Chapter 8
644 Words
Chapter Eight
Sage
Wraithbourne was quiet in the early hours. Not peaceful—never that—but suspended. Like the city was holding its breath before the next body hit the ground.
I rode through mist-veiled streets with the hum of my elemental bike under me and the day already coiled tight in my chest. The runes carved into the streetlights glowed faintly as I passed, casting flickers of blue and gold across the wet pavement.
Training day.
No mission. No briefing. No backup. Just me, three men who didn’t want me here, and a combat bay lined with defensive wards strong enough to contain a goddamn explosion.
Perfect.
I parked in the underground garage and strode toward the elevators, gear already on—black tactical pants, lightweight armour shirt, twin blades strapped tight across my back. Red lipstick, of course. If I was going to bleed, I might as well do it in style.
The elevator ride to Bay 3 was silent. No chatter. No music. Just the low hum of enchantments and the weight of expectations I had no interest in meeting.
The doors slid open into cold steel and silence.
Kade was already there. Standing near the centre of the bay, arms crossed, dressed in field gear that looked molded to him—black shirt, tactical pants, boots laced to precision. He didn’t look at me. Just kept watching the wardlines flickering across the floor like they were more trustworthy than people.
Draven stood to the side, casually checking the edge of a short-blade that looked like it had tasted blood more than once.
Ash walked in last, phone in hand, the scent of cinnamon gum trailing behind him. He gave me a once-over, chewed slow.
Kade finally spoke. “This is your evaluation. Three stages. Solo combat. Spell scenario. Team integration. You get hit, act like it counts.”
I nodded once.
“Magic is live. Weapons are real. Don’t hold back.”
Ash gave a low whistle and pocketed his phone. “Hope this doesn’t run long. I’ve got plans tonight.”
The second he said it—it hit.
Vision.
Fast. Brutal.
Ash. Later tonight. A glamour-lit booth, sleek wooden table. Woman across from him—brunette, glamoured lashes, laughing too loud. Sushi. Bright orange salmon nigiri. Ash smirking. Confident. Showing off. Then—his aura flickers. His skin goes pale. His hands tremble. Collapse. He’s doubled over in pain, vomiting into a glowing ward bucket. A healer muttering about “bad fish” and “poor decisions.”
I blinked it off, jaw locked.
Ash was still looking at me. “What?”
“Don’t order the sushi,” I said.
He frowned. “What?”
“You’re going out tonight. Glamour booth. Raw fish. Terrible idea. You end up in a clinic ward.”
Ash hesitated. “I never told anyone where I was going.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Silence followed. Heavy. Sharp.
Kade slowly turned to face me, voice low. “How often does that happen?”
“Visions?” I shrugged. “When they feel like it.”
“Detailed like that?”
I met his eyes. “You didn’t see what I saw. But you know I’m not wrong.”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue.
Draven glanced between us, unreadable. Ash muttered something under his breath and looked down at his boots like they might explain the universe.
Kade finally broke the tension. “Warm up. Five minutes. You’re first.”
The team moved without another word.
No camaraderie. No encouragement. Just silent readiness and unspoken judgment.
I stepped into the centre of the ring, blades resting easy at my back, every sense sharpened.
Let them watch.
Let them doubt me.
By the time I walked out of this bay, they'd know exactly who the hell I was.
- Writer
