.

I touch my lips again, remembering the heat of his mouth on mine, the desperate hunger in his kiss. For a moment, everything was perfect—for one brief, shining instant, there were no secrets between us, no barriers. Just pure connection, raw and real.

And then he pulled away.

Whatever Raith is hiding, whatever danger he thinks he's protecting me from, I'm going to find out. Because now that I know what it feels like to be close to him, I'm not sure I can go back to keeping my distance.

Even if it burns me in the end.