His fingers drummed one at a time on the table—a single deliberate tap—before he stood. I tensed instinctively, but he only moved to lean against the wall beside the door, crossing his arms. Giving me space, I assumed. Making himself less threatening.

  "You know what I find interesting about the Wielders?" his tone conversational, as if we were discussing philosophy over wine, rather than my potential imprisonment. "They talk endlessly about tradition, bloodlines, about the natural order of things. But they're terrified."

  "Terrified," I repeated flatly, unable to keep the scorn from my face. "The Wielders control half of Belaria's parliament. They have the wealthiest families, the best trained mages, the—"

  "And yet they sent someone barely an adult to do their dirty work." While his words were cutting, his tone was gentle. "Why? Why risk a young mage on something so critical, so close to the elections?"

  My jaw clenched.

  I'd wondered the same thing, on more than one occasion. Had decided not to question it too much after both Grandfather and my father had agreed it was a great opportunity for me. For the household.

  "Unless," Sirius continued, his eyes, barely visible in the shadows, holding mine, "they wanted someone expendable. Someone whose capture wouldn't be too costly. Someone who—" he paused, pondering the words, I assume. "Whose bloodline isn't quite pure enough to matter if things went wrong."

  The words hurt like a physical blow.

  Expendable.

  My blood went cold. My heart hammered so hard I could feel it in my ears, in my throat, threatening to choke me.

  A small, nasty voice in the back of my mind taunted me, telling me he was right.

  No. Being selected for the mission was an honor. An opportunity not easily handed to people.

  Any trace of curiosity, any connection I thought we shared gone.

  I straightened my back and forced the muscles of my jaw to unclench enough to spit icily "And what would a traitor such as yourself know about it?" The word tasted bitter on my tongue. But the charming astronomer from before was gone, as if swallowed by the shadows.

  "Enough," he said quietly, "to recognize when someone's being used."

  He pushed off from the wall and stepped back towards the table. He didn't sit like before. Instead, he braced his hands on the metal surface, leaning forward just enough that I could see the earnestness in his expression.

  "They sent you because they knew you'd try harder than anyone else. You'd be more willing to take risks, push further, refuse to fail—all to prove you're worthy of a name that should have been yours by right." My fingernails were biting deep into my palm. I was horrified to realise his eyes held me captive as much as the chain and handcuffs did.

  "And when it went wrong, when Alvane's carelessness got you both caught? They lost nothing they cared about. A half-blood operative and an arrogant pure descendant fool who couldn't follow simple instructions."

  "Stop," I warned through gritted teeth, but my voice wavered.

  "Your grandfather probably signed off on the commission himself. Convenient, isn't it? If you succeed, the Wielders win the election thanks to the direct contribution of his house. If you fail..." Sirius pointed at me with his chin. "Either way, problem solved."

  I was having trouble breathing.

  I managed to avert my eyes from the traitor before he could see the panic inside them.

  I wanted to laugh to his face. To inform him that my family was going to have his head for daring to lock me inside the dark room for hours. That the Wielders had spent countless hours training me because they could see my potential. That grandfather had spent a fortune in my education. That he had no idea what he was talking about.

  But the words could not come out of my lips. They couldn't even form in my throat.

  So I did the only thing I could think of. Focused all my attention on the lamp on top of the table until I could feel the heat of my magic against the runes on the handcuffs, and with a discreet wave of my fingers the glass shattered in hundreds of pieces, flying straight to Sirius' face.

  He moved.

  Not with the panicked flinch of someone caught off-guard, but with the fluid precision of someone who'd been expecting the attack. His hand came up in a sharp gesture, and the glass shards hit an invisible barrier and scattered away from us, clattering harmlessly to the floor.

  All but one.

  A single shard slipped through the barrier and grazed his cheek. It was so fast I wouldn't have noticed had it not been for Sirius' sharp inhale, and the thin red line that started bleeding soon after. The light that had been inside the glass continued to shine above the table unbothered, even though fainter than before.

  For a moment, the only sound was my labored breathing. Then Sirius' steady, maddeningly calm voice asked, "feel better?"

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  My chest heaved. I couldn't see his face clearly, but the scratch on his pale skin looked almost black in the dimness.

  "You have no idea," I spat, "what my family has sacrificed for me. And what I've earned."

  "Sacrificed," he repeated, and there was something sharp in his tone now, cutting through the gentleness. "Is that what they call it?"

  He moved closer and crouched down so that we were eye-level. Close enough I could see his face, down to the specks of gold and green in his amber eyes.

  "Alya," he said softly, and hearing my name from his lips sent an unwanted shiver down my spine. I pinned it down to anxiety and stress, "when was the last time your family made you feel like you were enough? Exactly as you are?"

  I glared and leaned forward slowly, as much as the chains allowed, taking a silent deep breath.

  "So, this is it?" My father would have been impressed by the steadiness of my voice and the arch of my eyebrow as I continued mockingly, "is this the interrogation?"

  I went back to resting on the chair, almost in a parody of his earlier relaxed posture.

  "You know, you are right about something. I am mixed. It is known. Which means this is not the first time I must deal with a wretched bully trying to undermine me or my relationship with my family because of my origins. So, why don't we go back to talking about what I was doing in Isaia's house?" Head tilted, my eyes the very picture of innocence, "do you have any proof of all the heinous crimes you're accusing me of? What will the public opinion be once word spreads out that a young mage from a reputable house has been kept chained to a chair for hours for a simple, alleged, attempted burglary?"

  A slow lazy smile spread across Sirius' face. He straightened up, brushing glass dust from his legs, and walked back around the table, settling into his chair again with the same infuriating ease. The cut on his cheek had stopped bleeding, just a thin dark line now.

  "You're right. We have no concrete proof you were planting forged documents. Just circumstantial evidence; your presence outside the study, the runes you wrote on the doorframe, Marcus' rather spectacular distraction on the east wing" he paused, "and of course, Marcus himself, who's been remarkably... cooperative in the next room over."

  My stomach dropped, but I tried to keep my expression carefully neutral.

  Cooperative.

  So he was talking. Giving them what? Everything? Names, plans, maybe even who commissioned us.

  Of course he was. His family would protect him regardless. Just like they had done any time their mess of a son got himself in trouble.

  But what about me?

  "As for the public opinion..." Sirius leaned back to study me with those unnerving amber eyes. "I believe your head of the house would prefer this whole incident disappear quietly. No trial, no publicity. Just their promising young mage released, with a stern warning perhaps. Embarrassing for everyone otherwise." He tilted his head, mirroring my earlier gesture. I was beginning to hate this man.

  "So, let's stop playing games, Alya. I'm not your enemy." Right. Like I could ever believe that.

  "I am curious to know—are you doing this because you believe in what the Wielders stand for? Or because you're trying to prove something to people who will never see you as enough?"

  I scoffed. This man was exasperating. "What's it to you? And what about you? Do you honestly believe that the non-magical—who cannot fully comprehend, let alone perform magic—should have the same decision-making power as mages? This entire country, from the vehicles that roam the streets, to the potions that grow our crops, to the very energy needed to power up all the infrastructures, the entire nation depends on magic."

  "Yes," Sirius said simply, no hesitation. "I do."

  He leaned forward, elbows on the table.

  "You're right that magic powers Belaria. The mages built most of what makes this country prosperous. But who mines the materials for those enchantments? Who harvests the crops that magic helps grow? Who maintains the infrastructure, teaches in pre-magical school, serves in the military alongside mages?" his voice was steady, passionate but not angry. "Magic is a tool, Alya. A powerful one, yes. But it's people—magical and non-magical alike—who built this nation."

  He gestured around them, at the stone walls, the metal furniture.

  "Every brick, stone and column in this building was laid by non-magical hands. The steel in these handcuffs was forged in factories where most workers can't cast a single spell, it was only later in the production that the unbreakable runes were carved into them. The food that keeps the city alive? Grown by farmers. All of which have never set foot in a magical academy," he stared at me with an intensity that made me unable to not pay attention. "Should they have no say in laws that govern their lives? No voice in choosing leaders who'll decide their futures?"

  I didn't answer. It wasn't that easy. It was a matter of fact that most non magical folk didn't have superior education. Hell, some didn't have basic education! How could they be trusted to even know what was best for them? And it's not like the Wielders wanted to harm them.

  They were just tired of pretending that the mages were not born... better. Better?

  The sound of Sirius' clear voice pulled me out of my contemplation.

  "Your mother was an unbound, wasn't she?" I stiffened.

  "You mean a null?"

  His eyes sharpened. "I don't."

  I didn't need to answer.

  "Did she deserve a voice? Did she not deserve to be heard?" The question was soft, careful, but it landed like a thunderclap in the small room.

  "My mother," I bit out. I focused on the feeling of magic inside of me, and the energy all around. My fury once more blurred my vision. His next words might as well be his last. "My mother was killed by the nulls that you're trying so hard to elevate. For the sole crime of bringing me to the world." Sirius's eyes widened as I continued in barely repressed rage. " You should have made your fucking research, traitor, if you wanted to use my mother against me!" I didn't realise in which moment I had started raising my voice, but by the moment I had finished the sentence my breath was laboured and the tightness in my chest had become unbearable. The runes in the handcuffs stopped me this time. Maybe it was for the best. Harming an enforcer would only land me in more trouble than was worth. I huffed.

  The voice of my mentor echoed somewhere in the back of my head: don't let the enemy's words stir emotions inside you.

  "I have nothing else to say to you." I turned back to staring at the dark corner.

  Sirius went very still.

  The silence stretched between us, tense and fragile. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, careful.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

  I said nothing, my whole body taut, staring determinedly at the far wall. The fury still simmering under my skin, but exhaustion was beginning to creep in at its edges.

  "Alya-"

  "I said I have nothing else to say to you" I cut him off coldly.

  Sirius sighed. I wanted to roll my eyes. I was the exhausted one, not him.

  "For what it's worth," he said quietly, standing, "I hope you're wrong about me being your enemy."

  I didn't answer. Didn't need to.

  He moved toward the door, his footsteps crunching over broken glass. I heard him pause just by the door.

  "Your name suits you," he murmured. Loud enough for me to hear it.

  Before I could formulate a scathing response, or even process what he could possibly mean by that, the lock turned and the door swung open. A man who looked younger than Sirius stepped into the doorway looking anxious.

  I blinked a few times to adjust my eyes to the sudden light.

  "Sir," I heard the man say hurriedly, "Thessalian Velmire and his lawyer are here. They have come to retrieve Lady Velmire."