Page 168 of Unbound

"Yeah, well, I kind of wish he didn't. It's embarrassing how much he... gets to me."

"You could demand he lay his eyes upon your flesh. I have seen this tactic before and it was quite effective."

Ignoring Typhon, I pull on my underwear and uniform.

When I'm dressed, I move to where my weapons are stored, securing my practice rapier at my hip and checking that Raith's gift—the real dagger—is still safely hidden in my boot.

"I'm ready," I announce. Whatever Voss wants, whatever he knows, I feel prepared to face it with Raith at my side.

Raith studies me for a moment, then he steps forward, his hand cupping my face with unexpected gentleness. "The second he says or does anything that makes you uncomfortable, we're leaving. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," I say, rolling my eyes but not pulling away from his touch.

His thumb brushes my cheekbone. "I'm serious, Nessa." He casually adjusts my uniform, fixing the pleats over the collar and giving the hem a tug. The way he fusses with my clothing to get it right feels far more intimate than it should, and I absolutely like it way more than I want to admit.

"I know," I say, my voice softening. "But I can handle myself."

"Yes, you can. You've proved it several times over and saved my ass twice now." His eyes hold mine. "But that doesn't mean you have to handle everything alone. And I happen to prefer you alive. So if I think you're in danger, I'm going to be there. You'll need to learn to deal with that."

My smile is small and I can barely meet his eyes as confusing, pleasant emotions twist inside me. "Okay," I say quietly.

I can feel something has shifted between us these past few days, a deepening of whatever this connection is growing into. It's more than attraction, more than the tether that links us. It's trust, hard-won and fragile, but real.

"We should go," I say, reluctant to break the moment but aware of time slipping away. As much as I want to keep hiding away in his room, I know the Crucible is still rushing toward us. I need to be ready, which means going back to regular life at the academy. And that… that starts with this meeting.

Raith nods, his hand falling away. He checks his own clothing in the mirror and scoops up his practice sword before moving to the door.

The walk to Voss's tower is tense, our conversation minimal. Without the distraction of each other's touch, the reality of what awaits us settles heavily on our shoulders. Students part before us in the corridors, their whispers following in our wake. I catch fragments—speculation about my absence, shock at Raith's partially healed face, theories about our obvious proximity to one another.

"What a spectacle they're making,"Typhon observes, swimming through the air in his flying fish form, invisible to all eyes but mine."They fear him, but they crave him too. And they wonder about you—the water with a weak elemental who somehow survived when others failed."

"They have no idea,"I think back, watching as two first-year aspirants scurry out of our path.

"No,"Typhon agrees."And let us hope they never do."

Voss's tower feels more oppressive than ever as we ascend the winding staircase, past the portraits of former Rectors that seem to watch with knowing eyes. The narrow corridor at the top is empty, the ornate double doors to his office closed. Rather than knock, Raith simply pushes them open, his hand a steady pressure at the small of my back as he guides me inside.

The office is just as I remember—the massive desk, the shelves of books and artifacts, the wall of windows overlooking the grounds. Voss stands with his back to us, silver-streaked hair catching the morning light as he gazes out at Confluence spread below. He wears a tailored black robe, elegant but simple, power in its understatement.

"I see you brought company, Miss Thorne," he says without turning, his voice mild. "I admit, I was expecting you to come alone."

"I expect many things too," Raith says, his tone just as mild but with an edge beneath it. "Like the assurance that a siphon won't attack students under your protection. We all have our disappointments."

I realize something as Raith speaks. Some of the cockiness and cold confidence I've always sensed in him all makes more sense now that I know who he was. Who he is.

A prince who never was. Heir to a throne he never claimed. Lone survivor of a royal family. I want to ask him where he’s from. It must be one of the outlying islands, or I feel sure I would’ve heard of him before now. But his past is something I have to approach carefully and cautiously. It’s full of pain, and I don’t want to cause him any more hurt than he has already suffered.

Voss turns then, his pale eyes taking in Raith without surprise. "Mr. Hollow. You should be dead."

"I get that a lot."

"Yes, I imagine you do. Your survival speaks to the potency of Miss Thorne's healing abilities. Quite remarkable." Voss's gaze shifts to me, assessing. On the surface, he looks as calm and collected as ever. And yet... I sense something else behind his eyes. Something like desperation. Or maybe impatience? "How are you recovering, Nessa?"

"Well enough," I say, matching his careful neutrality. "Though I was hoping you wanted to talk to us about the siphon. Maybe to assure us we don't need to worry about it happening again."

"Perhaps you'd both care to sit? This may be a lengthy conversation."

He gestures to two chairs before his desk, waiting until we're seated before taking his own position opposite us. The deliberate courtesy doesn't escape me, nor does the fact that he's positioned himself with the light behind him, making his expressions harder to read.

---