The two boys were at the Sorel estate that morning. While Ashey took her bath, they scoured her room for any signs of danger. Jenne pressed his nose to the floor, sniffing for rogue ascension. He swatted at the bedframe and checked beneath the bed. Hamis pressed his ear to the wall, knocking in several spots. No bugs. No hidden cameras. Nothing.

  “See anything?” asked Hamis.

  “Not yet.”

  “Keep your eyes open, alright?”

  “God…” Ashey stood in the middle of the room, wrapped in a towel, hair dripping onto the carpet. She hugged herself, glaring at the intruding boys. “When did you get in here?”

  “Your grandma let us in,” said Jenne.

  “Do you mind if we check your toilet?” asked Hamis.

  “No!” she snapped. “Get out.”

  Jenne and Hamis stumbled, both slightly offended, and filed out of the room—but stayed posted by her door, listening for clues.

  “And don’t you dare peep at me while I’m getting dressed,” she warned.

  “Hurry up, Ashey, you’re late for school,” said Hamis. “We don’t have all day.”

  “Since when do you care when I go to school?”

  “Since you became my responsibility,” he said. “We’re not letting you out of our sight.”

  She muttered something under her breath.

  Ashey spent an hour and a half getting ready. Whenever they knocked, she would reply that she wasn’t finished with her routine. The hairdryer went on and off three times, and then she blasted music so loudly it shook the door. When they asked why, she said she needed it to set her mood for the day.

  They’d skipped breakfast for this. Both their bellies rumbled. Hamis finally led the way to find the dossi. “Where’s Ashey’s breakfast?” he asked in a polished accent from the staircase. Helen flicked an eyebrow above the newspaper she was reading, but said nothing. The dossi invited the boys in for toast, sausages, and hot chocolate.

  Jenne enjoyed the food until Hamis burst into laughter at a video on his phone. The sound reminded Jenne of Hamis’ sister, and his appetite vanished.

  “So, Hamis, have you heard from Isse recently?” he asked.

  “Huh?” Hamis barely looked up. “Isse? She’s fine, I guess.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “I’m not sure. Last time we spoke, she looked different. Cut her hair short. A bit moody too.”

  “I feel so bad.”

  “Don’t think about it.” Hamis shrugged. “I told her not to do it. She never listens to me.”

  “Who are you talking about?” Ashey asked, appearing behind them.

  “The subject is ready,” Hamis whispered into his wrist. “Let’s move.”

  Ashey thumped him on the chest, holding him in place. “Tell me.”

  “Isse,” said Jenne. “She said she loved me, and I didn’t say anything back.”

  A shrieking laugh filled the house. Ashey clutched her stomach, laughing even harder.

  “God…” she wheezed. “When did this happen?”

  “You’re late, Ashey. We’ve got to go,” said Hamis.

  “Jenne, tell me everything,” she pressed.

  They were halfway down the stairs when Jenne finished recounting it all. Ashey’s conclusion was merciless: “Isse should know better. What made her think she had a chance with you?”

  “You don’t have to say everything that pops into your head, you know,” Hamis muttered.

  “But it’s true,” insisted Ashey. “She’s so pasty you could smear her on a toothbrush. Does she even know what she looks like? I’d rather die than watch her wobble those stringy arms after my Jenne.”

  The security officer saluted Ashey and opened the SUV door. Hamis let her stand back while he inspected the vehicle. The car floated slightly off the ground; he checked beneath it. Jenne scanned for signs of crafter-ascension, in case the car was rigged to explode.

  All clear.

  Hamis slid into the front seat, while Jenne and Ashey took the back.

  “Jenne, don’t feel bad about Isse. You can do so much better than a half-eaten popsicle.”

  Their response was silence. Both Jenne and Hamis ignored her. Expecting a retort, Ashey bit her lip when none came. “Driver, take me to Isse’s school,” she said.

  “Ms Sorel?” the man asked.

  “Ignore her,” mouthed Hamis.

  “Take me to Isse’s school. I want to talk to her. Hamis, what’s the name of your school?”

  “Ashey, what’s this about?” Jenne asked softly. “You’re already late.”

  “I want to ask Isse something personal. It won’t take long.”

  “Former school,” Hamis corrected.

  “Whatever. Spill it. Isse still goes there, right?”

  They veered off course, through a Ring to a part of Henrikia Jenne didn’t recognise: Islan. Isse’s school was Lord Islan Memorial Academy—vast, sprawling, a hundred times bigger than Se Fina’s.

  The car rolled to a stop at a security post, where the driver leaned out with a friendly greeting. The guards replied in a language Jenne didn’t understand. They had rhen eyes and faces, but with markings above their brows. Jenne had read about such slight, rare nuances between rhens from different regions, though he’d never seen them in person. These men bore violet cuts above violet eyes, and red cuts above red ones.

  One officer handed three badges to the driver, who passed them to Hamis, Ashey, and Jenne. The writing wasn’t Kirisi. Unlike the straight and curved strokes of English and Kirisi, this script was composed of circles and dots.

  “It says, ‘Visitor,’” said Ashey, smug.

  “What language is this?” Jenne asked.

  “Harr,” Hamis replied. “It’s a Grem language. Most of the people here have relatives from the Grem Islands—like Isse and me.”

  Hamis never mentioned his old school or his old friends. Jenne realised he knew as little about Hamis as Hamis knew about him.

  “We’ll get off here,” Hamis said. “Isse’s nearby. Hopefully we find her before anyone else recognises me.”

  Jenne sniffed the air. A faint mint scent flickered in and out, gone before he could place it. Hamis didn’t seem to notice—his senses were sharper than Jenne’s in every way. He stepped out of the car and headed down the walkway. Jenne and Ashey followed.

  A broad road stretched ahead, leading into a city of school blocks. Instead of taking it, Hamis veered off, cutting across a green field. Girls in checked uniforms milled about, some mounted on horses, others leading them by reins. Their eyes tracked the intruders in green shirts, but none stepped forward. Their silence felt louder than a confrontation. Their looks carried a smugness—as if Hamis and Jenne had committed an offence by simply existing here.

  They reached a stone depression where wooden stands framed an archery court. A handful of girls took turns firing arrows downrange. Among them was Isse, dressed in blue and white. Her hair was shorter now, tied back in a ponytail.

  Hamis held them back until her round was done.

  Arrow after arrow struck the centre with uncanny precision. An ascender among mortals. Isse peeled off her gloves and walked towards them. Her frown was sharp, heavy enough to tell Jenne this was about their last encounter. He retreated, leaving Ashey the space she had wanted from the beginning.

  “Hey,” said Ashey. “How are you?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Isse—Isse, what was that for?” Ashey giggled. “Is this a bad time?”

  Isse practised patience for all to see. “Don’t tell me you came all this way to make fun of me. That’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen you do.”

  “What are you talking about?” Ashey said. “Is there something you did? Should I be making fun of you? Look, I came to see you because we’re friends, aren’t we?”

  The white-haired girl shook her head like a disapproving parent. “I’ve heard things about you. I can believe everything now. You’re not a real person. No one can be this shallow. How empty is your life, Ashey? You know what, I’m glad you came. I feel so much better about myself. I used to think you were better than me in some way I couldn’t see. But nope — you’re not. At all.”

  “As if!” squeaked Ashey. “The truth hurts. You found out the hard way so I don’t know why you’re doubling down on your silly fantasies. You wanted something you didn’t deserve and I’m so glad you got put in your place.”

  “Ashey,” Hamis and Jenne said together.

  “No, let me tell her. You can spend your whole life in your fancy school doing fancy things, but you’re still you. Isse. A sheep-herding Grem girl with a hideous face. You deserve love, but only if someone is desperate enough to give it to you. Don’t even try getting close to Jenne again. Delete his number from your phone. Don’t talk about him. Don’t even dream about him. I swear to God, I’ll end you if you bother him again.”

  Hamis and Jenne blurred in the background. Neither had expected this, and they were fools not to have. Things were about to get out of hand — and the girls nearby knew it too. Some had stopped what they were doing just to listen.

  Isse’s nose burned red. “I’ll leave Jenne alone if you can show me one thing you’re better at than me.”

  “I’m prettier than you. There.”

  “That’s subjective,” said Isse coolly. “Besides, Jenne doesn’t treat people based on looks. He’s not shallow like you. And if you were smart enough, you’d understand why I asked you to name something you’re actually good at.”

  “Do you know how long it takes to look like this?”

  “I’m sorry for the hours you wasted, but it still doesn’t mean anything.” Isse shrugged. “How about a small challenge? You and me — quick archery bout?”

  Ashey fumbled in fury.

  “That’s not fair to Ashey,” Hamis said, surprisingly.

  “Yes, this is unnecessary.” Jenne took Ashey’s hand. “We should be going.”

  “If you want a real contest, pick something neither of you has any skill in,” said Hamis. “Dominus, anyone? I’d pay money to see that.”

  Both girls wrinkled their noses and looked away.

  “Fine. Jenne, any ideas?”

  “I don’t want any part of this.”

  “Say something,” hissed Hamis.

  “Cake,” Jenne blurted. “Something like Dream Oven — just very, very… not fun.”

  “A baking contest,” said Isse. “I can do that.”

  “Same,” said Ashey. “Jenne, what’s your favourite kind of cake?”

  “Illopsis,” he said. Silence fell. They all stared. “It’s not my favourite. It was just… on the top of my head.”

  “Great,” said Isse. “Three days. We’ll both bake an Illopsis cake for Jenne. The one he likes more wins.”

  “Deal,” said Ashey.

  “Perfect,” said Isse.

  “No,” groaned Jenne.

  “Terrible!” cried Ashey later, back in the SUV, kicking her feet against the driver’s seat. “I’m so dead. Jenne, why did you get me into this?”

  They got off at Glen Jacobs. Ashey left for school — two hours late.

  After his own class ended that day, Jenne travelled to Henrik City to find the hospital where Regilon had been admitted. Not much attention was on the old Gaverian, given all that was happening in the Midder-Lands. Father Jade had told them there were a handful of hospitals in Henrik City designed to treat ascender-related injuries. The most prominent of these was Mortal Ascenders.

  It was Jenne’s first time in the facility, but it looked to him like a regular hospital. In many ways, it was. Non-ascender patients still waited in the OPD.

  On one wall was something like a tissue rack. An old man went over, tore off a piece, and pressed it to his head with a sigh of relief. His elderly wife followed, doing the same. The paper carried creator markings.

  Signs pointed in different directions throughout the hospital. Jenne didn’t take any chances and went straight to the reception desk. “I’m here to see Regilon Regal,” he said to the lady there.

  “I’m sorry, but he’s not available for visits at the moment,” she answered.

  “Can’t say I wasn’t expecting you.” Leonard’s voice. He was coming down the hall with a doctor friend. Jenne couldn’t help but smile.

  “Reign, this is the Jenne Aster.”

  The doctor extended a hand, and Jenne shook it.

  “The anomaly,” Reign said. “Ever since I heard how you came into being, I haven’t had a proper night’s sleep. I don’t like the idea of you existing, Jenne Aster.”

  “Thank you,” said Jenne, and the man laughed.

  “Doctor, he’s here to see Regilon,” the receptionist said. “I already told him it wasn’t possible.”

  It was very possible. Doctor Aureate and his friend led him to Regilon’s ward. It was a private room with a single bed and a large window facing the hallway outside. The main lights were off, neon strips running along the edges of the walls instead.

  Regilon lay fast asleep, a prismatic device hovering over his body. It was some kind of scanner, judging by the readings flickering on the monitor beside the bed. Looking closer, Jenne saw the faint symbols etched across Regilon’s skin.

  “His body is barely recovering from the wounds, let alone the ascension he lost,” Leonard murmured. “He shouldn’t even be alive.”

  As much as Jenne hated to sound selfish, he had to ask, “Has he said anything to anyone? Did he tell you how this happened?”

  “He’s suffered serious wounds — probably from Genevie’s creatures — but that’s only speculation. He’s the only one who knows what really happened in Blackwood.”

  “Will he ever be the same again?”

  Reign clicked his tongue. “The Blood Storm’s days are numbered. The next time he casts a spell, he’d better make it count. It’ll be his last.”

  “That’s horrible,” Jenne said softly.

  “Don’t feel too bad for him,” Reign replied, his tone cool. “You’ve got your own load to worry about.”

  “Excuse me, Sir?”

  “Leonard tells me you’re falling behind at Se Fina,” the doctor said. “If I were you, I’d be trying my hardest to become a Gaverian. My colleagues are itching to get their hands on you. Once you fail Se Fina, we’ll appeal to have you transferred to our facility.”

  “No disrespect, Sir, but why are you telling me this?”

  “We asked Leonard to break it to you, but he hasn’t managed,” Reign said. “I’m not as attached to you, so it’s easier for me. Are you worried?”

  “Not really,” mumbled Jenne.

  Still, he needed a distraction to ease his stress, and there was no bigger one than Isse and Ashey’s absurd contest. After two days, neither had backed down. They were more determined than ever, and he dared not ask what the point of it all was.

  When he accepted an invitation to Ashey’s home, he soon regretted it. He found himself trapped in the chaos of her kitchen. The dossi lingered nearby, biting their nails, clearly itching to take over. Flour floated in the air like visible ascension. Eggs dripped from the counter. Milk pooled on the tiles. Ashey grunted, furiously beating some unholy concoction together.

  Even God had not prepared for the monstrosity she pulled from the oven. One glance at the final product sent her into a fit; she tossed the whole thing straight into the bin.

  “Love, allow Felicia to do her work,” Helen’s voice drifted down from the top floor. “My dear, I’ve never seen you so stressed out over nothing. It’s killing me.”

  “Grandma, I can’t let her beat me.”

  “Then why don’t you want the dossi to help?”

  “Because that’s not the point,” Ashey groaned. “I’m doing this because I want to win.”

  “Honey, we didn’t become the most powerful family in the world to lose to a sheepherder’s daughter. That’s why we guarantee victory in whatever we do. It doesn’t matter if you baked the cake or not. You want a cake, you get one. That’s what being a Sorel is all about.”

  “Jenne wouldn’t like that.”

  “Who cares what he thinks? He doesn’t know the difference between mud and butter. The earthen will pick Isse’s cake anyway. Like minds attract, after all.”

  “I’m going to take the bus and use real money to pay for the stuff I need,” Ashey yelled back.

  “Who stole my Ashey away?” Helen cried. “I can’t live like this.”

  “Grandma…” Ashey groaned. “I’m right here.”

  “It’s too dangerous. Demettle already warned you.”

  “Yes, but Jenne will be with me.”

  Helen sighed. “Fine.”

  “How much do you think everything will cost?”

  “I don’t know, just take my card with you.”

  “Thank you,” said Ashey, thrilled at the thought of running her own errand.

  She got on the bus for the first time and recorded it for her friends online. Ashey slung an arm around Jenne’s neck and made silly faces for the camera. When they reached the supermarket, she walked right past the baskets. Jenne had no experience with the place either, but at least he could watch what others were doing and copy them.

  Ashey and Jenne wandered the aisles searching for ingredients. Since the chancellor’s trip to Yuna, Yunnish products had been flooding the market—and from what Jenne could tell, they were surprisingly cheap. They ended up with a bag full of items he doubted she needed.

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Have I told you how healthy apples are?” Ashey said, picking up an apple-flavoured soda. “We can serve this at tomorrow’s party.”

  “No one’s having a party. And no, this isn’t the same as eating an actual apple.” He set the bottle back down. Just then, Jenne’s nose caught a minty scent—and sure enough, Isse was standing nearby.

  “Are you following us?” Ashey demanded.

  “I don’t have to talk to you,” Isse replied. “Hi, Jenne. Excited for tomorrow? I sure am.”

  “I sure am,” Ashey mimicked. “Hope you got all the fur out of the dough you baked.”

  “At least I get to bake something. I know what an oven looks like.”

  Ashey stuck out her tongue at her rival. Isse snapped her fingers, and Ashey froze—her tongue suspended in midair. She tugged at it in vain. Isse raised her phone, snapped a picture, then tiptoed closer and gave Jenne a soft peck.

  “See you,” she said.

  “Ery machurr,” Ashey growled through her stiff tongue. Another snap, and the spell released her.

  On the way back to the Home of Heroes, Jenne asked why she had insisted on handling this herself.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “When I tried baking for the first time, it felt kind of good to be doing it alone. I guess if I try more stuff by myself, it’ll feel just as good.”

  “Does it?”

  “Definitely,” she said with a smile. “Isse nearly ruined it, but this might be one of the best days of my life.”

  Around six in the evening, Jenne got a call from both contestants letting him know they were on their way to Se Fina. Hamis would be the one to pick up both girls, leaving Jenne to set up the kitchen. While he waited, he rehearsed the scene in his head: he’d sit on a stool, fork in hand, maybe blindfolded, ignoring the heated breaths of Ashey and Isse at his neck.

  He even tried to prepare a speech for Ashey—because he already knew she would lose. It wasn’t that he doubted her completely, but she never had good luck. Something was bound to go wrong with her, like always. As he mouthed his lines, a knock came at the door.

  Isse stood on the porch, holding up a white cake box.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hamis was supposed to get you.”

  “I know. Thought I’d come early.” She set the box on the kitchen counter. “I was hoping to spend some time with you first.”

  She laughed. Alone.

  Jenne closed the door, fighting the urge to bang his forehead against it. What was he supposed to say now? He didn’t want this. Too often he felt obliged to make people believe he was interesting.

  Isse lingered in the kitchen doorway, glancing at him and looking away whenever he caught her.

  “Can I use your bathroom?” she asked.

  The moment she disappeared, he scrambled to think of topics for when she came back. Nothing came. He checked the time and groaned, wishing for Hamis and Ashey to arrive. Just put on the television, he told himself, and ask if she wants a drink. What were the chances she left tonight thinking he was a complete weirdo?

  They ended up on the sofa together—sitting far apart—watching a soap opera. Just as they began to settle into it, a commercial featuring Jenne and Ashey flashed across the screen. Both of them avoided each other’s eyes with renewed effort.

  “Jenne,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “What I said earlier…”

  “Yes?”

  “It was a joke. I came early because I have to leave early. I’ve got school tomorrow.”

  At last, headlights shone through the window. Hamis and Ashey barged in with noise enough for five people. Ashey blasted obnoxious music from a speaker wedged in her bag, while Hamis bellowed his sister’s name. The Deus siblings immediately launched into an argument about the change of plans.

  “How did you get here so fast?” Hamis demanded. “Did you fly?”

  “No, I joined one of the patrol vehicles,” said Isse. “They were happy to drop me off at the gates. I walked the rest of the way.”

  “Out of my way,” Ashey snapped, shoving her box between the two siblings. She hurried into the kitchen, froze at the sight of Isse’s box, and gagged.

  “Jenne, we could put a stop to this,” Hamis offered. “Nothing’s stopping you from tossing both their cakes out right now. They’re being silly little girls and—”

  “No one’s here for you, Hamis. Give it a rest,” Isse cut in, taking Jenne by the arm and hauling him toward the kitchen. In Ashey’s presence, she was suddenly sharper.

  With a tap on his back, Jenne floated off the ground and settled onto a kitchen stool. Ashey came up behind him and tied a cloth over his eyes. Just as he’d imagined, their breaths pressed hot against his neck. Sparks leapt in the air. One of them might never forgive him after tonight.

  “Just so you know,” Isse whispered, “I’d love it if you cried after you lose. That would make this sweeter.”

  “I can see you shaking all over, Isse. You’re not fooling anyone. But it’s okay—there’s no shame in being below me. That’s just how it is.”

  Saucers clinked on the table as knives sawed open boxes.

  “My arms are trembling,” Isse said, “because we’ve waited for this for so long.”

  “We?” Ashey scoffed.

  “Everyone who can’t stand your entitled, prissy act. I really hope you get to see that you can’t make anything for yourself.”

  “Stop cutting,” said Ashey suddenly.

  “Why should I?”

  “Just. Stop.”

  Isse’s knife clattered onto the counter.

  “What’s the problem?” asked Hamis.

  Jenne tugged at his blindfold. No one stopped him.

  And then—before he could even piece the moment together—Ashey was gone. She bolted from the kitchen, snatched her bag in the living room, and rushed out the front door.

  The three left behind stared at the empty space she’d left.

  “Was it something I said?” asked Isse.

  “You think?” Hamis snapped, smacking her on the head.

  “Ow,” she muttered. “How sensitive is she?”

  On the counter, Isse’s cake gleamed white and creamy, Ashey’s pure gold. Neither had been touched.

  “I don’t think it was anything you said,” Jenne murmured. He hurried out, straight into the driveway, stepping in front of Ashey’s car before the driver could pull away.

  “Ms Sorel would like to go home alone,” the driver announced.

  “No can’t do, Sir,” said Jenne. “We’re under instruction to stay with her at all times.”

  After a long pause, the driver relented and opened the door. Ashey sat curled up, legs on the seat, her bag pressed against her face.

  “Why are you crying?” Jenne asked.

  She shook her head, muffling her words.

  “That wasn’t the cake you baked, was it?”

  Her sobs deepened.

  “You felt bad about cheating, and that’s why you left.”

  “No,” she burst out. “I swear I didn’t mean to.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I had no idea how that cake got in there. It looks like mine but it isn’t. I know it.”

  “Who could’ve done that to you?”

  “Who else?” She sniffled. “Grandma.”

  “Oh…”

  “She must’ve switched it out before I came.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Jenne softly. “You must feel awful.”

  Ashey forced her breathing into slow, measured gulps, trying to steady herself. “It’s not too late. I can make my own again. All I need is some fresh ingredients, and I’ll bake it here—in Se Fina.”

  “Let’s not get too crazy.”

  “No! It’s my cake and I’m not taking help from anyone.” She thumped the driver’s seat. “Stop the car.”

  “Ms Sorel?” the driver asked nervously, eyes flicking between the road and the mirror.

  “Stop the car right now.”

  He slowed, but didn’t halt.

  “You’re not driving me anywhere from now on. Wherever I’m going, I’m taking public transport, like the poor people.”

  “Ms Sorel, it’s getting late. Lady Sorel asked me to bring you home.”

  “You can tell Grandma she should think twice before she double-crosses me.” Ashey thumped the seat again, harder this time, forcing the car to a halt.

  “Ashey, I get your enthusiasm, but don’t drag other people into trouble because of it,” said Jenne.

  “I’m going to the grocery store. I’ll get flour, eggs, butter, sugar—lots and lots of vanilla flavour—and you’re coming with me because I don’t even know where the bus stop is.”

  “I can’t let you leave this car, Ms Sorel,” the driver said firmly.

  “Here, take this.” Ashey dug into her bag and tossed a fistful of notes onto the front seat. Fifty-kliqs scattered across the dashboard. She pulled out more and flung them forward. “That’s enough, right?”

  She leaned close to Jenne and whispered, “Did I do it wrong? I’ve never given a bribe before.”

  The driver let out a long, tired sigh, his eyes fixed on the notes in his lap. “Listen, boy, you promise to stay with Ms Sorel at all times?”

  “You can just drive us to the store,” said Jenne. “There’s no need for all this.”

  “No, no, no,” Ashey chirped. “This is my thing.”

  “You do realise,” Jenne said quietly, “there are people out there looking for you. Bad people.”

  “Just say you don’t want to go with me and I’ll go home,” Ashey said, folding her arms. “I’ll walk right back into Grandma’s arms. And then I’ll get sick and die.”

  The driver groaned but dropped them beside the nearest Ring. He gave them an hour and a warning: call the moment they suspected anything was off about the night.

  Henrik City was the closest Jenne would ever bring Ashey to the real country. The Ring sat about thirty minutes away from the grocery shop, and the nearest bus stop was just around the corner. Jenne had only recently realised most stops were placed near Rings on purpose.

  As they walked, Ashey checked her purse and groaned. “Jenne, do you have any money on you?”

  “No.”

  She whimpered, long and theatrical. “I should’ve thought this through.”

  “We can always go—.”

  She slapped a hand over his mouth. “Wait—Wiseman’s penthouse isn’t too far from here. Come on, if we hurry, we might catch him.” She broke into a trot. Jenne followed reluctantly.

  “Wiseman?”

  “Yes. He’s very nice to me, you know.”

  “Really?”

  “Mhm.”

  “Do you mean the real Wiseman? The man we met at the party? The grownup?”

  “Yes, yes, him.”

  Jenne didn’t have time to push her further. They’d already reached the tower. It loomed over the other complexes, its night lights spinning so fiercely they made him nauseous. Crossing the road, they climbed the staircase into the building.

  Security men lounged in their booth, barely looking up as the children approached. The compound was far too busy to care—SUVs rolled in and out, women in sleek gowns stepping out on the arms of laughing partners. The air smelled of alcohol, heavy and sharp, just like the last time Jenne had been here.

  His chest tightened when he caught sight of one of the women being led to a car: a young woman in a black dress, her red hair curling at the shoulders. For a moment, he thought it was Eva. It wasn’t. Just another stranger with red hair. Most of them had red hair tonight, he realised.

  Before Ashey could take another step, Jenne grabbed her arm. His voice was low, urgent. “We shouldn’t be here.”

  “We’re already here. I might as well go in. It’s not going to take long. If you’re uncomfortable, you could wait for me here.”

  “You’re not leaving my sight,” he said. “And you’re not going in there.”

  “Jenne—”

  “If you need money, call him and let him come outside.”

  Lips quivering, she bowed her head and mumbled something. He leaned closer and asked her to repeat it.

  “He doesn’t like it when people see us in public together,” she said.

  Never ask questions when you’re certain you’ll hate the answers. He stood his ground and gave her an ultimatum: either he called her, or they went home.

  Ashey called, and they talked. Wiseman was surprised she was right outside but quickly asked if she was alone. Since she wasn’t, he concluded he would not come outside but would send someone else with the ‘package’. That’s how Ashey ended up with a brown envelope. The emissary who brought the money took a good long look at Jenne before turning around and leaving.

  On their way to the grocery store, Jenne got a call from Hamis, asking why they hadn’t arrived home yet.

  “Helen’s on my neck!” he hissed. “I don’t know what to tell her.”

  “Tell her that I’ll be home as soon as I’m done baking my cake,” blurted Ashey, snatching the phone from Jenne. “Tell her that I’m mad at her. And if she tries to stop me, I’m never going to talk to her again.”

  She hung up, threw her nose in the air, and stomped down the sidewalk.

  The bus came around, and her mood changed at once. She took his hand as they boarded, sharing a seat facing the door. Not many people had come on with them.

  6:36 PM

  Ashey was on her phone during the ride, texting someone he suspected to be Wiseman. She had tilted the screen to one side, forgetting the bus window reflected everything. How could he even begin to question her on this? He wasn’t willing to tell anyone either, because he didn’t fully understand the situation himself.

  She turned off the screen. Placing a hand on his, she said, “Thank you for coming with me.” He looked away. “And thank you for caring so much for me.”

  “I can’t protect you if I don’t know what you’re up to, though,” he mumbled. “What business do you have with someone like… him?”

  “Jenne, I swear, you have nothing to worry about,” she laughed. “He’s always been a family friend. He’s like an uncle to me.”

  What kind of uncle doesn’t want to meet you in public?

  They got out on the street with the grocery store and trekked side by side. With the street lanterns as their only guide, Jenne kept looking over his shoulder to see if anyone was behind them. Ashey told him stories about all the times Wiseman had come to the estate for one holiday or another, always bringing a gift for her. She tried to convince him she was just his favourite niece.

  Jenne wasn’t paying much attention, though. He checked the time to see whether they would finish the errand soon. On one check, he found a text message from an unknown number:

  If you know what is good for you, you will keep your mouth shut. Do you understand? Answer me.

  Jenne laughed a little. What was Wiseman thinking, threatening him like that? The longer he watched Ashey, skipping about and picking out items with such wonder and joy, the more confused he became about what kind of relationship a grown man like Wiseman could possibly want with her. He had no intention of replying.

  She paid for the items and waddled ahead of Jenne, carrying one paper bag to her chest while he followed behind with another.

  “What’s the time now?” she asked.

  “A quarter to seven.”

  “See? We didn’t take too long, right?”

  “Nearly thirty minutes ahead of time,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting us to be heading back to Se Fina so soon.”

  “I have no idea what you and that driver were so scared of. Sometimes you act like there’s a literal assassin with a gun pointed at my head.”

  “Don’t say things like that.”

  “It’s just a joke.”

  “I don’t like your luck,” he said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you stick to saying positive things from now on.”

  Confused by what he meant, she ignored him. A few business owners and their employees were waiting at the bus stop. Jenne placed a hand behind Ashey’s waist and nudged her forward. She dragged her feet back and tried to turn.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I don’t want the night to end,” he said. “It turns out that I enjoy spending time with you.”

  “Really?” she giggled. “I don’t know what to say. I’m happy you’re enjoying this, but aren’t we in a bit of a hurry?”

  “No, we have time.”

  “I guess.”

  Some men were following them. One had been tailing them since they left Wiseman’s tower. Another had walked into the grocery store a few minutes earlier, and the last was waiting at the bus stop. They turned a slow corner and continued onward, not walking too fast or too slow.

  Pell Avenue. Four Myersians. That was the message he sent to Hamis.

  Ashey gripped his arm, forcing them both to a complete stop. He hadn’t looked up yet, but two men stood by their motorcycles under a streetlamp, dressed in black trousers and hoodies.

  “We should go back,” she said. “I’m getting tired from carrying the bags.”

  They turned around and headed for the bus stop again. When the bus arrived, they boarded and blended in, disappearing among the common passengers as best they could. Jenne made her sit by the window without explaining the danger.

  The proportion of red-haired Myersians on the bus was not normal. One sat behind the driver, another three seats back on the opposite side. Each would glance at him for a minute before looking back at their phone. The men behind the driver were on their phones too. They were communicating.

  “Jenne, can I ask you something?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you like chocolate or vanilla best?”

  “I don’t know… which one do you like?”

  “What you like is what I like,” she said.

  “And what you like is what I like,” he answered.

  “So, what do we like?”

  Jenne checked over his shoulder again, then sniffed the air for any trace of ascension. Nothing dangerous.

  “It doesn’t matter what cake you make,” he said. “I’ll love it because you made it.”

  “Does that mean I win?”

  “I suppose.”

  In less than ten minutes, they would reach the stop near the Ring. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe these people meant no harm, and he was just tired. His family from Blackwood often complained about rhens clutching their handbags when they walked by — perhaps he was doing the same thing now, projecting suspicion on foreigners. Still, he had to be sure.

  “Does Wiseman do business with Myersians?” Jenne asked Ashey.

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  He had no choice but to show her how serious it was. He pressed her arm and revealed the message on his phone.

  “What’s that?” she asked. “Who sent that?”

  As though the men had been listening, one of them stood and stretched. He was young, maybe Franka’s age, with his hands buried in his jacket pocket.

  “Keep your head down,” Jenne whispered.

  But she lifted her chin instead, peering straight into the stranger’s eyes.

  The red-haired man stopped beside their seat, looking first at Jenne, then at Ashey. He pulled his right hand from his pocket and raised it in greeting.

  “My brother and I saw you two at the bus station, but we weren’t sure if you were the ones from television,” the man said in Kirisi. “Would you mind if we took a picture? We are big fans of the High Commander.”

  He drew out his other hand. Jenne leapt, colliding with him. A phone clattered to the floor. Jenne gasped, realising his mistake a moment before a blade drove into his rib. The red-haired man gritted his teeth, forcing the knife deeper.

  Jenne twisted, slipping around to get on top. Down came his strikes: clean, swift punches — to the throat, the nose, the lips. The man collapsed, cold. Passengers rushed forward, trying to drag Jenne off him.

  Ashey screamed. A woman behind seized her by the hair. Jenne grabbed the woman’s head and smashed it through the bus window. The bus screeched to a halt, throwing everyone forward.

  Then came the wails from the front row. A man stood with a pistol, aiming not at Jenne, but at Ashey.

  Jenne raised his hands.

  “That’s right,” said the gunman. “We don’t want things getting messy. Our fight’s not with you. Try not to be a hero and no one gets hurt.”

  No one tried to be a hero — not even Jenne. He could move faster than a bullet, in theory. But this was no time to gamble.

  Ashey pressed against the seat, eyes puffy and sore. She shook her head as the gunman drew closer. “No, no, please, leave me alone,” she cried. “Jenne? Jenne, don’t let him take me.”

  Jenne forced a smile, saying nothing. He wasn’t about to risk lives because of his mistake. One by one, the passengers were ordered off. Engines growled outside as motorcycles revved. The gunman dragged Ashey away, handing her to a rider before climbing behind another. The bikes skidded down the road, carrying her into the night.

  How many seconds more until the chase began?

  Jenne should have been watching the streets, but instead he caught the sudden stench rising from the bus floor. A square plate etched with a marker spell — activated.

  “Oh…” he breathed.

  The bus flipped. He slammed against the roof, then the floor, tumbling end over end. Shattered glass tore into him, splintering through flesh and bone.

  And then, silence.

  Time slowed to a crawl. He hung suspended in the air, floating among foam scraps, blood, and fragments of his own body.

  Though his body was bound, his thoughts ran free — and they were merciless. If I survive this, I’ll never let it happen again. God of Heaven, grant me mercy this one time, so that Ashamel does not pay the price for my failure.

  His body turned in midair, feet aligning with the ground. He landed upright, facing Hamis, who stood with his hands in his pockets.

  Together they stepped out into the noise and speculation of a swelling crowd. Sirens wailed closer. People held up their cameras, recording Hamis’ and Jenne. The wrecked bus hung a few meters off the ground — held there, impossibly, by Hamis’ magic.

  “I called the Green Guard the moment you sent that text,” Hamis said, raising his voice above the commotion.

  “I let them take her away.”

  “You did what you had to do. No one’s going to blame you for tonight.”

  “I blame myself.” Strings of light coiled around Jenne, pulsing with his anger. Hamis hissed, urging him to calm down. He could see Jenne’s wounds; his friend was nowhere near full strength.

  “Jenne, you don’t even know where she is.”

  “They couldn’t have gotten far.” Jenne’s gaze swept the sky, then the streets. “Let’s get to the Ring.”

  Hamis and Jenne dashed across the rooftops, eating distance in single bounds. Jenne drove himself harder than ever before, ignoring the throbbing pain that pulsed in his gut. Glass fragments were still lodged beneath his skin, healed over by his body — exactly the kind of risk Doctor Leonard had once warned them about.

  Engines roared below.

  “Vision!” Jenne shouted. He leapt from a rooftop, and Hamis boosted him higher.

  The city sprawled beneath him like a map: square buildings, twisting alleys, statues, and a glowing Ring. Two motorcycles. One van. One SUV. No guards at the Ring dashboard. The portal stood wide open. The convoy slipped through.

  Jenne’s string lashed out, hooking the Ring. He swung and hurled himself after them.

  Headlights blinded him on the far side — a roaring highway. The convoy sped down the feeder road. No time to wait for Hamis. Jenne sprinted forward. The riders spotted him and gunned their bikes. Not this time. His string snagged the rear wheel of one cycle, flinging him forward. His dagger punched into the rider’s ear — both crashed to the asphalt.

  The second biker spun, plasma gun in hand.

  Violet blasts ripped through the air. Jenne dove flat, a beam shearing a lamp post in half. He rolled up, heels grinding sparks against tar. The thug fired again, the weapon whining with higher intensity.

  Jenne summoned a light shield. The beam slammed into it, rattling his bones. How in the hell did Myersian street scum get military-grade weapons?

  The shield cracked—then shattered.

  Hamis appeared, hurling both motorcycles skyward and smashing them together.

  Jenne darted beneath the wreckage, lashing a string at the van—but it was too far.

  “Hamis!” he barked.

  Hamis answered, vaulting him forward. Jenne bounded from roof to roof of speeding cars, closing on the van and SUV. Above, Hamis streaked through the night, already ahead. He gestured, and the locks on the van’s doors snapped open.

  The reply was immediate: a machine gun roared, tracer fire chasing Hamis across the sky. The freeway jammed in chaos—brakes screamed, metal shrieked. The van tore free of the pileup, still firing.

  But Jenne was there. His boot smashed into the gunman’s face. A blade plunged into the thug’s collarbone, followed by a brutal punch that dropped him cold.

  “Ashey—” Jenne’s voice caught. His eyes struggled to adjust.

  Then came the blow. Something heavy slammed into his skull. He crashed onto the tarmac. A boot cracked his ribs.

  Click.

  He rolled onto his back just in time to see the pistol aimed at his head.

  “You’re quite underwhelming,” said Franka, squatting above Jenne. His older brother’s eyes glimmered with a devil’s light. Fingers combed lazily through Jenne’s hair. “What have you been training for all this time?”

  The hitman fired. Franka shifted Jenne’s head aside. The bullet rang, tearing a hole where Jenne’s head had been.

  “I never wanted to be here,” Jenne muttered. “You can’t blame me for being bad at this.”

  A second blast. Again, Franka tilted Jenne’s head away again. “Excuses get you nowhere.”

  “I’ll get better,” Jenne promised—and moved. His feet swept out, shattering the hitman’s ankle. He rose with a vicious rhythm: thigh, belly, chest—each strike finding its mark. A final kick to the jaw dropped the man cold.

  Jenne bolted for the van’s door. He leapt, expecting Hamis to propel him upward. Instead, he fell. The highway slammed into him. Shock burned deeper than pain—Hamis had betrayed him.

  He rolled once, twice, narrowly avoiding a sedan. A truck thundered overhead, missing him by inches.

  Above, Hamis tore billboards and streetlamps from their moorings, striking plasma bolts aside. Cars crumpled in chain collisions. But not the SUV. It pushed ahead.

  Jenne sprinted, then hooked a light-string onto a military vehicle rushing by with blaring sirens. It yanked him forward. He bounded across metal and glass, vaulting higher until he caught sight of the fleeing SUV.

  Gunfire spat from its window. A plasma pulse hit, blasting Jenne through the air like a cannonball. He folded his body tight, then dove. His blade carved through the gunman’s wrist. Screams cut short.

  He latched to the door, ripped a man from the backseat, and slid inside.

  Ashey. Bound. Eyes wide. Screaming against the tape.

  Only the driver remained, knuckles white on the wheel, while his partner pulled a pistol and raised it to fire.

  A dagger punched through the hand holding the gun. Jenne snaked his arm around the driver’s neck and pressed the blade’s tip against his temple. The driver slammed the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt. The doors tore open and the man’s body lifted, then slammed hard onto the road.

  It wasn’t as quiet as Jenne thought it would be when it was finally over. Questions would be asked tonight. All around, headlights blazed and sirens flashed. Hamis called his name, muffled by the noise. Jenne glanced down at his belly, wondering how he’d made it this far in such a state. He wasn’t healing the way he should.

  He reached out and peeled the tape from her mouth, but he lacked the strength to free her wrists. Before his eyes closed and darkness crept in, he heard her whisper “I’m so sorry” again and again.

  “It’s fine,” he groaned. “We said we’d protect you, didn’t we?”

  Jenne shut his eyes and slipped into sleep.

  “I thought I warned you not to die again,” said Rheina.

  “I’m dead?” Jenne asked. “That doesn’t sound right.”

  “It doesn’t matter how you feel about it. You’re dead.”

  “No, I can’t be dead. What on earth killed me?”

  “Your stupidity,” Rheina snapped. “Watching you in action makes me want to peel my eyes out. No care. No form. Just a bumbling idiot with too much power. You died because you’re careless. I had planned for you to go to hell, but I’ll give you one more chance—if the doctors can save you with a miracle. Does that sound fair?”

  “There’s no need to lie,” said Fury. “Rheina won’t send you to hell because you can’t be judged. He has no authority over you. None of us does.”

  “Ezra,” scoffed Geles. “How annoying can she be?”

  “What has Ezra got to do with this?” asked Jenne.

  “Why must you always undermine my authority in front of mortals?” Rheina shot at Fury. “Does it make you feel better about yourself?”

  “I’m concerned about the truth,” said Fury. “You weren’t being truthful, so I had to intervene.”

  “Oh, please. You did it out of spite,” said Wilihay.

  “That is ridiculous.”

  “Silence!” Rheina thundered, slamming the table. “I hereby decree that this anomaly returns to the Living World for another spell of life. If you die again, I won’t help you find your way back! Final warning.”

  “I’m not thanking you,” said Jenne.

  A blanket of fog clung to his senses. He knew he was alive—awake, even—but nothing else was certain. Cold. Dim. A flashing light wavered before his eyes, blurry at first, then sharpening as his vision returned. With it came sound: a long, shrill beep drilling through his skull, the crackle of sparks, voices rising and breaking over some emergency.

  This must be a dream.

  Jenne rolled his heavy head toward the window. Recognition flickered. The hospital. The same he had visited days ago. Same tiles, same walls—only now the floors were smeared in blood, scattered with limbs. A severed arm clutched a rifle still strapped in HF armour. Across its sleeve, the words burned clear: Sevad San Demie.

  Distant gunfire echoed, muffled, then sharp again. A body toppled across a desk. A figure crashed down after it. The man screamed as light wrapped around his head—before it burst like a watermelon.

  The ascender stood tall. Golden hair. Green eyes glowing like embers. She whirled, her blade of light flashing into the gut of another soldier, then another, cutting through them in blinding succession. Blades, grunts, death in rhythm.

  One attacker smashed against Jenne’s window. A golden strike pierced through his chin, out the crown of his helmet, painting the glass red before he slid lifeless to the floor.

  Schemel remained standing. Sweat and blood streaked beneath her throat, but her stance never faltered. For a moment her attention roamed—until their eyes met. Her glow dimmed. The blade dissolved from her hand. She crossed the room, stepped into his doorway, and leaned closer.

  Then she smiled. Her eyes creased at the corners.