Ruby P.O.V.Blue Light Hall breathes like a chest that forgot how and is relearning. After the circle, after Calder’s last look and the door slamming winter behind him, the room does the holy work of returning to itself, benches dragged back into lines, mugs righted and children counted for the third time even though none have sprouted wings or vanished into beams.Rose stands three steps off center, not on the dais, not yet, and lets people touch her sleeve when they need to. It’s a language packs don’t write down. Her palm meets each palm, quick, sure, an oath you only have to sign with skin. I lean into the twinbond and make it wide enough for two halls and our old circuit hums I’m here / I know / breathe with me until the eddies smooth and the noise becomes music again.Nicholas takes the far side of the room with a map and a piece of charcoal, sleeves rolled, voice low and precise. Logistics is a hymn if you sing it carefully.“Two-hour rotations on Bear’s Notch and the south run
Crean P.O.V.Plans fail for two reasons; poor arithmetic or impatience. I will correct for both.Calder is a useful correction. He wants immediacy and I need accumulation. I keep him busy with tasks disguised as revenge and there are three to begin with;Map routines. Old men with tidy lives are better than locks. I tell him which boots, which porches, which rails to watch and at what hour. He writes the names wrong, I rewrite them in my head.Carry messages. There are men in Blue Light who prefer Rose, beloved and harmless. He will put them in rooms and let them talk. Words spoken into warm air travel farther than threats.Be seen being sorry. Remorse reads as permission. He practices being ashamed in a tin mirror until his face learns it.He obeys because he believes obedience is a temporary humiliation on the way to his throne. Good. Pawns that think they are bishops move exactly as far as I need them to and no farther.While he paces, I watch.From the crown of the south ridge I c
Crean P.O.V.“Blue Light has old men with tidy lives,” I continue. “Routine is a grateful accomplice. The same boots on the same porch at the same hour. The same path to the market, the same prayer said at the same rail. You will map them for me, you will tell me when Rose walks without an escort and you will tell me when children move without their mothers. You will tell me when Xander leaves his post because he is foolish enough to chase the wrong noise.” He nods too fast and I make my face warmer.“And while you do that,” I add, as if it is nothing, “you will carry messages. There are men in Blue Light who want Rose to be beloved but unseated. Who like the idea of her power and despise its reality. You will put them in a room and say nothing. Let them talk. It is the least bloody way to learn who they are.”“Names,” he says, eager.“If I had them all I would not need you,” I say. “You are useful because you are deniable.” He preens at that. Of course he does.“What do I get?” he de
CreanFailure has a weight. It isn’t a boulder, it’s a fine powder. It gets under the nails, and into the teeth. You taste it even when you drink water.I catalogue mine the way other men count coins.Caitlyn in a box that hums in an ugly key, Ophelia’s body cooling on a floor she believed would never touch her. Celine, daylight and rot, pulled like a splinter and sealed while I watched from a roofline too far and too late to pull the strand I’d tied to her shadow.Subtract, I tell myself. Subtraction is cleaner than grief. You take away noise until the equation balances.Noise was a mother who mistakes volume for geometry and a sister who tried to prove worth by running headfirst at a rabid dog. Noise was rogues who liked blood because it is obvious, and obvious is always the easiest to trap.I underestimated the women in the middle of my problem set and that’s on me. I built a box, and Allison refused to be caught by its shape. Talia saw my edges and wrote her own over them while Ta
Ruby P.O.V.He’s not perfect. No one is, and this is not a gym. Calder learns and adapts, he stops running his head into Xander’s setups and starts chopping his legs instead. Two thuds later and Xander’s thigh is going to be a story. He shifts weight, takes the next one on flesh that can take it, eats a jab, and answers with an elbow that makes me wince and nod. Calder bleeds from the eyebrow in a way that’s dramatic and satisfying.“Breathe,” Allie murmurs under her breath. Not to the fighters, to Rose. I echo it down the twinbond and feel her body respond under my hand. In two, out four. Nicholas counts it softly behind us, more habit than instruction.Calder changes levels and ricochets Xander off a post with a shoulder. It’s not elegant, it’s effective. When Xander comes back he sees a little too much ceiling and Calder tries to pour him through the floor. Xander goes limp at the right wrong moment, slides out, trips him with a heel, and swarms.They spill in a knotted tumble that
Ruby P.O.V.My phone thrums on the windowsill like a trapped moth. I don’t need to look at the screen to know who it is, the hum under my skin has already risen half a step, that old twin-frequency I learned before words.“Rose,” I answer, and the line floods with her breath and the echo of a hall full of wolves.“Hey, little light,” she says. She hasn’t called me that since we were fourteen and dared each other to steal pies from a festival table. Her voice is steady but underneath the bond is an open palm. I’m okay. It’s the sentence she always sends first.“What happened?” I ask, even as the first images from her end tumble into me, a crowded hall, resin and bread, the quicksilver tilt of a mate-bond landing where neither of us expected.“I met him,” she says, and the bond makes the word met too small for what she means. “Second chance. Gold Moon pack’s lead spear..”“Xander,” I breathe, already smiling because of course it’s him. Chaos with good aim. “He’ll make you laugh when you