Chapter 14 Chapter 14: Thin Ice

Chapter 14 Chapter 14: Thin Ice

I woke up before the alarm again. The room was still dark, the kind of dark that presses against your eyelids like it wants in. Rain had stopped sometime in the night; now the window showed only the faint gray smear of pre-dawn. My phone said 5:22 a.m. Too early to get up. Too late to go back to sleep. I stayed where I was, flat on my back, staring at the ceiling until the familiar cracks started to look like claw marks. Same ones I’d been tracing since the first week here.

They hadn’t changed. Nothing else had either. Except everything. Voss’s voice kept looping in my head like a bad song I couldn’t mute. You have her fire. Your mother tried to run from hers. I won’t allow history to repeat itself. Several suitable candidates have expressed interest. I pulled the blanket higher. It didn’t help. The words stayed cold under my skin. Lyra stirred. Rolled over. Her eyes opened slowly, bleary. She saw me watching the ceiling and didn’t ask why I was awake. Just sat up, rubbed her face, and padded to the coffee maker without a word. She made two mugs again. Same as yesterday. Black. No sugar.

Set mine on the nightstand. This time, she didn’t apologize. Just sat on the edge of my bed—careful, like she was afraid the mattress would crack under her weight.I didn’t move.After a long minute, she spoke. Quiet. “Finn drew me a picture yesterday. Over video call. A dragon eating a pizza. Said it’s what happens when dragons get hungry at midnight.” A small, tired smile tugged at her mouth. “He’s terrible at proportions. The dragon’s head is bigger than the pizza.”I pictured it. A kid with messy hair and too-big glasses, tongue between his teeth, crayon dragon breathing pepperoni fire. Something soft happened in my chest. I hated it.“He sounds… nice,” I said. Lame. But honest.“He is.” She looked down at her mug. Steam curled around her fingers. “He hates needles.
Always has. When they have to draw blood or give him insulin shots, he tries to bargain. Like, ‘If I’m really good, can we skip it this time?’ Breaks my heart every time.”I swallowed. “I used to bargain too. Different reasons. Different people. Didn’t work.”She didn’t ask what the reasons were. Didn’t push. Just nodded as she understood anyway.
I surprised myself by speaking again.
“There was this one foster home. Third one, maybe fourth. Guy locked me in a closet when I talked back. Said it was ‘time-out.’ The first time it happened, I screamed until my throat bled. After that… I learned to be quiet.”The words came out flat. Like I was reciting someone else’s story. Lyra’s grip tightened on the mug. Knuckles white. “How old were you?”“Eleven. Maybe twelve.”She exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry.”“Don’t be.” I sat up finally. Pulled my knees to my chest. “It’s old news.”“Not if it still hurts.”I didn’t answer. Just stared at the chipped mug on the nightstand. Steam was gone now. Coffee cooling. We sat like that until the radiator kicked on again. Hiss. Click. Hiss.
Eventually, she stood. “We should get ready for class.
“Yeah.”Neither of us moved right away. Combat theory was in the same padded room we used for sparring, only today there were no mats dragged out, no gloves, no partners. Just rows of folding chairs and a projector screen showing diagrams of pressure points and nerve clusters. Professor Hale—Rowan’s aunt, same sharp cheekbones—lectured on “suppression techniques for unwanted shifts.”“Breathe through the wave,” she said, clicking to a new slide. “Four counts in. Hold four. Out four. Visualize ice spreading from your core outward. Freeze the impulse before it reaches your extremities.”I tried it right there in my seat. Panic had been building since the closet memory. Small at first—tight chest, shallow breaths—then bigger. Claws itched under my nails. Eyes burned like they wanted to glow. I closed them.

Breathed. In four. Hold-four. Out-four.Ice.Cold spreading from my stomach to my fingertips. The itch faded. The burn dulled. It worked. For maybe thirty seconds. Then Voss’s voice slipped back in. Several suitable candidates. Claws pushed again—sharp tips pricking skin. I curled my hands into fists under the desk. Breathed harder. Ice. Freeze. They retracted. Barely. Professor Hale moved on to case studies. I didn’t hear the rest. Lunch was at the usual corner table. Ivy had soup. Dex was eating fries one at a time like they were chess pieces. Rowan arrived late, tray loaded, dropped into the seat beside me.“Tell me you didn’t skip breakfast again,” he said. I shrugged. “Wasn’t hungry.”He pushed half his sandwich toward me. Turkey and avocado on rye. “Eat. You look like you’re running on fumes.”I took it. Mostly to stop him staring.

The bread was soft. Avocado smashed just right. I ate slowly. Rowan launched into a story—something about his first shift at twelve. “Full moon. In the middle of my mom’s rose garden. I panicked, tried to run back inside, and shredded every bush in a ten-foot radius. Mom came out screaming. Thought a bear got in. Took her three days to stop crying over Queen Elizabeth.”Ivy snorted. “Queen Elizabeths?”“Hybrid tea roses.

She named them all after British monarchs. I still can’t look at pink flowers without feeling guilty.”Dex laughed—short, surprised bark. Lyra smiled, small but real. I laughed too. It felt strange. Like stretching a muscle that hadn’t moved in years. Across the cafeteria, Kieran sat at the instructors’ table. Alone. As always. He wasn’t eating. Just watching. When our eyes met, the laugh died in my throat. His gaze was steady. Gold-flecked. Unreadable. I looked down at my half-eaten sandwich. Appetite gone again. Afternoon free period. I didn’t go back to the dorm. Didn’t want Lyra’s careful questions or the flower in the drawer staring at me.
Instead,
I wandered past the old greenhouse behind the biology building. The door was unlocked—had been for years, according to campus rumor. Inside smelled like damp earth and rotting wood. Glass panes cracked in places, vines pushing through gaps like they owned the place. Sunlight slanted through in dusty bars. I found a corner with a cracked mirror propped against a potting bench. Sat on an overturned crate. Closed my eyes.Focused.

The shift started in my eyes first. Pressure. Heat. Like someone pressing hot coins against my lids. I opened them slowly. Amber stared back from the mirror. Not full gold. Not yet.Just… amber. Bright. Wrong. My breath hitched. I looked away. Closed my eyes again. Breathed. When I looked back, they were brown again. Normal. Human. Almost cried then. Not from fear.From something worse.Remembering Elena’s journal. The carving in the tunnel.Free at last. I wanted that. Wanted it so bad my chest ached.Whispered to the empty greenhouse:

“I want that too.”Nothing answered. Evening. Voluntary legacy training session in the main arena. I didn’t plan to watch. My feet took me there anyway. I stayed in the doorway—half-hidden by the frame. The lights were low. Mats spread out. About a dozen legacies working forms. Kieran prowled the edges. Black shirt. Black pants. Voice low, calm, cutting through the grunts and thuds. He stopped behind a girl—Morgan, the same one who’d cornered me after the arena fight.
Adjusted her stance. Hands on her shoulders. Thumbs brushing the sides of her neck. Same careful way he’d once touched me. Jealousy hit fast. Sharp. Ugly. I hated it. Hated how my stomach twisted.Hated that I cared. I turned away before he could see me. Walked back to the dorm fast. Hood up. Hands shoved deep in pockets. Lyra was out again. Room empty. I sat on my bed. Pulled open the drawer. The flower was still there. Petals are starting to curl at the edges. I picked it up. Pine. Smoke.Him.I crushed one petal between my fingers. The scent bloomed stronger. Then I shoved it back in the drawer. Slammed it shut. Lay down. Stared at the ceiling. The cracks looked deeper tonight. Midnight came slowly.

I cracked the window for air. Moonlight silver on the quad.And there—under the nearest lamppost—the ghost wolf.Closer than ever.Massive. Silver-grey fur catching light like frost. Amber's eyes were fixed on my window. It didn’t move. Just watched. I leaned out. Whispered into the dark.“Who are you?”It tilted its head. Slow. Deliberate. Then melted into shadow.Gone.I stayed at the window long after it vanished. Heart pounding.Not from fear.From something that felt dangerously close to hope.