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B lood streaks my training blade and drips from my fingertips, spattering against the stone floor in bright red drops.

"Shit, Nessa. I'm so sorry." Beck's face looms over me, his brow furrowed with concern as he offers his hand. "I didn't mean to actually cut you."

I cradle my arm where his blunted practice sword has somehow managed to carve a bloody gash across my upper arm. The wound stings like acid as blood wells up between my fingers.

"I'm just impressed you managed to finally land a hit on me," I say through clenched teeth before accepting his outstretched hand. My sleeve soaks with crimson as I get to my feet.

Mireen moves closer to inspect my wound. "If you die from this, I'm taking your good boots," she says with a straight face. When Beck looks appalled, she rolls her eyes. "Relax. It's a compliment—her boots are the only thing worth inheriting."

We've claimed one of the many hidden training areas scattered across campus. Technically, I think they’re meant as spare classrooms. Confluence used to house far more students each year, but the numbers have dwindled over the centuries, meaning the castle is full of unused spaces that collect dust. Or rather, spaces that would collect dust if students weren't taking advantage.

Our walk to this place from the water tower had us passing dozens of closed doors and the muffled sounds of students clashing in training matches. That, and the distinctive scent of ozone permeating the air signaling the heavy use of magic across campus.

The Crucible is coming fast, and everybody knows it.

Beck and Ambrose are leaning in, staring at the wound. We’ve all seen plenty of wounds by now, and we’re relatively desensitized. But this cut is bleeding heavily, and it looks pretty deep. I may need stitches and be forced to chew the horrible herbs they give at the healers to prevent infection. If I’m truly unlucky, they’ll make me chew up the herbs and stuff them into the wound.

"We're going to have to start making you practice with Uther instead, Beck," Mireen says, moving closer to inspect my wound. As she bends down, something small and gray peeks out from her pocket, whiskers twitching. She casually tucks it back in with practiced ease, not missing a beat. "I think you've drawn enough blood for one day."

Ollie dips closer to my wound, his liquid body rippling with concern.

Beck looks genuinely distraught, his sandy hair falling across his eyes as he shakes his head. His massive bear elemental Uther materializes behind him, mimicking Beck's posture of contrition. "Fucking hell, I'm sorry, Nessa. You're so damn slippery and fast. I think I was swinging harder than I realized just trying to catch you before you could dodge, and?—"

"It's not as bad as it looks," I lie. The pain screams otherwise.

Ambrose adjusts his glasses with a professorial air. "Technically, practice blades can develop burrs if they're used enough. You probably caught her with a worn edge."

His water hawk Akaron perches on his shoulder, head tilted as if examining my wound from a distance. Like many of the elementals, Akaron has grown more substantial over the months, his watery form more detailed, more predatory. The temperament matches Ambrose's increasingly analytical approach to everything around him.

"Hmm," Ambrose continues, suddenly intrigued. He takes my arm gently, turning it to examine the cut. "The blade created a perfect bisection of the dermal layer, but the subdermal tissues remain largely intact. That's good."

I pull my arm back. "Glad my pain is academically stimulating."

"Sorry," he mumbles. "I've been doing some extra studying on anatomy and your wound is more informative than the sketches in my books." He takes a step back, but his eyes don't leave my wound.

A burning sensation spreads through my arm. Not just pain—something else. Heat flowing beneath my skin, gathering at the injury site.

"Interesting, angry human," Typhon's voice rumbles through my mind.

"What?" I wince as the burning intensifies. It feels like someone is holding dozens of candle flames just beneath my arm and they're inching closer. It's nearly unbearable, but...

"Look at your arm."

I pull my hand away from the cut. Instead of a gaping wound, I see the edges of my skin knitting together before my eyes. The blood flow slows, then stops. Within seconds, the only evidence of the injury is a thin white line and the blood already spilled.

"What the..." My voice trails off as I stare at my arm in disbelief.

My friends fall silent, all eyes locked on the miracle happening before them. Even their elementals freeze, sensing the significance of what they're witnessing.

"Did you just..." Mireen's voice is barely above a whisper. "Did Typhon do that? You said he healed Raith during Confluence day, right?”

I touch the newly healed skin, the phantom pain already fading. "I don't know."

"She is bound to an ancient," Ambrose notes. "I guess it would be disappointing if that didn’t come with some perks.”

"Typhon can heal her?" Beck whispers, voice laced with awe.

“Was that you, Typhon?” I ask him, even though I already feel like I know the answer.

“No. That was you. It means your unbound power has finally manifested,” Typhon's mental voice carries a weight of significance. "The ability to mend. To heal. This is rare and valuable beyond measure. I suppose it is no surprise, as the four-eyed one states. I, too, have some ability to heal, as you saw on Confluence Day."

"How rare?" I ask in my mind, unable to tear my eyes from the seamless skin where a bleeding wound had been seconds before.

"Among the four base affinities? It is unheard of. True healing—not just accelerating natural processes but actually remaking that which is broken—it is a power that even kings would kill to possess. It is sought after more than the ability to call down pillars of fire or raise mountains."

My mouth goes dry. Just what I need—one more reason for people to come after me. One more target painted on my back.

Beck leans closer. “So… can Typhon heal me, too? Because I’ve got this thing on my back I think might be infected. Maybe he could take a look.”

“Shut up, Beck,” Mireen says.

My heart races with anxiety. This is dangerous—too many people seeing something they shouldn't, asking questions I can't answer. They are all my friends, but ever since my conversation with Voss, I can't ever fully shake the fear that anybody could be a siphon in disguise.

"Typhon, what do I do? They can't know what I am."

"Tell them it was me. They want to believe you are one of them. It is the simplest explanation, and humans love simple explanations for complex truths."

"It’s like nothing ever happened," Beck says, reaching for my arm to examine it. His fingers are surprisingly gentle for someone so large. "No scar. Just… nothing."

I put on a smile. "Typhon said it was him. He just thought the wound look bad enough to justify it. I guess he doesn’t mind letting me suffer small scrapes and bruises, though.”

Mireen shakes her head slowly, as if still in awe. "That's... incredible, Nessa. Do you think he could heal others, or just yourself?"

"Could I heal others?" I ask Typhon through the tether.

"In time, with practice," Typhon confirms. "Even now, perhaps, though it would cost you more. You do not just command the flesh to mend—you reforge it with your own essence. It is not without price."

"What price?"

"Energy. Life force. The same power that flows through your veins. Healing yourself is like moving water from one part of a lake to another. Healing others is like transferring water from your lake to theirs. It can be replenished, but not instantly."

"I'm not sure," I admit to Mireen. “He healed Raith, but it cost him. He was even larger before that, and he’s still not back to his original size.”

Ambrose's eyes haven't left my arm. "You should document this. Keep records of whenever it happens. Note the circumstances, the sensations, everything."

"Why does everything have to be a research project with you?" Beck asks, rolling his eyes. "Is this why Noraveen broke up with you? Did you try to document the circumstances and situations when you blew your load too early?”

"She broke up with me because her ex got killed in a training accident and she realized she loved him," Ambrose says flatly.

Beck rubs the back of his neck, wincing. "Sheesh. Way to make it awkward.”

"And I document and study because knowledge is power," Ambrose snaps. "And power is survival."

Beck claps his hands together, his earlier distress evaporating. "Well, bummers aside... We're going to crush the Crucible now. Nessa already has a fucking water dragon that can eat our enemies. And now we know it can heal our wounds in a pinch. We're going to be unstoppable."

"Speaking of our team," Ambrose interjects, "we still need to decide on our fifth. The Crucible is only a week away now. Is Brunhild really our only option?”

"Is your arm okay?" Mireen asks quietly as the boys begin to debate, her concern cutting through her usual veneer of toughness. The rat in her pocket scurries up her uniform to perch on her shoulder. This time, she doesn’t seem to even notice.

I flex my fingers, rotate my wrist. "It feels fine. Better than fine, actually." And it does—there's a strange vitality flowing through me, as if the healing had not just fixed the wound but somehow improved me. Despite that, I also feel a kind of small part of me is hollowed out. I wonder if it's the life force Typhon talked about that needs to recover.

"Is this normal? I feel... different."

"Your power grows, angry human. With each use, each manifestation, you become more of what you truly are."

"And what is that, exactly?"

"Something this world has not seen in a very long time. Something both wondrous and terrifying."

His cryptic answer does nothing to calm my nerves.

Beck points at Mireen. “Gods, Mireen. You told me you were done keeping the fucking rats.”

“That’s not what I said. You just chose not to listen properly, Beck.”

“So what did you say?” Ambrose asks slowly, eyes distrustful as he studies the rat, whose whiskers twitch from Mireen’s shoulder.

“I said I was finding new homes for them. I just… slip them under doors at night. Legacies have the best rooms, so I usually start there. And they all know they can come back to their momma if they’re ever hungry or need something. This rat,” she says, reaching up to scratch its belly, “was my first. He still gets to stay in my room, don’t you Bartemus?”

I smile, watching as she nuzzles her nose toward the rat, who leans in and lets her. “So you’ve been filling the legacy rooms with rats, Mireen?”

“Usually just one per room.” She sounds a touch defensive. “Unless they were sibling rats or particularly good friends, then I send them in small groups.

“And what about my room, Mireen?” Beck asks, sounding like he’s on the verge of hysterics.

Mireen shrugs in a way that says she definitely rat bombed him.

After the two of them finish bickering, we set aside our weapons and sit to revisit the topic of Brunhild and whether we should add her to our group.

"She's strong as hell," Beck says, slapping the mat to emphasize his point. "And her elemental is a fucking giant crab with claws that could snap a man in half."

"She also threatened to throw me out a window," I remind him.

"That was before she got to know you," Beck argues. "And anyway, she didn't actually do it, which shows restraint."

"Setting the bar pretty low there, Beck," Mireen says dryly.

"Her combat performance is apparently top-tier," Ambrose adds, ever the practical one. "Physically, she’s nearly as strong as Beck. Having two powerhouses on our team provides a tactical advantage."

"Is that all that matters?" I ask.

Ambrose frowns. "What else should matter in a life-or-death scenario like the Crucible?"

"I don't know. Maybe trust? Loyalty? Knowing someone has your back because they actually care if you live or die, not just because it benefits them?"

The room goes quiet. We've all seen enough death at Confluence to know exactly how fragile life is here, how quickly someone can go from friend to memory.

"I trust her," Beck says, his voice softer than usual. "I know that might not mean much coming from me, but... she's not what she seems at first. There's more to her than just muscles and threats."

"My intuition is telling me she's trustworthy," Ambrose says, touching his temple. "Despite the window-throwing threat."

I sigh, studying my newly healed arm. The weight of the coming Crucible presses down on me, along with all the other dangers circling ever closer. Can we really trust someone we barely know?

"Your friends are right to be concerned about numbers, angry human. In battle, a single ally can tip the balance between life and death."

"Even if that ally might be the one to stab us in the back?"

"Do you not think me capable of destroying any threat to your person? If she is foolish enough to betray you, she'll meet my teeth."

"Meet your teeth?"

"You asked me to stop talking about eating people. I chose to speak figuratively to avoid breaking your rule."

I snort at Typhon's words, drawing curious glances from my friends.

"Sorry," I say. "Just thinking about when Brunhild called Beck her 'sexy bear.'"

Beck's smile is wistful. "She has a way with words, doesn't she?"

"We want someone we can trust, too, Nessa," Mireen says, suddenly serious. "After everything we've been through, our team is the only family I've got left in this place." She doesn't say it, but I know she's thinking of the people we've all lost since arriving at Confluence—dead in training, dead in their beds, just... gone.

"Mine too," I admit.

"And mine," Ambrose adds quietly.

Beck nods, his usual jovial expression subdued. "Same here. That's why I'm pushing for her. I really do think she'd fight for us."

After another half hour of debate, I finally relent. "Fine. Let's add Brunhild. But Beck, if she betrays us, I'm feeding you to Typhon."

"Deal." Beck's face splits into a wide grin.

"So it's agreed upon, then," Ambrose says, rubbing his hands together. "The five of us against whatever the Crucible throws at us."

"And against Malakai and Serena," Mireen adds grimly.

"Don't remind me," I say with a sour smile.

We're gathering our gear to leave when the heavy wooden door to the training room swings open. A breathless first-year water—Lissa, I think her name is—stumbles in, her eyes wide with urgency.

"Sorry to interrupt," she pants, "but I heard your team was training here. I'm trying to find any teams I can that aren't with Malakai and Serena."

I frown. "What do you mean?"

"Sorry. I'm Lissa. I'm teamed with Jorvan, Markus, Toreena, and Vas. All of us have lost somebody to Malakai and his fucking 'soldiers'. But we thought he gave up trying to grow his little army after Confluence Day. Turns out he didn't. He was only doing it more quietly."

"How do you know this?" Ambrose asks.

"Because he tried to recruit Jorvan. Forgot he killed Jorvan's best friend, I guess. He told him he's already got nearly half the waters on his side. Five full teams ready to go. Jorvan played along to learn as much as he could. Malakai wants to kill everyone who isn't on his team. He's promising to use his legacy privileges to help anyone who sides with him."

I frown. “Thanks, but that’s hardly new information.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t get it. There are the people obviously allied with him, but he’s recruiting people to lay low, too. People to turn at the last second. And he’s not just recruiting waters. He has allies across all affinities already.”

"Why are you telling us this?" Mireen asks. "Before Confluence Day, you told me to fuck off when I asked about Malakai and who he was coming for."

Lissa sighs. "Yeah, I remember. But I also didn't know who the hell to trust at that point. Malakai has made it pretty clear he wants to kill you guys the most. Especially Nessa. So I'm pretty sure you're not with him. Anyway, I wanted to know if we can trust you during the Crucible. We're not going to try to win. We're just going to form a protective group and try like hell to stay alive. Maybe if Malakai and Serena see we're not a threat to the prize, they'll leave us alone."

“Nothing like death and the threat of dismemberment to bring former enemies together, huh?” Mireen muses.

"Cowards," Typhon notes.

"You don't have to worry about us," I say. "I can't promise we'll go along with your plan. But we’re not with them. If there’s a chance to help you and your team, we will.”

I'm relieved when my friends all nod their heads without hesitation.

"Thanks for letting us know, Lissa," I say. She nods and leaves, the door closing behind her with an ominous thud.

"We need more allies," Ambrose says immediately. "More than just Brunhild."

"There's Raith," I suggest, and immediately regret it when three pairs of eyes lock onto me with varying degrees of suspicion and amusement.

"Your scarred fire boyfriend?" Beck teases, but there's seriousness underneath it. "You're really sure he's trustworthy?"

"He's not my boyfriend," I mutter, ignoring the heat that rises to my cheeks. "And yes, I trust him."

"Why?" Mireen asks, and it's not an accusation, just a genuine question. "He's from the border, Nessa. A volunteer. And he's a fire." She lets out a breath. "I know they aren't all as bad as I thought at first, okay? It's just... hard for me to believe we can trust someone like that with our lives."

"I'm inclined to agree with Mireen," Ambrose says. "I know he's been helping you train, but beyond that—why do you trust him?"

I think of Raith's hands, strong and sure as he corrects my stance. The way he pushes me harder than anyone else because he seems to believe I'm capable of far more than I would ever dare. The tenderness that sometimes flashes through when he thinks I'm not looking.

"He's had plenty of chances to hurt me," I say finally. "He chose to help instead. That counts for something in this place. And he was the first one to show up when I walked into the trap with Malakai and Serena last week."

Ambrose nods slowly. "Logical. Though emotional attachments can cloud judgment."

"I'm not—" I begin, but Beck cuts me off with a snort.

"Please. Every time you look at him, it's like watching a starving person stare at a feast. The real question is whether he's with us or just with you."

Before I can respond, Mireen steps in. “Whether or not we can trust Raith, at least we know we have Typhon on our side.” A small smile plays across her lips as she watches the small flying fish that now hovers near my shoulder. "Even if he is... modest in size, assuming he won't risk showing his true form during the Crucible."

"I will show her modest when I consume a small village in front of her eyes."

"You will not."

"No, I will not. But I could, and that is the point."

"I'm not sure yet," I say to Mireen's point about whether Typhon will be able to show his true form. "But I know I'm not going to let any of you die just to preserve the secret about him."

"This is all great," Beck says. "But I'm starving, and the dining hall is going to fill up if we don't get our asses moving soon. So... can we continue this conversation over food?"

We make our way through the tower's winding stone staircase, our earlier lightness now tempered by the news of Malakai's expanding coalition. The dining hall will be packed this time of evening, but none of us have the luxury of skipping meals with the Crucible so close.

"What do we actually know about the Crucible itself?" I ask as we descend. "Beyond the whole 'teams of five' thing?"

"It's a test of survival and combat skills in unknown terrain," Ambrose replies. "From what I've gathered, they drop us somewhere remote and we have to navigate to a specific location while other teams try to eliminate us. I've spoken with upper-year students and consulted texts. The details change every year, but these generalities do seem to stay the same."

"Eliminate as in...?"

"Kill, incapacitate, whatever gets the job done," Ambrose says bluntly.

Beck shrugs as we walk through a long hall lined with tapestries painted in faded oils. Each shows famous battles and primals with huge, impossibly large elementals locked in combat. "I heard there's more at stake than just the winning team getting promoted to legacy status. They apparently use our performance to help decide our assignments and positions after graduation. Fuck up too badly, and you'll wind up getting sent behind enemy lines on a suicide mission or something."

"I doubt that," I say.

"Doubt all you want," Beck says with upturned palms. "I'm only saying what I've heard."

"What you heard from some girl you were sleeping with?" Mireen asks.

"Hey," Beck snaps. "The words spoken over pillows are often the most true."

As we cross the courtyard, snowflakes drift lazily from a steel-gray sky. The cold bites through my uniform, but I barely notice. My attention is fixed on a tall, scarred figure standing at the edge of the training yard, watching me with eyes like torches in the darkness.

Raith.

Even from this distance, his gaze burns into me, igniting a heat that washes away the cold evening air. My body remembers the feel of his hands, the press of his mouth against mine, the solid weight of him pinning me against the wall.

Behind him stands his fire panther, Pyrin, its flaming form more substantial than before, more detailed. The elemental's fiery eyes seem to track me as well, its head tilted in what almost looks like curiosity.

Mireen follows my gaze and sighs. "Just go already."

"What?" I tear my eyes away from Raith to look at her.

"We all know you want to talk to him," she says, a knowing smirk on her face. "I’ll just bring you something to eat later.”

"I don't—" I start to protest, but Beck cuts me off.

"Come on, Nessa. It's painfully obvious." He gestures vaguely at my face. "You get all... glowy when you see him."

"Glowy?" I sputter.

"It's an accurate assessment," Ambrose confirms. "Your pupils dilate, your respiration increases, and your cheeks flush. Classic signals of sexual arousal and attraction."

"Have you been studying me?"

He shrugs. "The signs are rather obvious, Nessa."

I want to argue, but Raith is already moving away, heading toward the eastern section of campus. If I'm going to catch him, it has to be now.

"Fine," I concede. "I'll meet you all later."

"You know," Mireen says, her voice dropping so only I can hear, "you don't have to be ashamed of wanting him. I know I've made it hard for you to feel okay about it, and I'm sorry for that. I just... want to make sure you're careful. Okay? I care about you, and I know you trust him, but..."

"But what?"

Her eyes are serious, the crescent scar beneath one eye catching the dim light. "But I've watched people I care about die because they trusted the wrong person. I couldn't bear it if that happened to you, too."

The sincerity in her voice catches me off guard.

"I'll be careful," I promise. "I'm not as reckless as you think."

She raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Use protection,” she teases.

I roll my eyes and break away from the group, my heart racing as I follow Raith's retreating form. He doesn't look back, but somehow I know he's aware of me following him. It's in the deliberate pace of his steps, the slight tension in his broad shoulders.

"He intends for you to follow," Typhon observes. "This is a human mating ritual, yes? The male leads, the female pursues. Very primitive."

"It's not a mating ritual, Typhon."

"The elevated cortisol and pheromones your body is producing suggest otherwise."

"Can you please not monitor my bodily functions? It's creepy."

"I am tethered to you, angry human. I sense what you sense, whether I wish to or not. And right now, you are very... sensory."

I ignore him, focusing instead on not losing sight of Raith as he weaves through the less traveled paths of the campus. Pyrin has disappeared again, as elementals often do when not needed, but I can still feel Typhon's presence hovering close by.

He leads me to a small, sheltered alcove beneath one of the stone archways connecting the buildings. It's secluded but not completely private—anyone could pass by, though few do in the dinner rush. When he finally turns to face me, his expression is unreadable as always.

"You're avoiding me," I say, immediately regretting how accusatory it sounds.

One corner of his mouth quirks up. "I'm literally standing in front of you."

"You know what I mean. Since..." I trail off, unsure how to finish. Since he kissed me like the world was ending? Since he made me feel things I'd never felt before?

He takes a step closer, and I have to force myself not to back away—not out of fear, but because the magnetic pull between us is almost overwhelming. Up close, I can see the fine details of his scars, the way they twist across his skin like rivers of frozen fire. The flecks of orange floating in golden eyes.

"I shouldn't have done that," he says, voice rough. "Put my hands on you. It was... reckless."

"I wanted you to," I counter, refusing to let him dismiss what happened between us. "I still do."

His jaw tightens, eyes darkening as they drop to my lips. "You don't know what you're saying."

"Pretty sure I do." I step closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. It's always there, that unnatural warmth—like standing near a banked fire. "Did you not want to?"

His laugh is harsh, disbelieving. "Is that what you think? That I didn't want to?"

"How would I know? You kissed me again. And you started avoiding me. Again."

"I've been busy."

"Busy avoiding me."

"Busy trying not to think about you," he growls, and the raw honesty in his voice makes my heart stutter. "Busy trying not to imagine what would have happened if we hadn't stopped that night."

The words hang between us, charged with possibilities. I can't help the way my breath catches, the way my body responds to the images his words conjure—his hands on my skin, his mouth trailing down my neck, my body pressed against his with nothing between us.

"Nessa—" He breaks off, takes a breath. "There are things happening. Dangerous things. I need to stay focused, and you..." He shakes his head. "You're a fucking distraction I can't afford right now."

"A distraction?" I step closer, close enough that I can feel his heat beckoning me like a siren's call. "Is that all I am to you?"

He growls—actually growls—and suddenly his hand is at the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. He doesn't pull me closer, doesn't push me away, just holds me there in that exquisite tension.

"You know damn well that's not all you are," he says, his voice a dangerous rumble that I feel more than hear.

His eyes lock with mine, and I see conflict raging there—desire and restraint, need and fear, all battling for dominance. His thumb brushes the sensitive skin behind my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

"Then what am I to you, Raith?" I challenge, my voice barely above a whisper.

"A risk," he answers, his grip tightening slightly. "A beautiful, tempting risk that I shouldn't be taking. For your sake and mine. I've told you I'm dangerous for you. More than you can understand."

"I'm not afraid."

"You should be." His gaze drops to my mouth again, hungry and hot. "You have no idea what I'm capable of—what you'd be walking into if you got tied up with me."

"Then show me," I breathe, leaning in, closing the distance between us until our lips are almost touching. "Because I don't think vague threats are going to be enough to stop me from wanting this. From wanting you."

For one breathless moment, I think he's going to kiss me again. I can feel his resistance crumbling, sense the moment he's about to give in.

Before he can respond, his eyes shift to something over my shoulder, his entire body tensing. His hand drops from my neck as he puts himself between me and whatever he's seen.

"What is it?" I whisper, my hand automatically falling to the practice rapier at my hip.

"I don't know," he mutters. "Something... wrong."

I follow his gaze but see nothing—just shadows gathering as twilight deepens across the courtyard. Yet I feel it too, a creeping coldness that has nothing to do with the winter air. A presence that raises the hair on my arms and sends a shiver down my spine.

"Typhon?"

"I sense it, angry human. Something that does not belong. Something... hungry."

"Is it what I think it is?"

"Perhaps. There is a void where there should be presence. A darkness that consumes light. I have felt such things before, long ago."

Raith's hand goes to his sword, the metal whispering against the scabbard as he draws it partially. "Stay behind me."

"I can fight," I remind him.

"I know." His voice softens slightly, even as his body remains tense and ready.

We stand frozen, watching the shadows, the moment of passion between us now replaced with shared vigilance. The presence feels like it's circling us, assessing, calculating.

"If it attacks, I will reveal myself," Typhon warns. "The consequences be damned."

"You can't. People will know."

"I will not let you die to protect a secret, angry human. That is not the oath I swore."

After a long, tense moment, the strange sensation fades, leaving only an echo of dread in its wake.

"What was that?" I ask, my voice barely audible.

Raith's jaw works as he slowly sheathes his sword. "Don't know."

He studies me for a moment longer, then nods once. "I'm walking you back to your tower."

I should protest. Should remind him I can take care of myself. But the memory of that cold, watching presence is still too fresh, and the warmth of him beside me too comforting to refuse.

"Alright," I agree.

As we walk, our shoulders occasionally brush, sending jolts of electricity through my skin. Neither of us speaks for a while, but the silence isn't uncomfortable. It's charged, full of all the things we're not saying.

"He does not mate with you, yet he acts as though you belong to him. As if you are his charge to protect," Typhon observes. "Humans are strange creatures."

"It's complicated."

"It seems very simple to me. You desire him. He desires you. I fail to see what complicates this natural process."

"Everything else in the whole damn world complicates it, Typhon. He's keeping secrets. I'm keeping secrets. We're surrounded by people who want to kill us. There's possibly a siphon hunting on campus. And that's not even counting the Crucible."

"Ah, yes. The human tendency to overthink simple matters. In the elemental realm, desire is acted upon or it is not. There is no... what is the word? Angst."

"Well, I'm sorry we're not as evolved as you are."

"Apology accepted. Though I must note that even with all these complications, your body still responds to his proximity.”

I can't argue with that, so I don't try.

"So," Raith says suddenly, breaking the silence. "You can heal now."

I stumble slightly, caught off guard. "How did you?—"

"Pyrin told me."

I stare. "I only just figured it out. How the hell would he know?"

"Typhon told him."

There's a trickle of embarrassment and guilt through the tether.

"Perhaps I mentioned it in passing. I am proud of your power and wished to share with someone who would understand its importance. Nothing more."

I can't make myself feel mad, though. I only smile and shake my head. "An ancient and a fucking gossip," I mutter under my breath.

"Such disrespect," Typhon scoffs.

"The healing is a good thing, Nessa. It's incredible." There's a kind of sadness in his eyes I can't figure out as he speaks.

"He thinks of someone who could have used your ability. Someone he lost."

"How do you know that?"

Raith stops walking, turning to face me. "You know how many people die here from injuries that could have been healed with the right skills? How many lives could be saved in battle with a single person who can do what you did?"

"I'm still figuring it out," I admit. "I don't even know if I can heal others, or just myself."

His eyes hold mine, intense and searching. "Just be careful who knows about it. There are people here who would kill for that kind of power."

"Bad news for them. Killing me isn't going to grant them the power."

"No, but it might convince them to go to desperate lengths to coerce you."

"People like Malakai?"

"Among others."

At the entrance to the water tower, Raith stops. His fingers graze mine—brief, barely there, but deliberate, sending a trickle of fire into my body.

"I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Nessa. Or your friends. Not even during the Crucible," he tells me. "The fires are with me on this. You know we're not what the others think of us. We're good people. Honorable, loyal. They know what Malakai and Serena are doing and they think it's fucked up. Veeni and Jirai excluded, of course. The rest of us will be there and we’ll be ready to watch your backs.”

Gratitude and appreciation swells within me. "Thank you. And... thank them for me, too."

"And I also meant what I said about you being a distraction." His eyes soften, just for a moment. "A fucking beautiful distraction, Nessa."

My heart swells at the words, at the tenderness in his voice that so few ever get to hear.

"You don't have to protect me, you know," I tell him. "I'm stronger than I look."

"Trust me, I know exactly how strong you are." His hand reaches up, thumb brushing across my cheek in a touch so gentle it makes my breath catch. "That doesn't mean I don't want to keep you safe anyway."

For a moment, we're suspended in perfect stillness, the world narrowing to just the two of us. His eyes drop to my lips again, and I feel myself leaning in, drawn by that invisible current that always seems to pull us together.

"This place changes people," Raith says. "Hardens them. Strips away the things that make us human and only leaves hard, sharp edges. But not you. You're still in there. Still alive. Still you. And that... that's fucking worth protecting."

I feel myself leaning closer to him, eyes falling to his lips as my heart feels like it’s flipping over itself.

"Raith..."

He steps back suddenly, the moment broken. "I should go."

Before I can respond, he turns and walks away, back straight, posture alert. Even now, he's scanning for threats, always the protector.

I watch until he disappears into the growing darkness, trying to ignore the ache in my chest that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with wanting something I'm not sure I can have.

"You could have had it just now," Typhon observes. "If you had claimed his lips with yours, he would not have resisted. Pyrin agrees that you two are making an elaborate dance out of what could be done in a few simple thrusts."

"First of all, I'd appreciate it if you and Pyrin stopped gossiping behind our backs."

"We are elementals. We do not gossip. We simply share observations."

"You're just a big, ancient, powerful gossip and I won't be convinced otherwise. And it's not as simple as you make it out to be. Raith is hiding something big and he's warning me not to get involved. He thinks I'll be in even more danger if I do, and more danger is probably the last thing I need right now."

"Blah, blah, as you humans say. It is only you humans who insist on making it complicated."

Maybe he's right. Maybe I'm overthinking everything. But as I climb the tower stairs toward my room, I can't shake the feeling of cold, hungry eyes watching from the shadows. Waiting. Patient. Inevitable.