“Remember what I said, Nyssa. The offer stands—open door, any time.” Serafina grips my shoulder with a light squeeze and a smile that distracts me again, forcing me to look away for a moment to hide an embarrassing blush.

  I nod and render a quick salute, “I… promise that I’ll give it some thought while I’m recovering.” I say after a slight delay, thinking of the small shot of pain I’ve been feeling with every motion I take. A longer pause and an uncomfortable phrase, “Thanks, I-I really appreciate it.” Before I can give myself any more chances to look pathetic, I turn to walk. Immediately, I realize that I’ve never been down this far into this wing. Not in a really long time, at least, and not since my problems here started to rear their heads.

  Mentally walking my steps back to Serafina’s door, I begin my count at eight and decide the reasonable endpoint should be the barracks. The windows around me no longer have morning sun streaking in, instead as the light has drawn high in the sky, casting this particular hallway in partial shade. Despite the shadow, I feel better, I think. Running the conversation I had with the Blackthorn archivist over in my head, I try to pick apart what she had to say to better understand her intentions, but for once, each word seems to ring true. “Maybe this is why Serafina is so well received amongst the younger Order members. I’ve long heard she has an open-door policy, but it always sounded like a political sort of offer, not a genuine one. Maybe I will-”

  My thoughts are abruptly shattered by a sudden outburst of shouting from ahead, echoing from the barracks. Instantly, the tension I’ve been trying to keep at bay slams back over me, heavy and suffocating like a cloak I can’t shake off. I jog forward and reach for the doors to the barracks as the roar of shouting grows louder, punctuated with the sound of heavy punches slamming into hard bodies, people colliding with furniture and walls. The sound of a fight, for sure. I can just walk around. Take the long way, not get involved.

  But I have a sneaking suspicion that this is related to me. With a small amount of dread, I try to push the door open and apparently shove it straight into someone standing with their back to it.

  The person turns around, still holding the door mostly closed and peeking through the crack of it being partially opened. I hear the sounds more clearly and can see a sliver of the room and see someone being worked over in the center but can’t see past the woman blocking it.

  “Barracks is closed, there’s some important recalibratin' goin' on." The woman, someone I I used to spar with regularly before coming under Garrick’s tutelage. Kyla. Another vigil veteran and one of the few people trusted to go toe-to-toe with calamities — just not alone, like Garrick or how I will be.

  She stops her explanation and instead grins toothily at me. “Nevermind, I think you’ll wanna see this, Nyss.” There’s a certain degree of menace behind her smile. It’s a common feeling I get from the more martially inclined members of the order, but I nod. She moves in, clearly shoving some people aside to make room for me amongst the others and keeping on my left side.

  Not at all knowing what to expect, I press in, and the people near the door give me a wide berth, seemingly trying to avoid touching me, I guess.” Not unexpected…but maybe some noticed my arm? When I make it to the front to be able to actually see what’s going on, I freeze, stunned. Kyla’s hand rests on my good shoulder, but I barely register it.

  Being walked around the room and battered with basically no chance to fight back, I see Lars, at least I think it’s him. It’d be fairly hard to tell were it not for the patch on his uniform marking him an Order beastmaster. All eyes are on the main event that is making its rounds around the entire room. The crowd parts and steps aside whenever Lars and his assailant come near, but not one hand reaches out to stop it. Some people are even cheering at particularly heavy blows, but I feel my stomach twist, certain that this is happening because of me.

  I get a good look at the assailant. Their back has been to me for the majority of the time since I arrived, and they generally move with a speed that I would struggle to match on my best days. I recognize them the moment I get a glimpse of their highly and sharply pointed ears. Lan Siobhan. They're an instructor, friend of Garrick's, and the one who taught me basically everything I know that wasn’t taught to me by Garrick. Knowledgeable in magic, quiet, serious and without question one of the most effective people in the Order when it comes to tracking and fighting.

  I’ve never seen them mad before. As long as I live, I would be quite fine never seeing it again. Their almost fae-like features(something that catches them distrust out in general society) are contorted with concentration as they land blow after blow — mostly shots to the body — on Lars.

  Each and every punch comes on the tail end of one of Lars’s own. Lan taught me to fight defensively, allow my opponent to over extend and to use their weight against them. It was important, they said, since I would almost always be smaller or lighter than the things I would end up fighting, and its value was on full display here. Lars punches, Lan redirects the hit or steps aside, and returns with a punch or knee to an exposed part of the body. It’s hard to watch after a point, because I have a strong suspicion of why it’s happening and am honestly terrified of how the others might react to me because of it.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  I step forward, full of complicated emotions, and call out “Lan, I think he’s done.” at the top of my lungs to be heard over the din. The room suddenly falls quiet and Lan’s sharp features regain a bit of composure. I see their green-hued skin, covered with jade imbuement tattoos, making both their heritage and elemental affinity out clearly. Almond-shaped eyes framed with tired bags, a thin line of a mouth, pursed in concentration. In spite of the fight, their garb is largely unaffected. They're in tough utility clothes with altogether too many pockets and pouches and an armored cloak like mine, though instead of thin metal sheets, theirs is reinforced with some exotic black and white scales that shimmer with their movement. Their weapons aren’t on their person, but I see a senior knight on the other side of the room holding them. A simple bow, a simple blade.

  Lan tosses a sideways glance at me, their eyes carrying an intensity that almost makes me flinch. “I think you’re right, Nyss. Is the ‘little slayer’ right, Lars? Have you had enough?” Lan looks back at the man who’s doubled over, holding his ribs after a particularly nasty punch. Lars, impressively, manages to nod. “Good." Lan returns the nod, humorless, “Can we walk?” They gaze at me, asking in the way they always do. It’s a small comfort that pulls back my anxiety a little bit because of the familiarity.

  “Yeah, we can walk.” I close the distance to them as they make for the opposite door. As we leave, the room suddenly explodes into talking, the tension bleeding off as quickly as it likely came. I see a couple people helping Lars up and several people giving me peculiar looks, “Worry? Contempt?” but I just incline my head and step into the hall after Lan. Once we make our way out, I demand, “What the hell was that, Lan? You know they’re going to go to the Blackthorns, right?”

  They shrug. That’s all. Their casual response only serves to upset me further. “I don’t think they will. Besides, if they do, I’ve got some key words about their ilk to share with the Blackthorns myself. But I think we’ve reached a mutual understanding. Why are you mad at me?” They turn to look at me, genuine confusion framing their angular features. “Those guys almost got you killed with their incompetence.”

  I’m taken aback and reel, “What do you mean they almost got me killed? Lars is just a jerk—he roughed me up, sure, but nothing serious. And I got him back for it all the same” My voice shakes, betraying the calm I’m trying and failing to hold onto. “Now everyone will think I can’t handle myself.” The words pour out faster and faster, and I can feel my control slipping, like sand through my fingers. I clutch my arm, wincing at the pain but holding on to the only thing grounding me. We’ve come to a stop in the hall and while there’s not many people around, the few that are are staring. Lan just looks at me, seemingly unsure of how to react.

  “Look, Nyss, I think we’re talking about different things right now. I ran into May earlier and she gave me the run-down on what happened and how you got injured.” They lean in closer, speaking quietly, “How about we head somewhere private and talk? I’ll explain things.”

  “So May and now Lan both think I’m not good enough. Makes sense, I guess.” I close my eyes hard, trying to focus. Trying to center myself. “Head down, power through. Head down, power through.” I feel that same sensation from Serafina’s office come over me from when I was thinking of that man. This time I don’t have the boon of powerful magic to keep my mind straight. It’s getting harder to focus on anything at all. The world starts to tilt. My thoughts, once sharp and clear, blur like fog rolling in. I open my eyes, desperate for something to hold onto, and catch sight of Lan’s face—they're talking, but the words feel muffled, as if I’m underwater. My chest tightens, and my breath comes in shallow gasps. I know I should respond, should focus, but all I can think is to get out. To leave and keep walking. I step into motion with purpose Twenty three steps to my room. Twenty steps back to the fork. Turn right. Thirty-five steps. Menders.” I keep track in my head, tracking the steps alongside my count. It gives me a bit of clarity of purpose and a fragment of calm that I cling to desperately.

  Distantly I hear footsteps dogging my own. I consider speeding up but know it would throw off my count, so I just try my best to ignore them. In short order I arrive at my destination, opening my eyes as I grab the handle to step inside. Several people’s heads snap up, including May’s, and stare at me and past me at something behind me. “Why does everyone look so concerned? It’s just a broken arm.” May quickly walks up to me and I flinch back. Stopping, she holds up both hands in apology, making a placating gesture while talking at me. It reminds me of the way that someone would try to calm down a wounded animal: moving slowly, open-handed gestures, soft talking. She looks past me as she reaches out, putting a hand on either of my shoulders gently while continuing to talk at me.

  May’s voice reaches me, but it’s like I’m hearing her through a thick wall.

  “Hey, Nyss, can you focus on me?”

  “Try to control your breathing. Slowly, in…out…”

  “Try to look into my eyes.”

  Her face is filled with concern, an expression I haven’t seen from her in years—not since before things changed between us. It should comfort me. Instead, it makes me feel small, like I’m a problem she has to deal with. She looks past me once more and nods at whatever is behind me. “That's odd. Why does she keep doing that?” I feel a firm pressure on my back followed by a potent burst of energy and I immediately to get so sleepy. All of the journey catching up to me at once. The neglect to my wellbeing. It feels like the ground is giving way beneath me. My eyes flutter closed while May rushes forward and grabs me.