Chapter 8 Aug 18, 2025 There were rules during flight drills that were supposed to keep you alive. Keep your formation tight so you don't crash into your wingman. Don't show fear because dragons can smell weakness like blood in water. And above all, trust your harness because it's literally the only thing standing between you and becoming street food. Mira had trusted hers-right up until the exact moment the left strap decided to have an existential crisis and snap mid-air. "Oh, shit-" The words barely left her mouth before the world tilted sideways like someone had flipped a cosmic table. One second she was locked into place on Liorith's back, feeling invincible and slightly nauseous, the next she was falling through empty air like a rejected angel. Wind screamed in her ears, drowning out everything except the sound of her own heart trying to beat its way out of her chest. Her fingers clawed desperately at nothing, catching only the mockery of open sky. Above her, silver scales twisted in absolute panic. Liorith let out a roar, a sound of pure anguish that made every dragon within miles flinch. She dove, flames streaking behind her like a comet made of fury and desperation. "Mira!" Liorith's inner voice crashed into her mind, raw with terror. "Hold on-I'm coming-" "There's nothing to hold onto!" Mira screamed back, but the wind stole her words. She hit the rocky ridge with the kind of impact that rearranges your skeleton. The wind left her lungs like someone had reached into her chest and squeezed. Her back bounced off stone that felt like it had been designed specifically to break human bones. Liorith's wings barely managed to break the worst of her fall before she rolled, hit the ground again, and finally stopped moving. Dirt filled her mouth, gritty and bitter. Her arms trembled as she tried to push herself up, but her body felt like it had been disassembled and put back together by someone who'd lost the instruction manual. "Fuck," she wheezed into the dirt. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." Voices shouted from somewhere that felt like another planet. Feet pounded against stone, getting closer. Her ears rang like church bells. Her body shook like she was coming apart at the seams. Her left shoulder burned with the kind of pain that had its own zip code. "Mira!" That wasn't Liorith's voice in her head. That was human vocal cords, raw with something that sounded suspiciously like panic. It was Bastian. She blinked through vision that kept trying to slide sideways. His face swam into view-pale as death, eyes wild with something she'd never seen before. Something that looked almost like fear. "She could've fucking died!" he roared, spinning on the instructors before they could even reach her. His voice cracked like a whip. "You sent her up without checking her harness? What the hell kind of operation are you running here?" One of the officers held up his hands like he was trying to calm a rabid animal. "We did check the equipment-" "Then someone sabotaged it!" Bastian's voice pitched higher, dangerous. "And I want to know who." "We don't jump to accusations without evidence-" "I'm not jumping to shit," Bastian snapped, and Mira had never heard him swear like that. "I watched it snap mid-air. The bolt was clean-cut. That doesn't happen by accident unless physics decided to take a fucking vacation." Mira coughed once, the pain slicing through her ribs like broken glass. "I'm fine," she managed, though the words tasted like lies and blood. Bastian's head snapped down to look at her, jaw clenched so tight she could see the muscle jumping. "No, you're not." She didn't argue. For once in her life, she had absolutely nothing left to throw at him. Not words, not fire, not the stubborn pride that usually kept her upright. Just pain and the lingering taste of terror. That night, Mira lay on her narrow cot like a broken doll someone had tried to reassemble. Her arms ached with the deep, bone-deep pain that came from muscles that had been stretched beyond their limits. Bruises bloomed across her ribs in shades of purple and yellow that would have been pretty if they weren't attached to her body. She hadn't said a word when they carried her back to the dorms. Hadn't said anything during the lecture from the healers about being more careful. She just kept replaying the fall on repeat-the snap, the weightlessness, the way Liorith had roared like the world was ending. The dorm was dark and too quiet. Even Liorith slept, curled in the dragon den below, exhausted from her own trauma. Mira stared at the ceiling, her fingers twitching involuntarily, as if the ghost of the harness still wrapped around her wrists. When the knock came, soft and hesitant, she ignored it. The door flew open anyway. Bastian stood there, soaked in rain that made his dark hair stick to his forehead, rage simmering under his skin like barely contained lava. She sat up slowly, wincing as her shoulder protested. "You know, most people wait to be invited in. It's called basic human decency." "I'm not most people," he growled, voice rougher than she'd ever heard it. "Yeah, I've noticed. You're the special kind of asshole who kicks down doors." He stepped inside, didn't close the door behind him, didn't even blink. "If anyone else touches your gear-if anyone even thinks about laying a finger on you-" She tilted her head, studying his face in the dim light. "You'll what? Call me fat louder? Maybe throw in some comments about my bloodline?" His eyes snapped to hers like he'd been slapped. Then he crossed the room in three long strides and grabbed her wrist. The room went dead silent. His hand was warm and shaking-actually shaking. "Don't," she said softly, but she didn't pull away. "You could've died," he hissed, and his voice cracked on the last word. "And yet here I am, breathing and everything." "That doesn't make it okay." "No," she agreed, "but pretending you give a shit only when I'm falling through the sky doesn't make you noble either." His grip tightened just a fraction, enough that she could feel his pulse hammering against her skin. "You think I don't care?" "I think you don't know what you feel unless someone's bleeding for it." He flinched like she'd driven a knife between his ribs. Their breath tangled in the space between them. Too close. Too fast. Too many things unsaid. His hand was still wrapped around her wrist, but not rough now. Just there. Steady. An anchor in a world that had tried to kill her today. "Let go," she whispered, but she didn't move. "You don't want me to," he said, and his voice was raw. She hated that he was right. Hated how her pulse jumped under his fingers. Hated how safe she felt when she should feel trapped. "You're angry." "I'm fucking furious." "Because I fell, or because you couldn't stop it?" His jaw ticked like a time bomb. "Both." "I didn't ask you to save me." "I didn't ask to want to." The words hung between them like a confession and a curse. She yanked her hand free, but before she could say anything else-before she could build her walls back up-he kissed her. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet. It wasn't any of the bullshit from romance novels. It was war. His mouth crashed into hers like it was punishment and apology and desperate relief all rolled into one devastating assault. Her hands found his shoulders without conscious thought, nails digging in, dragging him closer even as her brain screamed that this was insane. His fingers threading into her hair, tugging until her scalp tingled. She pulled back, bit his lower lip hard enough to taste copper. He groaned like she'd hurt him in the best possible way. He pushed her back against the wall, and her bruises screamed in protest, but she didn't care. Couldn't care. Not when his mouth was on her jaw, her throat, finding that spot that made her knees go weak. She bit down on his shoulder to keep from making sounds that would wake the entire dorm. "Fuck," he swore against her skin, and she'd never heard him lose control like this. She kissed him harder, their bodies colliding like they were trying to crawl inside each other's skin. Every breath between them was electric, charged with months of hatred and want and something that felt dangerously close to need. "This is insane," she gasped against his mouth. "Completely," he agreed, and kissed her again like the world was ending and this was their last chance to feel anything real. But then-he pulled away. No warning. No lingering touch. Just the absence of heat where his body had been. He didn't speak. Didn't look back. One blink, and he was already stalking into the shadows of the barracks. Mira stood frozen, breath still caught between her lips, heart a battlefield of want and fury. She didn't chase him. Wouldn't. But gods, she wanted to scream.