Chapter 12: Embers in Her Veins

The sun hadn't even bothered to show up yet, but Evangeline was already out there, staring into the half-light, her toes slowly freezing off. The whole camp looked like it was still asleep. Meanwhile, Hann—yeah, the dude practically invented early mornings—was just standing there, arms folded, blades crossed like he was auditioning for the part of "most intimidating statue."

"You're late," he rumbled, voice like someone grinding rocks in a coffee can.

Evangeline tried to shake out her shoulders, and honestly, she was already wondering why she ever agreed to this nonsense. "I'm early, actually."

He snorted, tossing her a training dagger that barely looked blunt. "For prey, sure. But today? You're learning to think like a wolf."

She caught it without thinking—heart racing, but not from nerves. More like… adrenaline. Or caffeine. Or something hotter under her skin.

People liked to talk about Hann—whisper behind his back about the scars, the attitude, the way he seemed to train with his fists more than his words. He wasn't here for pep talks. And honestly? Neither was she.

"Come at me," he barked, barely letting her set her feet.

She lunged. Instinct, pure and simple. He basically swatted her out of the air, twisted her wrist, and—wham—she was kissing the dirt before she even understood what happened. Her dagger spun off into the weeds.

Shoulder screaming, she glared up at him.

"Again," he said, as if that was supposed to be encouraging.

She growled, low and dangerous, and got back up. They went again. And again. And, yeah, again. Every move she threw out, he had a counter waiting. Every instinct she trusted? Betrayed her. By the fifth time she hit the ground, her pride hurt more than her shoulder. Figures.

"You're too soft," he said, like it was a diagnosis. "You react. You don't choose."

She spit blood—real dramatic—into the dirt. "Then quit babying me."

That got him, just a twitch, a ghost of a grin.

This time, he came at her fast—faster than before, just a blur. But then, something weird happened. The world didn't slow down, but she started seeing things—the way his foot angled, the twitch in his shoulder, the rhythm under her boots. For a split second, she knew where he'd be before he got there. She pivoted, dodged, let his momentum do the work.

Did she strike? Nah. Didn't need to. Not yet.

He spun around, surprise flickering across that stone face. "Good."

Next round, she held her ground better. Still lost, but hey—didn't eat dirt. Muscles burning, lungs on fire, but underneath it all… something else. Something alive, humming just under her skin. Like a spark, waiting.

Power, but not like muscles or brute force. More like—hell if she knew. It was heat, coiling somewhere deep, rising every time she focused. And when she dropped and swept Hann's legs, that power burst up through her.

He fell to the ground.

For a moment, she just stood like a statue. The dirt around her boots? Blackened, like it'd been struck by lightning.

Hann lay there, staring at her, then burst out laughing. "Well, look at that. Prophecy girl's got some fire after all."

She stumbled back, staring at tendrils of smoke curling off her skin. "That—That's not normal."

He shrugged, brushing off dirt. "Yeah, well, nothing about you is. You really think a prophecy is about playing it safe?"

She opened her mouth, voice all shaky. "I didn't mean to—That wasn't control. That was just—accident."

"Control's what you learn. Power's what you have." Hann's face got a little grim, shadows sliding across his eyes. "You need both, Evangeline. Or one'll chew you up."

Later, she was off by herself at the edge of the training field, sitting in the dirt. Her muscles ached like hell, but her head—way worse. She flipped her palm over and just stared, watching that weird, red shimmer pulsing under her skin—like it had a heartbeat. Creepy. Kinda fascinating, too, if she was honest.

Not like this was brand new. That heat crawling through her veins, that sharp, stinging buzz whenever she got cornered or pissed off—she'd felt it before. Used to chalk it up to nerves, or maybe she just had a thing for bad timing. Guess that ship had sailed. Whatever this was, it was digging in, and it sure as hell wasn't letting go.

"You good?" Someone murmured nearby.

She jerked, glancing over her shoulder. Silas, of course. Arms crossed, doing that brooding thing he did—acting like he didn't care, but always lurking just close enough.

She forced a nod. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"Uh-huh." He flopped down beside her, boots scuffing up dirt. "Word is, you almost deep-fried the sparring ring. Hann's having a meltdown."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, setting things on fire wasn't exactly my big goal for today."

Silas just grinned, all lopsided. "Nobody signs up for this crap. Some of us just get fire anyway. Fire's not big on permission slips."

Evangeline picked up a tiny stone and started rolling it between her fingers, pretending that'd distract her from the slow burn still crawling up her arm. Not working. "What if I mess up? Hurt someone?"

"Then you learn not to." He said it simple, like it was obvious. "That's why we train."

She peeked sideways. The sun was creeping up, painting half his face gold. "Ever feel like—your body's not yours? Like something else is driving?"

Silas went quiet for a beat. Then, "After my first kill, yeah." He looked off at nothing. "You never forget when the thing you're scared of inside you… talks back."

That landed. She snorted, defensive. "Not scared."

He grinned, but soft. "Then you're braver than me."

They just sat. Didn't need to fill the silence.

Evangeline finally muttered, "Feels like something's waking up in me. Something old. And pissed."

Silas rolled his head, studying her like she was a puzzle. "Maybe it's not mad. Maybe it's just been locked away forever."

She thought about the red wolf tales. Fire and shadows. Prophecies, exile, all that scary talks. Her dreams, too—wild, bloody, endless.

She stared at her hands. "What if I can't control it? What if it wins?"

Silas reached out, just tapping her wrist. Not holding on, just anchoring her. "That's why you learn. You don't gotta fear your own strength."

She looked down at his hand on hers. For a second, she breathed easy. Then the moment snapped, and she got to her feet.

"I should sleep," she muttered. "We're back out tomorrow."

He stood too. "You did good."

She tossed a look over her shoulder. "Tell it to the scorch marks."

He smiled, but she didn't see, already gone.

Walking back to her tent, Evangeline felt it again, that spark inside—alive, hungry. The fire wasn't just a threat now. It was hers.

She'd tasted what it could do.

Now she had to own it.

Or watch it burn down everything she cared about.