Lavender woke to the steady weight of Brute’s body pressed along her side and the unfamiliar absence of panic. Brute’s eyes were open. Of course they were.

  “You’re staring still,” she whispered, voice rough with sleep and the residue of last night’s honesty. Brute didn’t pretend otherwise. “You drool when you sleep.”

  Lavender blinked. “I do not.”

  “You do,” he said satisfied. “Tiny, murderous amounts. Like a snake.” She pushed a hand into his fur and felt him lean into it, shameless. “You’re insufferable.”

  “And yet, you kept me.”

  Lavender’s chest tightened before she could stop it. She sat up, hair falling onto her face, and stared at the curved stone walls that still didn’t feel real. The room smelled as it always did, faintly of rain and ash. Like the castle had developed a preference and decided to keep it. The lamp near the far wall had burned down to a steady amber glow. It didn’t flicker; it just existed. Like warmth could be complicated if it wanted to be.

  She swung her legs off the bed, her feet hit stone. The floor was warmer than it should’ve been. It was as if it had sensed that Lavender would be stepping onto the floor and made itself amenable. “Good morning, Brute.”

  Brute’s tail thumped once, softly against the bed. “Good morning, Lav.” For a moment, that was all it was. A morning. A dog. A girl who should’ve been dead three times over. She dressed quickly and made sure that her knife sat where it always did in her loop holster. It was comforting in a way magic never managed. He watched her, unmoving.

  “You’re hovering,” she said without looking.

  “I’m existing. Near you, aggressively.”

  Lavender tugged her sleeve over a scar that refused to be subtle. “Try less.”

  “No.” She didn’t argue. She wasn’t sure she had the energy for another conversation that rearranged her world.

  They stepped out into the corridor and the castle, in its usual unsettling politeness, shortened the distance to wherever they needed to go. Lavender noticed it now. The way turns became easier; the air shifted ahead of her like it knew which direction she’d choose. Brute noticed her noticing.

  When they reached the dining chamber, Reibella was not there. The table was still set though, a simple spread waited: bread that smelled fresh-made, a bowl of dark berries, a pot of something warm. Zemmal was there, however, coiled near the far end of the chamber. His posture was rigid in that particular way old things got when they were trying not to look tired. His golden eyes tracked Lavender as she entered. His voice cut across her thoughts with familiar severity. You are late.

  Lavender groaned, “It’s breakfast.”

  It is training fuel. His tail shifted with the weight of his body. You are late.

  Brute hopped into a chair like it was a natural thing to be let on furniture. “She was emotionally compromised.”

  Zemmal’s gaze slid to Brute with the slow patience of someone who had survived centuries and was not impressed by comedy. She should learn to be emotionally silent. Lavender pulled out a chair and sat, keeping her movements measured. “That’s not how people work.”

  People are inefficient. Zemmal accused. Brute tore a piece of bread off with his teeth and chewed loudly. “You’re inefficient.”

  I am steadfast. There is a difference.

  “Where’s Reibella,” Lavender asked, keeping her voice casual like it didn’t matter whether Death was in the room or not.

  Brute swallowed. “Busy.” Zemmal did not elaborate, which meant he agreed. Lavender ate because not eating felt like a waste of time and because she’d learned the hard way that hunger made her magic less potent. The bread was dense. It sat in her stomach like a promise. They ate in silence and finished breakfast with less chaos than Lavender expected. Which meant the day was already suspicious.

  When they stood to leave, Lavender hesitated. Training courtyard, Little Flame, Zemmal said already moving. Brute nudged Lavender’s calf. “Come on, Lav. Let’s go suffer at the hands of a different tyrant.” Lavender followed, because there was nothing else to do but keep walking forward in a life that refused to go backward.

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  It was the same courtyard she had come to know before severing the siren from the world. Bare stone and open air, framed by columns that didn’t always exist in the same places twice. The light here was pale, filtered through something Lavender couldn’t identify; mist, magic, the mountain’s mood. The ground beneath her feet hummed faintly, like it remembered her presence.

  Zemmal positioned her with the kind of precision that made her want to argue out of spite. Feet. Do not lock your knees. Your body should be ready to move.

  Lavender adjusted, annoyed. “I’m ready.”

  You are braced. Ready is different.

  Brute circled her once, then sat at her left. “He’s right.” Lavender shot him a look. “Traitor.”

  “I’m loyal to your continued survival,” Brute replied “Which is a controversial stance around here.”

  Zemmal ignored them both and instructed Lavender to close her eyes. She did. The world did not go dark. Not entirely. She could still feel the air, the shape of the stone, the faint drift of the castle’s attention. It was like being watched by something enormous that didn’t blink.

  Breathe, Zemmal instructed. Not to calm yourself. To widen. Lavender inhaled. She tried to do what they’d drilled into her for weeks: stop reaching, stop clawing, stop trying to yank power out of the world like it owed her. Instead she allowed her awareness to spread like water, thin and far reaching. She felt the loud threads first, because they always shouted for attention. Heat in the stone, the faint moisture trapped in cracks. The living pulse of moss somewhere far below. The tiniest movements of dust in the air. Then, under it all, the deeper lattice. Connection. The tapestry.

  Lavender’s scars warmed, not painfully, but insistently as if her skin recognized the edges of something it wanted to become.

  Now, Zemmal said, and his voice shifted in her mind like a blade being drawn. Hold yourself in the formless power. Her mouth tightened. She didn’t move her hands yet. She didn’t shape anything. She just… tolerated. It was like standing under a waterfall of sensation without letting it knock her flat on her ass.

  For a moment, she almost had it.

  Then a thought flickered: Authority, Black, Phase Four. The cages. The people being rounded up because their blood held power. Rage surged. The lattice buckled. Her awareness snapped inward with the sharpness of a rubber band breaking. Lavender opened her eyes, breathing hard.

  Brute sighed like he’d seen it coming. “You keep doing that.”

  Lavender wiped sweat off her forehead. “Doing what?”

  “Losing your focus. Letting emotions creep in and distract you.”

  Zemmal’s gaze was unimpressed. Again.

  “You could at least pretend to be encouraging.”

  Encouragement is a human luxury, Zemmal replied. Survival is not.

  Brute made a gagging noise. “He says that like he didn’t invent melodrama.”

  Zemmal’s tail lashed once. Silence.

  She closed her eyes again. Breathed. Widened. This time, she didn’t think about Authority. She didn’t think about anything at all. Simply let the world exist. The lattice returned, steady and intricate. Beneath it, the formless thread shimmered like icicles in the morning light. Lavender raised her hands slowly, palms facing each other, and did not force. For a heartbeat, a thin line of pure magic formed between her palms. Coils of light and darkness slithering around one another between her fingers. Unlike the elemental magic, it was not eager. Rather it was quiet, like the moment before a decision is made.

  Lavender held it. Brute went very still. Zemmal’s attention intensified so that she could feel it like pressure on her skin. The thread trembled. She fought the urge to tighten her grip, to control. She breathed instead. The thread held for three full exhales. Then it dissolved, soft as ash. Lavender sagged, dizzy with the effort of doing almost nothing.

  “That’s… progress,” she rasped. Zemmal’s voice brushed her mind, begrudging and heavy. Yes.

  Brute exhaled like he’d been holding his breath, too. “Look at you,” he said, and there was real pride under the teasing. “All enlightened and terrifying.” Lavender wiped her hands on her pants like she could wipe off the cosmic energy. “It’s barely anything.”

  Its enough to build on. Again.

  Lavender groaned. “You’re relentless.”

  Zemmal’s eyes narrowed. You want to infiltrate Authority?

  Lavender froze. Brute’s posture shifted slightly, protective without being obvious. Zemmal’s gaze held Lavender with the steady patience of something that had outlived empires. If you intend to walk into their walls and leave alive, you will be relentless, too.

  She visibly swallowed the lump stuck in her throat. “I know.”

  No, Zemmal replied, his voice quieter now. You understand. That is different.

  Lavender’s scars pulsed faintly, like they didn’t appreciate being spoken about. Brute stood and moved close to her leg, pressing his shoulder there. The touch was casual, but Lavender felt the intent behind it: I’m here. I’m not leaving.

  She looked down at him. “You’re hovering again.”

  “I’m existing aggressively,” Brute reminded her. “Try to keep up.” Lavender’s mouth twitched. She could not help but allow herself to laugh.

  Again, Zemmal repeated. Lavender obeyed. She widened, and held, and failed. She tried again.

  Time passed in increments of breath and pain and tiny victories that didn’t feel like victories until her body started trembling and Brute snapped at her like a drill sergeant in a dog costume. “Enough,” Brute announced when Lavender’s knees buckled slightly. “You’re going to faceplant.”

  “I’m fine,” Lavender lied automatically. Brute’s eyes narrowed. “You’re undulating.”

  Lavender glared. “Don’t ever use that word again.”

  Zemmal watched her for a long moment, then nodded once. Break.

  Thank you for reading my story. I spent a long time working on it and am glad I get to share it with others. Not your speed though? Check out another cool author below to give a try!