BOUND BY MIDNIGHT BLOOD

Chapter 12: The Fire Heir's Secret

Riven's POV

I watched Lyra from across the courtyard, half hidden behind a broken pillar, my wolf pacing restless under my skin. I had been standing there long enough that my legs had started to ache, but I could not make myself walk away.

She looked smaller than usual, wrapped in a healer's blanket, her arm still bandaged from the fight. Kael had been dragged away an hour ago, and she had not moved from that same spot since, staring at nothing like the world had gone quiet around her.

My fists curled at my sides. Whatever had happened to her during the attack, it went deeper than a normal hollowing episode. I could feel it in the way her eyes had gone distant, guarded even toward the people who cared about her, like she had built a wall overnight that had not been there before.

I should have been focused on the tournament. Instead all I could think about was the folder hidden in my room, the one with my father's name printed across half the pages.

I found my contact in the old records hall an hour later, a thin man named Dax who owed my family more favors than he could ever repay. The hall smelled like dust and old paper, shelves stacked high with records nobody bothered to read anymore.

"I need to know," I said, closing the door behind me. "The strike last night. Was my father behind it?"

Dax hesitated, which was answer enough. His eyes darted toward the door, like he was already regretting letting me inside, like the walls themselves might be listening.

"Tell me." I kept my voice even, though every muscle in my body had gone tight.

"Your father ordered it," Dax finally admitted, voice low. "He wanted to test the girl. See how far her power would go under real pressure. The Council has been watching her for weeks, but your father pushed for last night specifically. He wanted proof before the war council meets."

My stomach turned over. "Proof of what?"

"That she is dangerous enough to justify what comes next." Dax would not meet my eyes. "I have said too much already."

I left without another word, my boots echoing against the stone floor, my mind spinning through everything I had just learned. My own father had thrown an entire academy into chaos, had put Lyra directly in danger, just to gather data like she was some kind of experiment instead of a person. The anger rising in me felt unfamiliar, heavier than anything I had ever felt toward my own blood before.

I found her still sitting near the courtyard an hour later, though someone had moved her closer to the healing wing entrance. I forced my usual grin into place before she noticed me, even though nothing about how I felt right now was easy or light.

"You look like you could use better company than your own thoughts," I said, dropping into the space beside her, close enough that our shoulders nearly touched.

"I'm fine, Riven."

"You're really not." I studied her face, the exhaustion carved into it, the flatness behind her eyes that had not been there before last night. Even her usual sharpness felt dulled somehow, worn thin. "Talk to me."

"I can't trust anyone right now. Not even myself." Her voice cracked slightly. "The hollowing took a piece of me this time. A piece I needed."

My chest tightened, guilt twisting hard in my gut. I wanted to tell her everything, wanted to warn her exactly how deep my family's involvement went, but the words caught somewhere behind my teeth. Telling her the full truth meant admitting my own blood had orchestrated the attack that hurt her. I was not ready for what that confession would cost me, or her, not yet, not standing this close to the wreckage of what my father had done.

"Just be careful," I said instead, keeping my voice light even as my gut twisted with guilt. "There are people here who are not what they seem. More than you probably know."

"That is not exactly comforting, Riven."

"I never said I was comforting." I forced a grin that felt heavier than it should have. "Charming, sure. Comforting was never really my specialty."

That earned a small, tired smile from her, barely there but real, and the sight of it loosened something tight in my chest, just for a second.

Across the courtyard, Kael appeared at the healing wing window, his eyes locking onto the two of us with an intensity that could have set the whole building on fire. I caught the look and held it a beat longer than necessary, some old competitive instinct flaring despite everything else happening around us. Whatever was going on between Kael and Lyra, it clearly had not softened his need to guard her like she still belonged to him.

Lyra did not seem to notice. She was already looking down at her hands, lost somewhere I could not follow, and for a second I wondered if she noticed anything anymore, or if the hollowing had taken that from her too.

I left her a few minutes later, promising to check on her again soon, and made my way toward the edge of the academy grounds where the old communication tower stood, mostly abandoned now except for emergency signals. The walk gave me time to think, and thinking only made the weight in my chest heavier.

I found what I was looking for fast. A hidden Council transmitter, tucked into the tower's base, exactly where Dax had mentioned it might be. Active. Waiting to send the next signal my father would use to coordinate with the Hollow Council. The small red light blinking on its side felt almost mocking, patient, like it had been waiting for someone to notice it all along.

I stood there a long moment, my hand hovering over the device, my pulse loud in my own ears.

Protect my family name, the one thing my father had drilled into me since birth, the legacy I had spent years learning to carry, or protect the girl who had looked at me today like I was one of the only people in this whole academy she still had any reason to trust, even a little, even now.

I thought about her flat voice, the hollow look behind her eyes, the way my own father had treated her like a specimen instead of a person worth protecting. I thought about the tired smile she had given me, small but real, the first honest thing anyone had offered me all day.

I crushed the transmitter under my boot.

The device sparked once and went dark, and for a moment I felt a rush of relief so strong it almost buckled my knees.

That relief did not last.

My phone buzzed in my pocket seconds later, a message from an unknown number, four words that made my blood run cold, freezing me in place beside the smoking wreckage of the transmitter.

Blood betrays blood. You have 48 hours.