Page 26 of Embers of Midnight
Something in Ronan goes savage and quiet at once. I see it in the set of his shoulders, the flare of his nostrils. The coat on my back tightens around me, even though it hasn’t moved.
“And then?” Caelum, voice a thread.
“I got hot. Like… too-hot-to-exist hot. I heard—” I hesitate, the words strange even inside my skull.The flame shall wake when blood is spilled.It slides through me again, soft as a promise, sharp as a blade. “Doesn’t matter. I changed. Didn’t know how to undo it. I ran.”
“You killed them.” Darian doesn’t make it a question. Not accusation, either.
“Yes.” The word sticks, then doesn’t. “One burned. One didn’t. He… didn’t walk away.” My fingers curl into the coat like it can hold me to this chair. “I don’t feel bad that they’re dead. I feel bad that I don’t feel bad.”
“You defended yourself,” Ronan states, each syllable like a brick laid into a wall around me. “That is not a sin.”
“Legal talk aside,” Ash goes lighter, anger not quite hidden, “those two were human. The kind that make other humans look bad.”
He tilts his head. “Were they Hunters?”
The word means nothing to me. I blink. “I don’t know what that is.”
“Organized. Human. Well-funded.” Darian’s gaze steadies. “No magic—tech, traps, nets. They see people like us as targets, not neighbors. It’s safer to travel together.”
Great. New vocabulary on zero sleep. Love that for me.
“Together,” I echo, and something inside me twists.Apparently I’m allergic to abandonment now. Cute.“I don’t have anyone.”
“Borrow us,” Ash offers. “Temporarily. We come with breakfast.”
“An instruction manual,” Caelum adds.
“A whole library,” Darian deadpans.
“A hoard,” Ash throws in, nodding toward Ronan.
Ronan doesn’t deny it. He just looks at me. “There’s a place we can take you. The Aether Academy. Learn control. You’ll be safe there. Rules—good ones. We won’t make choices for you.”
The word Academy should make me itch. It doesn’t. It makes my shoulders want to drop another inch. Safety should make me suspicious. It does, but less than it used to. I stare at the fire long enough for my eyes to sting and think about options like they’re cards I can’t shuffle.
“So the syllabus is ‘don’t die, don’t kill the forest’?” I manage. “Neat.”
Caelum’s smile shows, brief and warm. “There’s more, but that’s the gist.”
“What if I say no?”
“Then we make sure you have supplies,” Darian replies, straightforward. “We ward this area so others don’t stumble into the clearing you… cleansed. We won’t follow unless you ask.”
Ash opens his mouth, then closes it like someone kicked him under the log. His eyes are loud anyway.
“What if I say yes?” My voice comes careful. Smaller than I meant.
“Then we go when you’re ready,” Ronan answers. “Not before.”
“When I’m ready,” I echo.
My stomach is warm. My hands aren’t shaking. The coat is heavy. The space between my ribs and the wind and the fire feels like it belongs to me again. I hate that it’s because of them. I hate that I don’t hate it more.
I look up. Four faces. Four different ways of being terrifying and kind. The pull in my chest tightens when I imagine standing up and walking away. It’s not romantic. It’s not logical. It’s like there’s a cord strung through me and tied off to something I can’t see yet. I don’t like it. I also don’t… not like it.
“I’ll come.” A beat. “With conditions.”
Ash lights up like a city at night. Darian’s single nod is approval without gloat. Caelum’s shoulders ease. Ronan goes very still, which I’m starting to learn is his version of yes.
