She tried not to look at him.
Failed.
He had fought like no one else she'd known—more instinct than training. Like he'd been born for chaos, for impossible odds. And he’d trusted her.
Worse, she’d trusted him back.
It was dangerous. Letting someone close. Letting someone in. She knew where that road led.
Seraphine thought back to when she was 10 years old in the Drakar Citadel. She knelt in the molten circle with her palms pressed to dragonsteel. The metal burned, but she didn’t flinch.
Zareth stood above her, eyes glowing like coins fresh from the forge.
“What do we sacrifice for power?” he asked.
Seraphine swallowed hard. “Comfort.”
“And?”
“Love.”
“And?”
“…Ourselves.”
“Good.” He nodded, pleased. “Now, burn the blood from your skin. Prove you’re not ruled by pain.”
She gritted her teeth and summoned the whitefire.
It hurt.
Every time, it hurt. But she did it. Because daughters of Drakar didn’t cry. Theyconquered.
Later, she’d sat alone in her chamber, hands blistered, shaking.
Her mother had died the year before. No one came to soothe her.
That was the day she stopped looking for softness in the halls of fire.
A twig snapped.
She blinked, dragging herself back into the present.
Cassian stood behind her now, cloak around his shoulders, eyes shadowed by flickering firelight.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded.
“That wasn’t a lie I saw on your face today.”
She didn’t answer. So he sat beside her.
“You looked at that thing like you knew it.”
“I did,” she whispered. “Or... I knew what itwas.”
Cassian’s voice was quiet. “Is it the mission that’s got your head spinning, or something else?”
