Chapter 1: Broken and Bound
The bare bulb burns my eyes. Too many days in solitary confinement have turned light into a weapon. I force my gaze to stay open long enough to count threats. One man sits across from me at the metal table. The door is at my back, the only exit in the windowless room.
My pulse stutters as I search for the blonde woman with the sadist’s smile—the one who catalogs my screams and scars like data points. She isn’t here.
Relief flickers—small and fragile. It doesn’t settle before the man across from me speaks.
“Brielle Breslin.” His voice is smooth. Deliberate. He has neat hair and an expensive suit that doesn’t belong in a place like this. His gaze falls to the restraints around my wrists, then to the chains around my ankles.
Dread coils low and tight. I try to place him—to remember if he watches or participates in my torture.
The first time they brought me into this room, I had been naïve. I hadn’t fought or even questioned them as they attached countless wires to my skin, claiming they would help them understand my “condition”—what landed me here in this hell chamber.
The first jolt of electricity made me scream until my ears rang. The next left me sobbing.
I lost track after the twelfth.
Eventually, I passed out. They resuscitated me… and started again.
And then they did it again.
Until pain became routine.
They didn’t see me as human—only an experiment. An abomination.
I don’t know how long ago that was. I’ve lost track of how many weeks I’ve been here.
At first, I counted every sunrise, as if measuring time would keep me connected to the outside world, as if it might keep me sane. That was before another woman tried to carve out my left ovary with a piece of scrap metal. Before I spent weeks in the infirmary, where no one would tell me if it was day or night. Before the stretches of darkness in isolation, when I couldn’t tell if hours or days were passing.
When I’m not in solitary confinement, my life is an endless loop: roll call, cold showers under watchful eyes, folding laundry while praying they’ll feed me. Then free time. The period I dread most. When the guards look away and allow survival of the cruelest to determine who lasts another night.
Prison.
I never imagined I’d end up here. Never thought I’d endure torture and starvation. Or sleep with the lights on and a sharpened toothbrush under my pillow.
Before this, I was another twenty-one-year-old running on caffeine and stubbornness, juggling college and two part-time jobs while battling a constant fear of wasted potential.
Then hell’s doors swung open and dragged me inside.
I keep fighting not to lose myself, but there are hours—entire days—when I don’t recognize my own thoughts or actions. Whatever freedom and normalcy I once had were swallowed by terror and corruption that rule here.
Somehow, I keep pushing. Keep reminding myself that kindness exists outside these walls, but despite my efforts to care, I sometimes don’t—can’t. Survival has become my only focus.
Everyone knows why I’m here.
Four days after I arrived, a woman tried to attack me in my sleep. I woke to her weight pinning me, the glint of metal in her hand. As she tried to bring the weapon down on me, her skin was encased with flames.
I don’t know who was more horrified—her or me. But the guards in this hell-forsaken place weren’t afraid.
They beat me unconscious, then strapped me to a chair in a room filled with people in hazmat suits, as though breathing the same air as me might contaminate them.
They were convinced I’d set her on fire—that I’d intentionally caused the burns that ravaged her body.
I had nothing and no explanation. No control. Just the echo of her screams.
I begged. I pleaded. No one listened.
Weeks later, it happened again in the cafeteria.
I no longer know if I deserve freedom.
I no longer know if I deserve this hell.
“What happened to her?” A second male’s voice behind me makes me pivot. Fast.
Even before losing track of time, I learned never to allow anyone to stand behind me.
This place has taught me a lot.
Too much.
The man has reddish-brown curls and a neatly trimmed beard framing his scowl. He doesn’t try to hide his disgust—not for the room. For me.
Relief hits me. I hate that it stings—that my ego bruises from the same assurance that he won’t try to touch me or demand that I change in front of him like previous guards have.
Behind him stands another man. Quiet. Watchful. The light shadows his face, but I don’t need details to recognize a threat.
Instinct demands I retreat, but my feet feel like they’ve been glued to the floor.
I can’t move. Can’t think.
My fear is still loyal to those who have hurt me.
If I knew how to set people on fire on purpose, I doubt these fears would still consume me, but I don’t understand how it works—only that when it does, few stand a chance.
“All right,” the man in the suit says calmly. “We’re not here to hurt you.”
The shadowed man steps forward so I can see his dark chestnut hair and peculiar amber eyes. He raises both hands, palms open, and for a heartbeat, the world calms. There’s something about his composure—an authority that asks nothing yet promises protection.
Something inside me stills for a single breath. It isn’t trust, and it isn’t hope. It feels like the pause before pain—or maybe the first moment I realize I don’t have to flinch.
“My name’s Daire Ashbourne,” he says, his voice low and steady. “We’re here to help you, Brielle.” He’s taller than the man beside him, tall enough that even at my five foot nine, I’d have to look up at him if he stepped closer.
In another life—another place—the way my breath catches and my heart races might have meant attraction. Here, it’s only fear.
“She looks feral,” the bearded man says.
I haven’t seen my reflection in what feels like a lifetime, but if I look half as crazed as I feel, he’s right.
“It’s only been a few months,” the man in the suit says. “She’ll be fine.”
A few months?
It feels like I’ve been here for years.
Decades.
Centuries.
“Brielle.” The man in the suit straightens his tie, addressing me again. “Like Daire said, we’re here to help you.”
Hope blossoms in my chest like a snowdrop, pushing through late winter’s frost. I want to believe him so badly, but I’ve heard these same lies in the lifetimes months that I’ve been here.
The bearded man runs a hand over his stomach. “Where are the others? We need to go.”
I take a measured step back, the chains around my ankles clinking. “Where are you taking me?”
The man in the suit smiles. Pleasantly. Ignorantly. “We’re from the place you belong.”
Dread unfurls, twisting low in my stomach.
“But first,” he motions to the open file in front of him, “have you noticed anyone else here who shares your... abilities?”
Adrenaline ripples through my veins as I shake my head. I hate everyone here, but I wouldn’t condemn them to the torture these people will inflict.
The bearded man steps closer.
I quickly double the distance between us.
“You don’t need to be afraid of us. We’re like you,” the man in the suit says, flicking his wrist. The file closes without him touching it.
I glance from him to the file. Ice cracks in my chest, and unwanted hope blooms again. “Do it again,” I whisper.
He grins and lazily gestures toward the chair across from him. Its metal legs rise several inches off the cement floor, hovering midair.
I take a step forward, looking for strings, a lever, something to explain this trick.
“What are you doing? How are you making it float?” I demand, but it sounds like a plea.
“My name is Karraelas Tacitus, and I’m an Elemental, like you.”
Like me.
His words echo in my head, colliding with months of being called a freak, monster, an abomination. These men—strangers—are claiming they share whatever curse turned me into a killer.
But could this be another test? Another way to break me?
Yet the chair still hovers. The file moved without being touched.
“What does that mean?” My voice is a whip, working to separate truth from lies.
“There’s much to explain.” Karraelas peers around the room, looking suddenly edgy and nervous. “We’re taking you home.” He pushes his chair back and stands. “We don’t have much time.”
Home.
The words twist hope and fear into a rope of deception—too tight, too smooth, too familiar.
“They’re here,” Daire says, waving a hand over the room. An invisible breeze flutters against my skin. “We need to go.”
The door rattles.
I step back.
“Daire, take her hand,” Karraelas instructs.
I shake my head and turn to the door, making it only three steps before movement flashes at the edge of my vision.
There’s a fourth man.
I have no idea where he came from. It’s as though he materialized out of thin air.
He couldn’t. I condemn myself for the thought.
I didn’t look. I let him nearly get the jump on me.
This man is smaller than the other three, but his glower has warning bells ringing in my ears.
“Touch me, and you’ll regret it,” I warn, feigning confidence.
“Fucking hell,” the bearded man says. “Why can’t this ever be easy?”
“What in the hell’s going on?” a gruff voice on the other side of the door demands. Keys shake in the lock.
“We don’t have time for diplomacy,” the bearded one says.
“She doesn’t know how to control herself.” Karraelas pushes his glasses higher on his nose.
“Brielle—” Daire reaches for me.
Before his hand touches mine, the fourth man lunges. His hands slam against my chest, and pain explodes through my body—so consuming I can’t scream or cry as it races up my spine, down my arms, before crushing my legs with the same agony. I begin to crumple, my arms bending at irregular angles as my stomach twists and convulses.
“That wasn’t necessary,” Karraelas says.
Strong arms catch me before I hit the cold cement. I’m scooped up, Daire’s face a fractal in my vision, until the agony eclipses the light and the world turns black.
Chapter 2: Ashes and Answers
I awaken with a jolt.
My heart is a war drum, pounding a rhythm of alarm. Light floods my eyes as the memory of pain has me flinching, braced for another wave of agony.
Nothing comes.
“It’s okay,” a woman’s voice says, soft and melodic. “You’re safe. You’re at the healing center.”
Safe. The word means nothing anymore.
I scan the room. Pale walls, minimal furniture, and stainless-steel details. It’s all so clean. Too clean. I’m not cuffed. But the most terrifying detail is that I’m not in pain.
Not even a little.
Terror swells anyway.
“Careful. She burned Chris.” The vaguely familiar voice snaps my attention to the corner of the room. It should be painfully bright. I should be flinching, but my vision is perfect, allowing me to see the three men who brought me here.
My pulse spikes as I search for the fourth man, the one who broke every bone in my body with a single touch.
“No one’s going to touch you again,” the man in the suit says—Karraelas. His tone remains calm, but he’s clearly less sure. The way he’s studying me makes me feel self-conscious like a caged animal, and I hate that he seems to recognize this.
“From what I saw, Chris deserved it,” the woman says, voice calm but sharp. She’s dressed entirely in purple, even her short hair is a light shade of lavender.
Daire shifts, and my gaze snaps to him. He stills immediately, hands loose at his sides as though recognizing I can’t don’t trust him. His amber eyes appear darker now. His jaw moves as though he’s about to say something, but then he swallows. I hate that I keep looking at him. Hate the way my body stays braced, but my mind stills, as though listening for something in his silence.
I sneer, instinctively hating him and the others.
The memory has me looking over my body, shocked to see my arms and legs whole and without casts. I marvel, rolling my shoulders and flexing my fingers and toes as I turn my hands over. I’m not just unharmed—my skin is a clean canvas. Perfect.
I must be dreaming—no, hallucinating. This happened before when they gave me the drug that made me itch, as if thousands of tiny ants were crawling over my bare skin. I’d wanted to scratch my skin off before a burning sensation debilitated me.
Panic sharpens my senses as I search for an IV. A thin wire disappears up my sleeve—a snake in the grass—and I’m determined not to get bitten.
I grasp it tightly and yank. A sticker pulls free from my chest, and then a fast beep fills the room.
The woman in purple moves to silence it. “Brielle, my name’s Willow Peseshet,” she says, maintaining her distance.
I don’t respond. Time and questions have become luxuries I no longer expect.
“I won’t. I can’t.” I tattoo the words across my skin, paint them across the white floors and walls, and stitch them into the thin blanket before they can make demands.
Willow studies me. “What can’t you do?”
I remain silent, but my heart is too loud in my ears.
“Brielle, you’re in Bryxton,” Willow says. “You’re home.”
My gaze snaps to hers without permission or thought.
She smiles.
My stomach sinks. She would be so easy to trust. Too easy.
“What’s wrong with her?” The bearded man’s tone conveys his growing impatience.
I glance at him, wishing I knew why he was here and, more importantly, what he might be capable of.
“Brielle,” Karraelas says, taking a step forward. He raises a hand, and the memory of him raising the chair and making the papers dance replays in my thoughts.
The wind.
He controlled the air.
I huddle into myself.
“You three aren’t helping,” Willow says.
“Who are you? What is this place?” I ask, fisting my hands in the blankets, amazed that there’s not even a trace of pain in my bones as I search for evidence of where they’ve brought me.
Willow waves a hand. My heart slows, and my lungs open.
I clutch my chest. “What did you just do? What did you give me?” The questions fly out of me as I hunt for another wire or tube connecting to me.
There isn’t one.
“Give her a higher dose,” the bearded man says. “Maybe it’s her element? Also, are we going to talk about this?”
Willow gives him a scathing look. “I did,” she says. “She’s very strong. And no.”
I break my rules again and slide my gaze to her. I glare at her with a silent threat. “Do that again, and you’ll regret it.”
She stares at me in wonder. “What can you do?”
“Willow,” Karraelas says, taking a step toward her. “Now might not be the time to ask questions.”
“How are you guys doing this? What did you do to my body?” I swing my accusing stare between them.
Karraelas swallows, looking increasingly uneasy.
“What do you want from me?” I ask, keeping my eyes pinned on Willow’s hands.
“Nothing.” She shakes her head.
I sputter. She’s too good of a liar.
I blame whatever sedative or drug they gave me to get me here for the sudden ache between my temples.
“You guys always come on too strong.” Another woman steps into the room. She has long mahogany hair, bright blue eyes, a delicate nose, and thin lips.
“You shouldn’t be in here, Scarlet,” Willow says.
“How else am I going to become a healer? Besides, I’m a Water Elemental, which makes me perfect for the job.”
My heart races, and my hands feel too warm.
“That’s why I’m still here,” the bearded guy remarks.
Scarlet ignores him, turning to Karraelas. “Where did you find her?”
“Earth. A small town in the middle of nowhere, Alabama, to be more specific,” he tells her.
My focus snaps to him, replaying his words that make it sound like we’re not on Earth anymore.
Daire turns those unworldly eyes on me, and my skin prickles and warms. Once again, I’m suspicious of whatever power he possesses, subconsciously aware that I should fear the strength of that mystery. He doesn’t move, but something about him makes the air hum with tension.
“She’s afraid,” Daire says.
“Of course she is.” Pain—or maybe understanding—radiates from Scarlet’s eyes. “She was brought here without having a clue where you were taking her or why, and then Chris used his power on her. I’d be losing my shit, too.”
“You should never have been harmed,” Willow says. “There’s no apology or excuse we can afford for what Chris did to you, but I can assure you that no one will harm you again.” She pulls a stool out from beneath a counter and moves it so she’s sitting in front of me. “I healed you when you arrived.” She folds her hands and keeps them in her lap, where I can see them. “We’re like you,” she continues. “We’re just like you.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know what that means.”
“We each control an element. Air, Soul, Water, Ground, and Fire. May I show you my element?” Willow’s voice is calm and serene, the opposite of what I’m feeling. “I’m a Soul Elemental,” she continues, as though understanding my trust and sanity are currently balanced on an edge too narrow and steep to respond. “I’m going to take a scalpel out of that drawer and cut myself so I can show you.”
My breath catches as she removes the sharp instrument. For something so small, I know firsthand exactly how much pain it can inflict. She winces as she scores a long line across her palm, and then her lavender eyes meet mine.
“Watch.” She presses her hand near the wound, and to my shock and amazement, the blood stops gathering, and then the skin knits, fast-forwarding weeks of healing in just a few seconds.
Hope feels too big and too small as it lodges itself in my throat.
“We’re Elementals,” Willow says, “and you’re one of us.”
Chapter 3: Fire and Fate
As Willow’s claim—that I belong here—races through my thoughts, Scarlet shifts closer. “I know it sounds impossible,” she says gently. “But it’s real.”
I bristle. Kindness has betrayed me more times than cruelty ever has. Gentle voices. Soft hands. All hiding sharp edges. I learned that lesson before prison, and I’ve relearned it too many damn times since.
I scan their faces, loathing the unchecked curiosity there. I need answers—something solid and sure to hold onto before my heart shakes apart. I need to know if I’m a monster.
“Is she about to freak out again?” The bearded man eyes me like a lit fuse.
“She grew up with the humans,” Willow says. “This is a lot to process.”
“I was born on Earth, too. Humans are a brutal and careless species.” Scarlet gives me a pained expression. “Do you feel different, Brielle? Stronger? More rested?”
Beneath my fear and unease, I realize I do. The constant ache in my spine, the sharp twinge in my right shoulder, even the sluggishness I thought was normal are all gone. It’s as though I awoke from a deep, dreamless sleep and was scrubbed clean from the inside out.
I’ve been drugged.
There’s no other explanation.
I fight the rising panic, searching the room for exits.
“I know it feels strange at first,” Scarlet says. “Like an out-of-body experience, but it’s normal.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think we can use the word normal in this conversation.”
Scarlet grins.
“Brielle, this is Tarkan Bessus,” Daire says, gesturing toward the bearded man.
“What can you do?” I ask.
Tarkan smiles. Water swirls into existence in his palm—a controlled sphere that grows while maintaining its tight form.
No one reacts. No one else is shocked.
How? The word echoes on repeat in my thoughts.
Before I can process what’s happening, Tarkan flicks his wrist. The sphere of water launches straight at me.
Instinct has me raising my hands defensively. A rush of heat and ice flows beneath my skin—and something inside me shifts.
The water crashes, but not against me. It slams into empty air, like it’s hit an invisible wall, and explodes. Willow and Karraelas are soaked by the splash.
Everyone freezes.
Willow’s lavender eyes are wide as she steps forward and reaches out, finding the invisible surface separating us. A slow, delighted smile spreads across her face as her palms flatten against thin air.
A barrier separates us.
“Amazing,” she breathes, pressing her hands more firmly against it.
A sharp pain jolts down my spine. The ache ends at the same time the barrier collapses. Willow stumbles, nearly crashing into me.
We both jerk back.
I want to ask if that was me. Demand to know how it happened. How to do it again. But my pulse is pounding, my skin tingles, and my thoughts feel like scattered ash as I question what is real.
“Are you out of your mind?” Daire snaps at Tarkan. “We just assured her she was safe.”
Karraelas shifts, his unease so obvious it sets me on edge. “Daire’s right. You might trigger her to...” He shakes his head. “We don’t know what she’s capable of.” He stares at me, eyes pinched like he’s concentrating very hard.
I meet his stare. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“He’s testing to see if you can read his thoughts,” Scarlet tells me.
“Read his thoughts?”
Scarlet takes another step closer to me.
Every muscle in my body tenses, even my lungs.
“We’re going to be close friends. I can feel it.” Her voice is light, casual, but also certain.
She doesn’t understand—trust isn’t something I can afford.
Daire moves closer, too close, and places a hand on my knee. Heat floods me, seeping past skin into my bones.
I jerk away. “What did you just do?”
The door slams open with so much force that the walls rattle. Everyone shifts, hands raised into defensive positions as I measure the feet to the door and pick the best places to hide.
A man with dark hair and silver eyes stands in the doorway that leads outside, making the exit look small.
His distinctive eyes gleam too bright, too knowing as they lock on me.
Scarlet moves between us, putting her back to me, arms raised in a defensive position. Her words of friendship race through my head, into my heart, straight to the soul that so many have claimed I don’t have.
The silver-eyed stranger raises a hand, but I’m faster. Flames extend from my fingertips, wild and reckless, streaking toward the newcomer as the room erupts into chaos.
Invisible binds slam around my wrists and ankles, pinning me to the bed.
“Stop!” Scarlet shrieks. “She doesn’t know. She didn’t do it on purpose.”
The stranger ignores her and the flames that Karraelas and Tarkan are rushing to extinguish. He takes three strides toward me, murder swirling in his eyes.
“Do it,” I dare him through clenched teeth as I struggle against the invisible restraints.
“She doesn’t know,” Scarlet says again. She moves but only takes a step before she freezes. Fear flashes across her face.
The scent of citrus tickles my nose as the dark-haired man approaches, leaving only a few feet between us. His shoulders are impossibly broad, and his dark hair teases the top of his long, sooty lashes. He stares down at me like I’m the root of all problems, with those silver eyes practically glowing, revealing they’re actually an unnatural shade of lavender. His nose is a straight line, and his lips are almost too full. Somehow, I sense his vast strength and his intentions.
He wants to kill me.
Daire releases what can only be called a growl as he moves to stand between us. “Back off.”
“This is Brielle Breslin. She was just rescued,” Willow explains, her tone diplomatic, but I hear the edge of fear sharp as the invisible knife I know is pressed to my neck. “She’s been living with the humans.”
The stranger’s inhuman-colored eyes sharpen. “She’s too strong. There’s no way humans raised her.” He turns his attention to Daire, then to Karraelas.
“I...” Karraelas nods and roughly clears his throat. “What we believed was a coven was...” He clears his throat again. “We only found her.” He nods at me. “She doesn’t seem to have control. Which explains the spikes we’ve been monitoring.”
The stranger’s silver eyes narrow, and an unnatural pressure against my chest steals my breath as fear swallows my anger.
Daire straightens. “You have two seconds.” His voice is a warning as he leans closer to the stranger, further confusing me. “Or I swear on the Veil...”
The pressure eases fractionally. “Where have you been hiding, Witchling?”
The insult grates.
“I wouldn’t advise taunting her, Lochlan,” Karraelas mutters. “Those flames were tame compared to the magic she threw at Chris. It’s going to take him at least a week to recover.”
Lochlan stares at me. “If she’s as green as you believe, she’ll burn herself out first.”
There’s brutal certainty in his voice, and even worse, a note of curiosity like he wants to see what happens if I do.
“I’d take you with me,” I promise him.
Humor flashes in his gaze with a silent challenge that I itch to rise to before he looks at Daire. “Hear that? She wants to kill me.”
“She needs more than Thornhurst,” Willow interjects. “She needs someone to work with her one-on-one, so she doesn’t hurt herself. Training for two elements is always more difficult.”
“What is her second element?” Lochlan asks.
“Air. She created a barrier strong enough to stop me.”
“We mistook her for an entire coven.” Daire stares at him meaningfully.
Karraelas clears his throat. “Her power was so low when we arrived this morning, it wasn’t even reading, but Chris attacked her, and the spike was off the charts.” His gaze slips to mine and quickly away. “And she was barely conscious.”
Lochlan studies me like an unsolved problem. Previously, when on the receiving end of this look, it’s been followed by tests that include torture and starvation.
My pulse is at a gallop, but then the restraints fade entirely. I don’t know if it’s intentional, so I remain still, only moving enough to track the strangers and the exits.
“How much control do you have?” Lochlan asks me.
I remain perfectly still, unwilling to admit I can move yet.
“Don’t test me, Witchling.” He takes a step closer to me, and every one of my muscles and instincts demands that I move and pull away, sensing the danger that rolls off him, but I refuse to show him I’m shaken. Refuse to flinch. Refuse to answer him.
Lochlan’s expression shifts, something between angry and cavalier. It’s a dangerous combination. Just when I think he’ll strike, he tears his gaze away, turning to Karraelas. “Monitor the area. There must be more.” He then turns to Tarkan. “I want her background. Everything from birth until now.”
He turns back to me. “If this is a trap, not even the Fae and Titans will be able to save you from me.”
Daire’s jaw is locked with a scowl. He’s the only one who doesn’t seem intimidated by Lochlan, making me question their relationship.
Lochlan looks at Willow. “Has she been healed?”
“Yes,” she says. “But as I was saying, I don’t know whether Thornhurst will be the best place for her.”
“She can stay with me,” Scarlet offers.
“She’ll stay at Mysthaven,” Daire says. “It will be the safest place for her while she acclimates to the power shift.”
“Power shift? This isn’t real. You’re not real. None of this is real.” I’m losing my mind and with it any semblance of composure.
Daire takes another step to close the distance between us and sets a hand below my elbow, wrapping his fingers around the underside of my arm in a gentle but firm hold. I swear I can map each digit’s placement as I obsess over the contrast of his skin against mine. I’d forgotten how warm another person’s skin could be, how not all touches inflict pain.
His touch doesn’t take. It gives—steady, quiet, present like he’s offering part of his calm to me, even if I don’t know how to hold it.
I shift, unsure if I like the reminder he draws, but he moves with me, and the warm scents of cinnamon, clove, and smoke fill my lungs. “You’re real,” he says in a voice barely above a whisper. “This is real.”
My heart feels like a coin, spinning endlessly, unsure how it might land. But somehow, my thoughts slow from frantic self-preservation and fear laced with denial to questioning whether this could be plausible. After all, if I can unintentionally burn people, perhaps there is a reason.
I release a slow breath, and my heart follows, gentling.
As I turn toward the others, Willow’s gaze is fixed on me, more specifically on where Daire’s still touching me.
I pull away, almost shocked that his handprint hasn’t branded my skin, because I still feel him.
“What’s Mysthaven?” I ask, twisting my attention to Scarlet and Willow.
“Not a what, a where,” Lochlan tells me. “And for now, it’s where you’ll be staying.”
“Nature will be important while you’re healing,” Willow says. “You’ll need to spend time outdoors every day.”
Her words feel like a breeze. Like a bird’s song. Like the promise of freedom. The snowdrop flowers are now a field in my chest that I try to burn as my heart races.
“So, I’m not human?”
Scarlet slowly shakes her head.
“And you think I’m from here?”
“We know you are,” Willow says.
I study her for several long seconds. “How?”
“Elemental powers used in other dimensions are tracked,” Karraelas explains. “You set off every alarm we had a few days ago. Nearly as high as you did today.”
“You think I belong here because I burned someone.” It’s meant to be a question, but it sounds like a statement.
Willow nods slowly. Her expression isn’t filled with fear or the same edge of anticipation others have when discussing my unnatural ability. Instead, she looks almost sad. “We know it wasn’t intentional. In Bryxton, we’re trained to harness and use our powers. You were alone and had no idea. Strong emotions: fear, lust, anxiety... they can all trigger powers.” She pauses. I haven’t had a real conversation, a two-sided discussion with someone in so long, I can’t tell if she’s expecting me to fill in the blank space or if she is just allowing me to soak up her assurance. “You were frightened and then horrifically injured. You couldn’t control your reaction, and we wouldn’t expect you to.” She looks at Karraelas and then at Lochlan.
I’ve thought myself a monster—dangerous and unpredictable—for so long. To know there’s an explanation fractures something deep within my chest, leaving me feeling uncomfortably vulnerable and emotional. Still, exposing more of myself and telling another one of my truths has me shaking my head in denial.
Elementals.
I don’t know how to accept this.
I don’t know how not to.
