For a minute, I stay on the floor.
I don’t want to move yet.
I’m sweating and sore and probably smell like stress and dirt, but my heart’s still thumping like I just won something. Except I didn’t. I didn’t lose either, though, that’s something. Baby steps.
I think about what Elira said. You don’t say no when the Ember Heir asks. I think about the way the captain looked at me—not like a threat, but like a puzzle. Something complicated and maybe necessary. And I think about Caziel. The man who told me I wouldn’t be alone and then spent today proving it in the most Caziel way imaginable: delegation and silence.
Maybe it should make me angry—The distance, the coldness—but it doesn’t. It leaves me more confused than anything. He didn’t have to askanyone to help me. He didn’t have to train me at all. He could’ve let the Rite chew me up and spit me out like everyone else expected it to. But he didn’t. And for reasons I don’t understand, that matters more than I want it to.
I let my head fall back against the stone wall behind me and stare up at the flickering sconces. The torchlight dances like it’s alive. Like it knows something I don’t and maybe it does. My mind shuffles through the contenders like playing cards. How trained. How calm. How quietly powerful. I don’t fit here. I’m clearly a mistake and not just because I’m human. No elite schooling. No ancient birthright. No court polish. Just trauma and tenacity and the reflexive instinct to laugh when things get bad. I don’t belong here, but here I am. That has to count for something.
I run a hand through my damp hair, dragging it out of my face. I need a bath. A nap. A bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and a therapist. What I actually get is probably more flaming runes and life-or-death tasks. I push to my feet slowly, stretching out the stiffness in my legs.Whatever’s coming next—I need to face it standing.
I might not have any actual answers about how I got here, or why me, but I’m not just passing through Crimson now. I’m part of it. At least for a while.
I return to my room expecting silence. Instead, I find Sarai waiting just inside the door, holding a delicate cup in one hand and a steaming clay kettle in the other. She doesn’t say anything at first. Just sets the kettle on the table and pours out a second cup. The air fills with the scent of crushed herbs, warmth, and something faintly metallic—like rain on hot stone.
“Hi,” I say, trying not to sound surprised.
She offers me a tired smile. “You look like someone who could use fire tea.”
“I was aiming for mysterious but composed,” I say. “Was the sweat too much?”
She gives a soft laugh and hands me the cup. The heat seeps through my fingers, grounding.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” I admit.
Her smile fades just a little. “I was…warned… that I should give you space. And you’ve been busy.”
“That’s a polite way of saying I’ve been getting my ass handed to me.”
“You’ve already lasted longer than most expected.” She doesn’t say for a human. She doesn’t have to.
We sit. The silence is comfortable, which surprising because I feel like it shouldn’t be. But she’s the only person here who talks like I do. The only one who asks how I slept or notices when my hands shake. Even if she cant, or won’t, answer half my questions.
“So,” I say, blowing across the tea, “do I get to know what I’m being led to slaughter for tomorrow, or is that one of those delightful Daemari surprises?”
Her expression shifts. Wary surprise.
“The flame sees what it sees,” she says.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I can give.”
I sip my drink. It burns a little, but not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind me I’m alive.
“I thought maybe you’d know something about it,” I say. “Caziel doesn’t talk much. And the other contenders were friendly enough, but not exactly full of answers.”
Sarai watches me for a moment. “You like him.”
I choke slightly on the tea. “What? No. I mean—I do, but not— That’s not— That’s not the point.”
“You trust him.”
“Does it count when I wasn’t given many options?”
“That’s rare.”
