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)
I nod, quickly changing while Raith politely turns away. Part of me almost wants to feel his eyes on me as I slip out of my underwear and gather the fresh pair he supplied. But when I peek over my shoulder, he's standing like a statue with his back to me.
"He has more restraint than you. He's able to keep his eyes from your bared flesh."
"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.