Page 32

Darkness. Then flashes of light. Voices float around me like wisps of smoke, never quite solid enough to grasp.

I hear Raith's voice, rough with concern, then... Bastian? I think I hear them arguing.

I'm vaguely aware of being carried in strong arms—Raith's arms—his heartbeat steady against my cheek as my head lolls against his chest. His scent envelops me, familiar and comforting even in my disoriented state. I hear his sharp voice silencing a few students who ask about me as he carries me somewhere.

"What happened to her?"

"Is that Thorne?"

"Why is Hollow carrying her?"

“Did Raith kill her? I thought they were fucking?”

My thoughts come like fuzzy impressions through a thick fog. I'm unable to tell if minutes or hours are passing. Time stretches and compresses in strange ways. I can sense that the void magic left something inside me, something cold and heavy that pulls me down into darkness whenever I try to surface. It's like being trapped in the depths of a frozen lake, looking up at a world I can't quite reach.

"Stay with me, angry human." Typhon's voice is distant, as if he's calling to me from across a vast ocean. "Your body is purging the void corruption, but it will take time. The siphon's touch has lingering effects, even secondhand as you received it."

I try to respond, but can't form the words. My tongue feels swollen, my throat raw. Instead, I sink deeper into the darkness that keeps pulling at me, dragging me under.

"No. Fight it." Typhon's voice grows more urgent. "The void magic seeks to sever our tether. It would leave you vulnerable, and I refuse to lose another human. Not after all the trouble you've been."

I want to tell him I'm trying, but the cold is seeping into my bones, making it impossible to resist the pull of unconsciousness. Just before I slip away completely, I feel a surge of warmth from somewhere outside myself—a flicker of fire magic, hot and bright, pushing back against the encroaching void.

Raith. It has to be him.

The last thing I remember is Typhon's voice, closer now: "Interesting. The fire touched is lending you strength through the tether, thin as it may be."

Then nothing.

I don't know how long it has been before I finally wake with my thoughts more clear, but my body is still diminished.

There's soft linen beneath my fingertips. Warmth enveloping me. I'm in a bed, but not my own.

I force my eyes open, blinking against even the dim light of a single candle burning beside the bed. Everything hurts, my muscles aching as if I've been training for days without rest. My mouth is dry, my lips cracked and bleeding. Even the simple act of breathing sends dull waves of pain through my chest.

"Water," I croak, the word barely audible even to my own ears.

A figure moves at the edge of my vision, and then Raith is there, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the candle as he holds a cup to my lips. I drink greedily, letting the cool liquid soothe my parched throat. It tastes impossibly sweet.

When I've had enough, he takes the cup away, his movements careful and precise. Now that my vision is clearing, I can see the dark circles under his eyes, the tension in his jaw. He hasn't been sleeping.

"How long?" I manage when I finish, my voice still raspy.

"Two days," Raith answers, his voice rough with exhaustion. "You've been drifting in and out."

Two days. I try to sit up, but my arms tremble beneath me, refusing to support my weight. Raith's hand at my back steadies me, warm and solid.

Two fucking days? We're not allowed to simply miss classes here. Missing a single day is enough to earn punishment that ranges from extra physical training to remedial lessons, and, of course, marks against our evaluation score. I can tell I'm not in the healer's room, either, so what the hells are they telling our instructors? The panic must show on my face, because Raith's expression softens slightly.

"Voss is handling it," he says, answering my unspoken question. "He told the instructors you were injured in a training accident and are recovering under his supervision. No one's going to question him. They aren’t counting the missed classes against you."

I remember dimly that Voss was there when the siphon attacked, though now the memory feels distant, dreamlike.

"Crucible?" I ask, struggling to piece together how much time has passed. I can't even remember if it was more than two days away. "Have I missed it?"

"Still coming," Raith says. "Just a few more days. But you need to rest now," he says, gently pressing me back down when I try to sit up straighter.

Something about Raith tugs at my awareness until it finally clicks. I remember now. I see his face—his thick tangled scars are little more than a shadow of what they were. He's watching me with an intensity that makes my heart quicken despite my weakness. The ruined left side, the patchwork of scar tissue that had marked him as a survivor of something terrible, I could almost imagine someone missing it now at a glance.

"Your scars," I whisper, reaching up to touch his cheek before I can stop myself. The skin is smooth beneath my fingertips. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to?—"

He catches my hand, holding it against his face for a moment before lowering it back to the bed. His touch lingers longer than necessary, a gentle pressure that sends a flutter through my chest. It also sends wisps of his fire essence into my body, warming me from the inside out.

"You saved my life," he says. "You have nothing to apologize for. And they were just scars."

"But they were part of you." I can't keep the guilt from my voice. I had no right to change him like that, to alter something so fundamental to his identity.

Emotion touches his expression—grief, maybe, or resignation. "They were a reminder of what I lost. Maybe... maybe it's time I stopped living in that moment."

"He does not speak all that he feels," Typhon observes, his voice clear in my head for the first time since I've woken. "The fire human harbors deeper thoughts on this matter."

"You've been quiet. Are you all right?" I ask silently.

"I have been conserving my strength to aid your recovery. The void energy that sought to consume the fire human infected you as well when you drew it out. It has been... taxing to help your body purge it."

I look around the room, realizing for the first time that we're in Raith's quarters. I've never been here before. It's sparse, utilitarian, with few personal touches beyond a small table with supplies for cleaning his blade, a few weathered books stacked neatly on a bedside table, and a faded tapestry hanging on one wall. The tapestry catches my eye—a scene of mountains and forests in shades of red and gold. It looks old, and somehow out of place in the otherwise austere room.

Most different of all is the brick making up the water. Instead of the cool blues of my quarters in the water tower, his are dark gray with glowing veins of orange and red at the seams. The whole place smells faintly of smoke, reminding me of camping trips I used to take with my brothers back in Saltcrest.

"Why am I here?" I ask. "Why not the healer's?"

Raith's jaw tightens. "After what happened with the siphon, I didn't trust anyone else to watch over you. And we couldn't exactly explain why you're in your current condition, could we?"

The memory of the siphon sends a shudder through me. The way it had taken Raith's form so perfectly, how it had known exactly where to find me. How it had spoken of using me as bait.

"Voss," I murmur. "He saved us, but then he just... left."

"He did," Raith agrees, his tone neutral but his eyes sharp. "I've heard the Empire Council is trying to remove him as Rector."

There's something he's not saying, questions he's holding back. I can sense it in the tension of his shoulders, the careful way he's watching me.

The door opens and Mireen slips into the room, carrying a tray with steaming bowls. Her eyes widen when she sees me awake, her face breaking into a radiant smile that makes my chest ache with affection. Her copper-red hair is braided and pulled back and her blue eyes threaten to water at the sight of me.

"Nessa!" She rushes to the bedside, nearly spilling the soup in her haste. "Thank the gods! We've been so worried."

“Hold—” Raith says, lifting his palm and stopping her. “Password?”

Mireen gives him an annoyed look, but answers. “Fish slap.”

Raith shifts sideways, letting her move to my beside.

“Can’t be too careful,” she says with a shrug. “How are you?”

I stare up at her, confusion furrowing my brow. "Raith… told you? And you said ‘we’. Did he tell Beck and Ambrose, too?"

"We didn't give him a choice,” Mireen confirms. “Beck and Ambrose are outside keeping watch," she explains, setting down the tray. "We've been taking shifts with Raith. Making sure no one suspicious gets too close." She brushes a strand of hair from my face with a gentleness that seems at odds with her usual boisterous nature. "Even Bastian comes by every so often, though Raith won't let him in."

My heart swells at the thought of my friends standing guard. "You didn't have to?—"

"Of course we did," Mireen interrupts, her typical smile replaced by unusual seriousness. "There's a siphon loose in Confluence, Nessa. One that specifically targeted you and Raith."

I take her words in stride before realization stabs at me. She knows about the siphon. That means Raith had to have told her…

I glance at Raith, who remains expressionless. "How much did you tell them?"

Raith hesitates. "I was... not myself when I saw the state you were in."

"He was so worried about you," Mireen cuts in, a gleam in her eye that I recognize all too well. "I do feel a little bad for taking advantage of his state. But we may have pressed him for information a little... forcefully."

I frown. "What the hells does that mean?"

Raith runs a hand through his disheveled hair. "If there was a chance of telling them saving you, it was one I wanted to take. So I told them what I knew about you. All of it. You can be pissed if you want, but at least you're alive."

My stomach clenches, a cold dread spreading through me. I look to Mireen, expecting betrayal or anger on her face, but all I see is sympathy and hurt.

"You should have told us, Nessa. We could've been supporting you. Unbound? Siphons hunting you? Private lessons with Voss?" She shakes her head. "Gods, girl. I don't know how you kept it all to yourself."

I sink deeper into the bed, guilt washing over me. "I worried all of it would drag you guys into my mess. I didn't want any of you hurt because of me."

Mireen finally lowers her eyes and chews a corner of her lip, as if choosing her words carefully. "It did sting to know how much you hid from us. But only because we're your friends, Nessa. You should have known we'd want to take on that burden if it meant being able to help you more." She takes my hand, squeezing it gently. "So don't ever feel like you need to hide things to keep us safe again, okay? We're stronger together."

Her voice is adorably stern, even though she's stroking my hand reassuringly and leaning over me like a worried mother. Cool, refreshing waves of her water essence flow through the touch. She looks at our hands, eyebrows twitching up. “So that’s what the feeling always is when we touch. You know, I used to get offended that you never would let me hug you and flinched away when I tried to touch you. Now I get it.”

"I'm sorry." The words feel inadequate compared to the weight of what I've kept from them.

"Good. You should be. So... you can even heal scars, it seems?" Mireen wiggle her eyebrows and jerks her head toward Raith, the tension breaking as she returns to her usual teasing self. "I'm pretty sure he was already the hottest guy on campus. Now it's not even fair."

Raith looks away, clearly uncomfortable.

"Oh, I didn't want to offend you," Mireen says quickly, half-reaching for him and then seeming to think better of it. "It's just... you definitely pulled off the scars. Obviously. But they’re more subtle, now. You get the badass and rugged vibe without so much of your face being hidden. It’s… nice.”

Beck slips into the room as Mireen is talking, his large frame filling the doorway before he moves to stand beside her. "Mireen's right, Nessa. Put his scars back. Give the rest of us a chance."

He's trying for humor, but I can see the genuine relief in his eyes when he looks at me. He's been worried. They all have.

Raith ignores Beck's comment. "Bastian has been by three times. He is asking a lot of questions. Questions about the siphons."

"Raith sends him away with a few harsh words every time." Beck grins, dropping into a chair beside the bed. "It's quite impressive, actually. Very dramatic. At one point I thought they were going to fight. Both had their elementals out and everything."

"And Bastian listened?" I ask, mildly surprised. Legacy students rarely take orders from anyone but instructors and other legacies. And Bastian isn’t just any legacy, I’ve learned. He’s heavily favored among them, partly because of his father’s status.

Mireen shrugs. "Reluctantly. I got the impression he was leaving more for your benefit than Raith's. He might be the only first-year who isn't terrified of you, Raith."

Raith's eyes narrow slightly. "He should be."

The suspicion in his voice is clear. I share it, but I'm not ready to voice my concerns about Bastian. Not yet. I may not completely trust him or understand his end goals, but I at least feel confident he’s not out to kill me. Here at Confluence, that’s saying a lot about a person.

"I need to sit up," I say, struggling against the heaviness in my limbs. The short conversation has already drained more of my strength than I expected, but I'm itching to be back on my feet again. Moving. Proving to everyone they can stop worrying about me.

This time, Raith helps me, his hand warm against my back as he arranges pillows behind me. The brief contact sends a strange pulse through me—not just the usual heat I feel when we touch, but something deeper, like an echo of his own strength flowing into me.

And with it comes a fleeting impression—a fragment of thought that isn't mine.

Cannot lose her…

The thought vanishes as quickly as it appeared, leaving me wondering if I imagined it.

The tether. I'd almost forgotten about what I'd done to save him.

"It holds," Typhon confirms, materializing at the foot of the bed in a smaller form than I've ever seen him take. He's barely the size of a house cat, his scales dulled to a muted blue. "Though it remains fragile. One-way tethers are not meant to endure long."

"You look terrible," I say silently, concern washing through me at his diminished state.

"Your flattery knows no bounds," he replies dryly. "I have expended significant energy helping your body purge the void contamination. It would have consumed you otherwise, much as it nearly did the fire human."

“You’ll get back your normal size?”

“Yes. In just a few days. I’m merely lending my essence to you. It’s different than the way it disperses when we’re wounded or even killed. It won’t take me very long to call it back into my core once you’ve stopped sucking it from me like a babe at her mother’s tit.”

"Will it fade?" I ask, meaning the tether. "The connection to Raith?"

"Eventually. Unless strengthened by mutual oath. I'll confess this is one area I have limited knowledge. I've never tethered to an unbound before, nor do I know any elementals who have and still retain their sanity."

I look at Raith, wondering if he can sense the connection between us. If he can feel me the way I'm beginning to feel him—a quiet presence at the edge of my awareness. Can he hear my thoughts? Feel my emotions? The idea is both thrilling and terrifying.

"You should eat," Mireen says, holding out a bowl of broth. "You need your strength back."

I accept the bowl gratefully, realizing how hungry I am. The broth is simple but hearty, warming me from the inside as I sip it slowly. The first spoonful sends a shock of pleasure through my system, my body craving the nourishment after days of nothing.

"The Crucible is in a few days," I say between spoonfuls, doing the mental calculation. "I can't afford to be laid up like this."

"The Crucible should be the least of your concerns right now," Raith says sharply. "You nearly died, Nessa."

"So did you," I counter, meeting his gaze directly. "But we survived, and now we need to be ready for whatever comes next. The siphon admitted it was only using me as bait. It was targeting you specifically, Raith. We need to figure out why."

Mireen looks between us, her gaze calculating. "I'll let the others know you're awake," she says finally, standing. "They'll want to see you. Even Brunhild. And Ambrose has been theorizing non-stop about unbound abilities since he found out. It's driving Beck insane."

"Truly," Beck agrees, pushing himself up from the chair. "He's like a dog with a bone. You'd think he'd discovered a new element the way he's going on about it."

After they leave, a heavy silence falls between Raith and me. There are too many things unsaid, too many questions neither of us seems ready to ask.

The room feels smaller somehow, more intimate with just the two of us alone again. I'm acutely aware of his presence, of the way the candlelight plays across his features, softening the usually harsh lines of his face. With his scars faded, he looks the same, but different. Though I wouldn’t have imagined it possible, he’s even more handsome than before, as Mireen so bluntly pointed out.

In a way, it feels like I'm seeing behind the shields he so carefully maintains. It's like I'm seeing who he was before whatever happened that made him so… hard.

"Thank you," he says finally. "For what you did. For saving my life."

I meet his gaze. "You would have done the same for me."

"Yes," he agrees without hesitation. "I would have."

Something shifts in the air between us, charged with possibility. The tether between us pulses, warm and alive, and for a moment I think he's going to move closer, maybe even…

But before either of us can speak again, exhaustion crashes over me like a wave, and I feel myself sinking back toward darkness. I try to fight it, not wanting to break this moment between us, but my body refuses to cooperate.

"Rest," Raith says, taking the half-empty bowl from my hands. His voice and his touch are heartbreakingly gentle. I can feel a pulse of something, too, like the ghost of an echo through our thin tether.

If it's a hint of how he feels about me, then… gods. If that's how Raith feels, he's a fucking master at keeping it hidden.

"I'll be here when you wake," he says.

It's only moments before I slip back into sleep.

* * *