Page 27 of Court of Twisted Angels

"Perhaps..." He pauses, his thumb still tracing patterns on my palm that leave trails of silvery light. "Perhaps the xaphan are not as infallible as you think. We all have wants, families, just like you."

The admission hangs in the air between us, weighted with implications I dare not fully consider. My scar tingles, a reminder of past violence, but I don't let that pull me away.

For just this moment, I let myself believe. Let myself see him not as one of them, but as something else entirely. Someone who might understand why I fight so hard, why I keep pushing forward despite the odds stacked against me.

But then I remember that he isn't like me. He doesn't have the odds stacked against him. He is free to dream and not be mocked for it.

Shifting, I pull my hand away from his, and he lets it go. His face stays perfectly neutral, and I'm still not sure how to read Azrael.

What am I doing? Mother lies in her bed across town, each breath a battle, while I sit here letting myself be enchanted by one of them. By the very beings who deny her the medicine that could save her.

My throat burns as memories flood back - not the magic-induced visions from the trial, but real ones. Mother's hands, once strong enough to work the gardens, now skeletal and trembling as she tries to lift a cup of tea. Her voice, growing weaker with each passing day. The hollow look in my siblings' eyes as they watch her fade.

"Azrael... I-" The words scratch my throat. I push myself off the bed, ignoring how my muscles scream in protest.

Azrael remains perfectly still, his wings casting long shadows in the moonlight. Their pristine white feathers mock me with their perfection, with everything they represent. Everything that's kept beyond our reach.

The words die in my throat as another wave of guilt crashes over me. Not just for Mother, but for the warmth spreading through my chest whenever he's near. For the way I'm starting to warm to him. For wanting something I have no right to want no matter how I want to deny it.

I turn to look out the window. My fingernails dig into the weathered wood of the windowsill. Behind me, I feel his presence like a physical weight, making it hard to breathe for entirely different reasons than the brutal training.

"I need to rest." The words come out hoarse, barely audible. "The trials were more taxing than I realized."

For a moment, the air is still. He doesn't move, doesn't speak, and I wonder if he'll refuse to leave. if I want him to. Maybe I need him to push me to face what we both really want because I'm too much of a coward to do so on my own.

But he doesn't.

"Of course." His voice carries no judgment, yet something in its softness cuts deeper than any harsh word could. The rustle of his wings fills the silence as he moves toward the door.

His steps land softly against the stone floor. Each sound marks another increment of distance growing between us, not just in feet and inches, but in all the ways that matter. In all the ways I can't allow myself to bridge.

The door hinges protest as he pulls it open. Cool air rushes in, carrying the distant sounds of others who are up and going about their day. How lucky they are not to feel as turmoiled as I do right now.

I don't turn around, but I feel the moment he pauses in the doorway. His magic pulses once, like a goodbye, before he steps through. The door closes with a soft click that echoes in my chest like thunder.

Only then do I let myself move, sinking back onto my bed. I curl up, feeling a cold settle into my bones that has nothing to do with the temperature…

And everything to do with the absence of a xaphan that I can't seem to stop myself from wanting.

16

AZRAEL

Istand at the ancient observation deck carved from living crystal, my wings rigid against my back as Kyrie steps into the third trial's elemental chambers. The crystalline dome above casts fractals of light across the polished stone floor, each beam tinted with traces of magical residue from centuries of trials.

My fingers curl around the ornate railing. The metal, cold and unyielding, bears the same elaborate spirals and runes that adorn all xaphan architecture. Below, the elemental chambers stretch out like a labyrinth - each section pulsing with raw elemental power.

Fire writhes in contained infernos. Water crashes against invisible barriers. Earth rumbles with tectonic force. Air howls through void-touched tunnels.

Each one is ready to destroy the person that comes in contact with it, like the elements themselves are alive.

"You can do this, little bird," I mutter under my breath, watching her small form navigate the entrance chamber.

The conduit I gave her glints on her palm - a mere trinket compared to what she faces. But she's been practicing and I knew it would be most useful in this trial. She's even gotten usedto having it on at all times, using magic more regularly like it's second nature to her.

I see the way the Praexa, trainers, and overseers sneer and laugh at the humans. But they don't know what drives her. Don't understand the fierce determination I've witnessed during our training sessions. The way she manipulates magic with an instinct that defies her human limitations.

The chamber seals behind her with a resonant boom that echoes through the observation deck. My jaw clenches as the first elemental guardian materializes - a towering construct of living flame that moves with deadly grace. Around me, the other observers lean forward, eager for bloodsport. Their wings rustle with anticipation of another human failure.

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