Total pages in book: 214
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
"You could sit with us at the dining hall tonight. If you wanted," I offer, ignoring the slight widening of Ambrose's eyes.
Beck's eyebrow flicks upward. "You're sure?"
"Yeah." I lift my chin slightly. "If you're with Malakai, you can tell him we're not scared."
Ambrose raises a finger. "Uh, on my behalf, please tell Malakai I'm scared shitless and don't want to die. I just want to survive to Confluence Day, tether a badass elemental, and become a primal. We're not all as crazy as Nessa."
"Fuck Malakai," Mireen agrees, planting a hand on my shoulder and squeezing. "But… don't directly tell him I said that. Just… that's how I feel. Privately."
Beck's face splits into a grin. "I like it. And I'm not with that asshole. I was friends with Tucker and Volsa."
His expression darkens as he continues. "I'm pretty sure they shoved Tucker off the cliffs the second week here. He liked to go out there to clear his head, and he turned up dead at the bottom of the rocks."
Beck's voice drops lower. "And Malakai just plain murdered Volsa in the sparring ring last week. Accidentally edged his training weapon with razor-sharp water and practically cut her in two." By the time he's finished talking, the amusement is completely gone from his face, replaced by a haunted look I recognize too well. His thick jaw ticks in tune with his anger. "So, yeah. Fuck him."
The words hang between us, heavy with the shared knowledge that surviving in Confluence isn't just about mastering our affinities—it's trying not to join those whose names are now whispered about in past tense.
"We should head to the dining hall," Mireen says, her voice dropping as she notices something over my shoulder. "Before we miss the good food."
The sudden tension in her posture makes my skin prickle.
Beck, who seems oblivious, smiles wide. “I think we’re going to get along really well, Mireen. Getting to the dining room first is…” he trails off as he sees the look on my face.
Malakai has appeared at the end of the corridor, his perfect posture and immaculate uniform making him look like a recruitment poster for Confluence. His blue eyes—already darker than most water affinities—seem to absorb light rather than reflect it. Four of his followers flank him, spreading out to block the hallway.
"Nessa Thorne," he says, voice deep and ominous.
I keep my face carefully blank. "Is there something you needed, Malakai?"
"Hm. I don't know. Maybe you can tell me. From where I'm standing, it looks a hell of a lot like you're trying to collect strays." His gaze slides to Beck, who stiffens beside me. "People might start thinking you're trying to form your own little coalition."
My pulse accelerates, but I force my breathing to remain steady. "People can think whatever they want."
"Your channeling is... interesting, Thorne," Malakai says, smiling in a way that doesn't reach his dark eyes. "Wouldn't you agree, Serena?"
I hadn't even seen her until now. Serena emerges from behind one of Malakai's followers, her raven-black hair gleaming in the late afternoon light that is streaming through the high windows. Unlike Malakai's cold demeanor, Serena radiates heat and barely contained violence—a fire through and through. She even has the deep yellow-red eyes of a fire, now.
Serena steps closer, trailing a finger along the wall that leaves smoke in its wake. "Something is certainly wrong with her. I have no idea what he sees in you," she adds in a whisper only I can hear.
He? Who is she talking about?
"I'm still learning," I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. "We all have different methods."
"Different," Serena repeats, stopping just a few feet away. "Yes, you certainly are different, aren't you? Maybe we should find out exactly how different. We could open her up. Just a little bit. Find out if the answers are under her skin?"
She extends her hand. The smoke drifting up from her fingers intensifies and the air begins to shimmer with heat. Behind me, I hear Mireen's sharp intake of breath and Ambrose's panicked whisper: "Nessa, let's—"
"You should all step away from her. Now."
The voice slides through the tension like a sharpened blade. Bastian steps into the corridor from a classroom doorway, his movement so casual it might have been coincidental if not for the perfect timing. His legacy black, silver, and gold stand out amid our whites.
"In your positions, I would be wary of someone you don’t understand," he continues, walking toward us with unhurried confidence. "Not every student is foolish enough to show what they can do. Some are clever enough to keep tricks hidden. To invite underestimation.”
I stare at him in disbelief. What is he doing? He’s trying to convince them I’m secretly dangerous?
Malakai's eyes narrow. "This isn't your concern, legacy."
"Isn't it?" Bastian stops beside me, close enough that I can feel the slight current of air that seems to perpetually surround him. I can see it whipping the fabric of Malakai's uniform against his muscular body.