So I kissed him.

  Hard.

  My fingers curled into the front of his shirt, yanking him toward me like gravity wasn’t enough. His mouth met mine with the same desperation I felt pulsing through my chest. It wasn’t sweet. It was chaotic and furious and full of heat—like the kiss had been building since the moment we first met and only now exploded to the surface.

  When we broke apart, our foreheads touched, our breaths ragged. My lips were tingling. My heart was a hammer.

  “I will not let anyone touch you and get away with it,” Okami growled. His voice was rough, almost guttural. His eyes were burning with something dark, something feral, and all of it was focused on me. It didn’t scare me. Not anymore.

  It made me feel wanted—not just as a mission, or a symbol, or a name someone whispered behind my back—but as me.

  I reached for him again.

  This kiss was different. Slower, but deeper. Desperate in a quieter way. His hands slid over my back, gripping like he was anchoring himself. Mine threaded into his hair, fisting just enough to remind him I wasn’t fragile. Our bodies pressed together, mouths tasting, claiming, confessing everything neither of us had said out loud.

  It was messy. Wrong. Complicated.

  But it was real.

  And when we finally pulled apart again, it felt like my skin was still burning. Like his fingerprints had been etched into my bones.

  Thunder rolled in the distance, low and foreboding. A storm was coming.

  Okami stepped closer, his hands coming up to frame my face. “I can’t be everywhere, Piper,” he murmured, his forehead nearly brushing mine. “You have to stay sharp. You have to be ruthless. They want you dead.”

  My breath caught in my throat.

  “Some of them were told to kill you,” he said, voice tight. “The Four Families—some of them gave the order. This isn’t about proving yourself anymore. It’s about staying alive.” He forced me to look at him, thumbs pressing gently against my jaw. “I will not let you die.”

  And somehow, hearing it from him—Okami, the one person who didn’t sugarcoat anything—made me believe it.

  Even if the whole world wanted me gone.

  I nodded, taking in every word, the weight of it sinking into my bones. Okami’s promise gave me something steady to hold onto—but knowing there were powerful families beyond the academy walls, capable of dictating who lived and died? That was something else entirely. That was terrifying.

  “You and I will train,” he said suddenly. “Up here. Just us. Every night.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  His expression didn’t change. “Every night. We start tomorrow.”

  “Is that… even allowed?” I asked, eyebrows raised. I wasn’t trying to challenge him, but this academy ran on strict rules, and this sounded like we were breakdancing on the line between ‘unconventional’ and ‘blatant favoritism.’

  “I can do what I want.” His voice was matter-of-fact. Not cocky—just final. “If I say it’s allowed, it is.”

  I let out a short breath, half-smirking despite myself. “The arrogance,” I muttered, shaking my head.

  His lips twitched. “Go eat,” he said, that same commanding tone wrapping around the words like steel. “We start tomorrow.”

  I hesitated, then held the knife out toward him—the one I’d taken from the girl who’d tried to kill me. “Will you ask her about the girls?” I asked, quieter this time. The question wasn’t about vengeance. It was about hope. If Starla Cross had answers about the disappearances, I had to know.

  His jaw tightened as he took the blade. His fingers closed around it, knuckles white, like he already hated what I’d just asked him to do.

  “Stubborn,” he muttered, looking at me like I was the thorn in his side and the only thing keeping him grounded all at once.

  “Please?” I asked, softening my voice, trying to reach whatever part of him still hadn’t been fully calcified by war and loss.

  He stepped in close—so close his warmth canceled out the chill in the air. His hand came up to the back of my neck, not rough, not possessive—just there. Anchoring. Grounding. Real.

  Then he leaned in, his forehead resting gently against mine.

  He sighed, long and low. “What are you doing to me?” he whispered, like he didn’t mean for me to hear it.

  But I did.

  And it wrecked me.

  His eyes opened, and the full force of them locked onto mine. “I make no promises,” he said, voice hard again, back in command. But before I could respond, he bent down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead—light, fleeting, devastating in its tenderness.

  “Now leave,” he murmured, letting me go.

  I nodded, silent, and turned to leave—my chest tight with frustration at his refusal to commit, but also steadied by something I couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was the way he looked at me, like I was the only thing in this twisted world that still made sense. Maybe it was the way he didn’t promise, but still would.

  Everything between us had shifted. It was messier now, tangled in a thousand complications neither of us could escape. But underneath all of it, I trusted him. And right now, that trust was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.

  It wasn’t enough. But it was all I had.

  And for now… it would have to be.

  Eleven

  The mess hall was massive, with vaulted ceilings and thick timber beams that gave it a kind of old-world charm—one that did little to soften the tight knot in my stomach. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread, warm and comforting in a way I hadn’t realized I needed. After everything that had happened, it almost felt cruel to step into a place that buzzed with laughter and clinking silverware, as if the world hadn’t nearly split open beneath me just hours ago.

  The tables were divided by House—Vireo to the left under green banners, where heads bent in deep conversation and hands moved animatedly as cadets recounted the day. Across from them, House Seraph’s cadets lounged in a haze of laughter and lilting voices, their blue banners fluttering from the occasional gust of warm air. House Titan, the loudest, occupied the far corner with bursts of booming laughter and the sound of plates piled high. Near the exit sat House Shadow, quiet and watchful beneath charcoal-gray streamers. They barely spoke, but they missed nothing.

  The instructors sat on the raised dais at the front, distant and authoritative. Their table was lined with plain gold trim—understated but impossible to miss. They could see everything from up there. And they probably had.

  I kept my head down as I made my way toward the Vireo tables, the rhythmic thud of my boots on stone echoing louder than I liked. My pulse was still spiking from earlier, but the familiar faces helped. A few nodded as I passed—acknowledgments, not invitations—and for once, I was grateful no one tried to corner me with questions.

  Until Willow spotted me.

  She stood immediately, waving me over with a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Let’s get you some food,” she said, and there was something motherly in her tone that almost made my throat tighten.

  I nodded, grateful for her presence, and followed her to the buffet line. The spread was obscene—piles of roasted meats, buttery vegetables, creamy pasta, rice spiced with herbs. It should’ve made my stomach growl. Instead, I stared at it like it might turn on me.

  Willow nudged me gently. “Start small. Something bland. Bread and broth, maybe?” she offered, already sliding a roll onto my tray.

  I managed a faint smile. “That obvious, huh?”

  She gave me a look. “You look like you’ve been hit by a truck. And then fought the truck.”

  Fair.

  I picked up a small bowl of broth and a piece of bread, doing my best to ignore the more tempting options that I knew I couldn’t keep down. As we moved back toward our table, I caught a few stares—some curious, some hostile, some unreadable. But I didn’t flinch. Not this time.

  I was still standing. That was more than a lot of people could say.

  Reluctantly, I passed over most of the options at the buffet. My tray felt embarrassingly light as I settled for a couple slices of bread—soft, warm, freshly baked. Safe. The kind of food that wouldn’t turn my stomach inside out after everything it had already been through today.

  Willow eyed my meager selection but, to her credit, didn’t say a word. She piled her own plate high with colorful helpings—slices of spiced meat, golden potatoes, vegetables glazed with something sweet. Her appetite had clearly survived training better than mine.

  As we made our way back to the table, I caught myself watching the other cadets as they laughed and devoured their meals without hesitation. There was a kind of wistful ache in my chest. I wanted to join them—to shovel down everything in sight, to laugh like my world wasn’t coming apart at the seams. But I knew better. The last thing I needed was to get sick in the middle of the mess hall and hand more ammunition to anyone looking to cut me down.

  I sat between Willow and Mei and started picking at the bread, tearing off tiny pieces and chewing slowly, letting the bland comfort of it settle me. Around me, the table buzzed with talk—complaints about drills, rumors about the WarRing, bets on who would drop out before the month was up.

  I listened, but I didn’t speak.

  Not yet.

  I was here, but not fully part of it. Like I’d stepped into someone else’s life and was still waiting to be found out.

  Mei leaned forward after a few minutes, her elbows on the table, eyes locked on mine. “Where were you?”

  Her tone was casual, but the question wasn’t. I could feel it land. A pause followed—just long enough to draw a few more curious glances from down the line.

  “Where do you think?” Willow cut in before I could answer, her grin smug. “With Okami.”

  The bread in my mouth turned dry as my face heated. “Yeah,” I said quickly, swallowing hard. “I mean, he did what he could, but…”

  Even I didn’t sound convinced.

  Mei raised an eyebrow, not buying it. “What’s the deal with you two, anyway?”

  I let out a soft breath and shrugged, trying to play it off. “I don’t know. I think he’s just keeping me alive long enough to destroy me himself. Probably thinks it’ll be more satisfying that way.”

  There was more truth in that than I wanted to admit.

  Willow snorted. “Honestly? That makes sense.”

  It earned a few quiet laughs around the table, and the tension eased a little, but I still felt the weight of their attention. The questions they didn’t ask. The ones I wasn’t ready to answer.

  As the conversation drifted to safer topics—training rumors, gossip about the Houses, someone betting they’d seen a Titan puke mid-run—I stayed quiet, chewing bread and staring at the center of the table.

  There was a strange kind of safety in silence.

  But I couldn’t stop thinking about Okami. About the way his hands had held my face like I was breakable and dangerous all at once. About the knife in his pocket. About the fact that, somehow, being near him made me feel safest… and most at risk.

  And the scariest part?

  I didn’t know which one I needed more.

  We kept eating; the conversation drifting between sore muscles, embarrassing training moments, and what desserts might be served this weekend. It felt almost normal—like we were just students at any other academy, not cadets surviving by grit and blood. Their laughter helped. It cut through the fog in my brain and loosened the ever-tight coil in my chest.

  But I couldn’t quite relax. Not fully.

  Kira’s eyes flicked toward me, and I knew the question was coming before she opened her mouth. “How’s your arm?”

  I glanced down at the bandage barely visible beneath my sleeve. “Not great,” I admitted with a dry smile. “But at least she got my right arm.”

  “You’re a lefty?” Willow asked, her brow lifting slightly.

  “Yeah.” I flexed my left hand and wiggled the fingers. “One small mercy, right?”

  They chuckled, and I let the relief settle in my bones for a moment. I’d take any advantage I could get. Being left-handed meant I could still train, still defend myself. Still fight, if it came to that.

  Then a tray hit the back of my head so hard it felt like the world cracked open.

  The sound of it—metal striking bone—echoed through my skull. My vision went white for a second, and I tasted blood before I even registered the sharp pain radiating down my spine. Food slid down the back of my shirt, and something sticky—juice, maybe—dripped past my collar.

  I gasped, my hand flying to the impact point as the mess hall erupted in gasps and whispers.

  Everything slowed.

  My friends stood so fast their benches scraped loudly across the floor. Mei was already in front of me. Kira and Willow flanked me like guards.

  And then the voice came, shrill and venomous.

  “I challenge you in the WarRing, you fucking rank cunt!”

  The words cut through the air, soaked in fury and desperation. A public challenge.

  The mess hall went still—no clinking cutlery, no gossiping voices. Just silence. The kind that comes right before someone bleeds.

  My stomach dropped, and my heart kicked against my ribs like it was trying to escape. I knew the rules. Everyone did. A challenge made publicly couldn’t be walked back without consequence.

  I hadn’t even turned around yet. My skull throbbed too hard. Everything felt tilted, too loud and too quiet all at once.

  But then Willow’s voice rang out, sharp as a blade. “Back off! You’re in the fucking mess hall, Liv!”

  Liv. Of course it was Liv. Her voice was like acid—hot and corrosive, and right now, aimed directly at me.

  I blinked the pain away and slowly turned. My fingers still tingled where the tray had connected. The mess hall had gone from chaotic noise to a waiting storm. Everyone was watching. Waiting to see what I’d do.

  Because, whether I liked it or not, I was in it now.

  The entire mess hall seemed to hold its breath, watching me.

  I knew I had to stand. Knew I had to meet this head-on, even if my skull was pounding and the back of my shirt still stuck to my skin from the tray of slop Liv had smashed over me. With Willow’s steadying hand and Kira’s silent nod, I rose. Slowly. Deliberately. Because if they wanted a show, I’d give them one.

  Liv stood a few feet away, her expression twisted into something unrecognizable. She was all venom and grief, her eyes wild, her jaw clenched tight enough to crack.

  “He’s dead because of you,” she hissed.

  Her words hit harder than her tray.

  “You fucking bitch,” she snarled, her voice rising. “He’s dead. Dead!”

  “Maybe Mica shouldn’t have tried to kill me,” I shot back, the words like acid on my tongue. “All’s fair, isn’t it?”

  She flinched, like the truth had slapped her. Good.

  “You’re fucking Okami,” she spat. “A captain. That’s not allowed, you stupid slut. He’s not supposed to get involved—and he killed Mica. He killed him!”

  My spine straightened at the sound of his name, but I didn’t waver. “Then go tell him,” I said coolly. “Tell him he’s not allowed. I’ll wait.”

  The entire hall had gone quiet now, the tension stretching so tight it felt like the air might snap.

  “It’s not fair, and you know it,” Liv growled, her voice cracking with rage. “You’ve got the Arcane Reaper in your fucking loose pu⁠—”

  I didn’t let her finish.

  “Says the girl who hits from behind,” I cut in, my voice sharp and low. “Coward.”

  And that was it.

  Liv lunged at me with a scream, wild and reckless. There was no technique in it, no control—just grief and fury thrown into fists and fury. I didn’t think. I just moved. My body reacted before my brain could.

  I pivoted to the side, her momentum carrying her past me, but not before her knuckles grazed my cheek with a sting that burned hot and fast.

  Clarity followed the pain. Focus. I dropped into a defensive stance, feet grounded, muscles coiled.

  She came at me again—this time tighter, sharper. We traded blows, not like cadets, but like something rawer. Desperate. She swung high; I blocked low. Her elbow clipped my ribs, and I sucked in a sharp breath, retaliating with a jab straight to her chest. She staggered but didn’t fall.

  Damn, she was scrappy.

  Another flurry—my shoulder screamed in protest as I ducked a vicious hook. I grabbed her arm on instinct, twisted, and yanked it behind her back. She hissed in pain, and I pressed my advantage, shoving her forward just enough to knock her off balance without throwing her.

  My breath came in short bursts. My heart thundered in my ears.

  “Yield,” I said through clenched teeth. “You don’t want this fight.”

  But from the fire in her eyes, I already knew.

  She did.

  But Liv was fast.

  She twisted out of my grip with a grunt, rolled hard across the floor, and popped back up like she’d rehearsed it a hundred times. The girl was bleeding rage and breathing vengeance—and I was already so fucking tired.

  A crowd had formed around us, cadets pressing in, eyes wide and hungry for blood. Whispers surged like a current. Some were cheering; others shouting to break it up. I couldn’t hear them, not really. Their voices blurred into static, meaningless noise. It was just her and me. Circling. Waiting.

  Her next move was reckless—desperation dripping from every inch of it.

  She lunged.

  I dodged.

  My boot connected with her ribs. Clean. Solid.

  She crumpled.

  The moment her body hit the floor, clutching at her side with a breathless groan, I didn’t move. I just stood there, chest heaving, arms heavy at my sides, every nerve still lit like live wire. The pain from my earlier injuries roared back in full force, but I held it in. I had to hold it in.

  She was down. It was over.

  Except it didn’t feel over.