I walked up to Cayos.
Almost instantly, the room shifted.
Not colder, exactly. but dimmer. Like the light itself had pulled back. Conversations dulled. Movements slowed. Everyone watched.
No one said it out loud, but I could feel the question in the air:
Who was stupid enough to spar with the Sworn?
Cayos didn't blink. He smiled, like he'd known I'd come. Not a warm smile. The kind you wear when reading the last line of a story you've already memorized.
His eyepatch was still on.
"Dio," he said. Not a question.
He extended a gloved hand. Dark leather, stitched with symbols I didn't recognize.
"Your voice is louder than the others."
"It is?" I asked, not taking it.
His smile didn't falter. "You don't have to speak for it to echo."
I frowned. "That supposed to mean something?"
"Only if you already understand it."
He lowered his hand.
The teacher walked over then, a stocky man with burn scars and a soldier's posture. Retired Sworn. One of the rare ones who made it out whole enough to teach. He didn't speak much, but when he did, people listened. The kind of man who'd seen too many Vows broken to bother sugarcoating anything.
"Partnered?" he asked.
Cayos didn't look away from me. "We are."
The teacher glanced between us, then gave a short nod. "Keep it clean. No Vows. No eyes."
Definitely directed at Cayos.
He moved on.
We stepped onto the mat. Sweat prickled along my spine, not from fear, I told myself. From adrenaline. From something waking up.
Cayos bowed slightly. "You're tense," he said. "That'll get you hurt."
"Maybe I'm just eager."
He tilted his head. "That's worse."
We circled.
Around us, the others pretended not to watch. But I could feel them. Their gazes. Tight, expectant. I moved first. A quick jab, testing.
He blocked it lazily. Effortless.
"You're grieving," he said quietly, just for me. "That makes your hands heavier."
"What do you know about grief?" I snapped, feinting, striking again, faster.
He caught my wrist. Firm, not painful.
"I know it makes you easier to manipulate."
Something in me cracked.
I twisted free and went for his ribs.
The hit landed. A thud. He staggered back a step, more show than real damage.
"Better," he said. "You hit harder when you're angry."
"I'm not angry," I said through clenched teeth.
"You're lying," he said. "To me. To yourself."
I charged.
This time, he didn't block.
He stepped inside the swing, caught my shoulder, and turned me with a smooth, practiced twist.
My balance vanished. I hit the mat hard, the breath slammed from my lungs.
Cayos crouched beside me. Not gloating. Just watching.
"Do you want to know," he asked, almost gently, "if there's a way to save her?"
My heart stilled.
He smiled again. Smaller this time.
"Then stop pretending you're doing this to protect anyone but yourself."
I stared up at him, breath ragged.
"What do you know about her?"
He stood.
"More than you want me to."
The teacher called the round.
We were supposed to switch partners. Cayos didn't move.
Neither did I.
This time, he offered a hand.
I took it.
He pulled me to my feet with a quiet strength. Then leaned in.
"I think she'd laugh at you," he said. "If she saw what you've become."
He walked away before I could answer.
I stood there, hands shaking, surrounded by people pretending not to look.
How did he know about her?
—
I ran.
Out the gym. Down the hall. Past a janitor who muttered something under his breath. My shoes slipped slightly on the polished tile as I turned the corner, pulse still hammering from the fight.
What did he know about Anya?
My breath came ragged, my chest tight. He knew something. He had to.
I hit the courtyard. The winter air slapped my face clean. Students milled about in loose clusters. I scanned the grounds.
No sign of Cayos.
"Dammit," I muttered, spinning.
"Looking for me?" said a voice from behind.
I turned.
Cayos stood beneath one of the copper willows, partially shadowed, hands in his coat pockets like he'd been waiting there the whole time.
"You're fast," I said, trying to catch my breath.
He tilted his head slightly. "You're slow."
I blinked. He was wearing a long coat now, dark wool, collar turned up against the cold. Not gym clothes. No sign he'd ever been sweating.
"When did you change?"
"I didn't," he said simply.
My breath caught. Not from running. From something colder.
"You're playing games."
"I don't play," he said calmly. "I place pieces."
I stepped forward, anger prickling again. "Then place this, what do you know about Anya?"
A pause.
He studied me, and an amused look appeared on his face. When he spoke, his voice was low. His expression constantly flickered. From grief to delight to hunger, like a mask cycling through roles no one else could see.
"You want to know if there is a way to save her."
"You're damn right I do."
He looked toward the outer wall of the school, where ivy curled like veins across cracked stone. A distant tram screamed along a rail overhead. The air smelled of rusting iron.
"Then come with me tonight, I have business there anyways."
I hesitated. "Where?"
His eye, his one visible eye, glinted.
"Where the Reverie leaks through."
I stared. "The Citadel?"
Cayos shook his head. "Too pure. Too clean. You want the truth? You have to go where it's been dirtied by use. Bent to human need."
"And that's…?"
He smiled again, but this one wasn't mocking. It was knowing.
"The Gutter."
Of course. The name landed like a stone in my chest. Halden's worst-kept secret. The city's rot, pulsing just beneath our feet. No laws. No mercy. Just need. Everyone knew it existed. No one shut it down.
"You expect me to just walk into the sewers with you?"
He raised an eyebrow. "The sewers are the bones. The Gutter is the disease"
I didn't answer.
So he stepped closer.
"People lose things down there," he said softly. "Memories. Vows. Blood. But sometimes, if you know where to look… you find things, too."
"Like what?"
"Like who your girlfriend was before she was Marked."
That hit harder than I expected.
A breath caught in my throat. My vision narrowed, tunnelled.
"What the fuck do you know about her, huh?" My voice cracked, not with weakness, but with something raw. "What do you mean before she was Marked? SHE WAS MINE."
He didn't flinch. That maddening half-smile curled wider, but not out of amusement. Recognition, maybe. Like he'd seen this play out a dozen times before.
"You still believe that," he said. "That she was yours. That you saw all of her."
I stepped forward. "I did. I knew her better than anyone. Her laugh, the way her fingers curled when she was thinking. The scar on her left knee. She-"
"-told you what you wanted to hear."
That shut me up. The wind pressed hard against my back like even the air didn't want to stay.
He turned, his coat brushing past me. Already walking away.
"And if I say no?" I asked, quieter now.
He turned away, already walking. "Then you go back to your nice, dry life. Pretend it didn't happen. Let her disappear, like she already wants."
I clenched my fists.
"Wait."
He stopped. Didn't turn. Just waited.
I looked around the courtyard one last time. The copper leaves rattled faintly overhead. Somewhere, a school bell chimed.
I stepped forward.
He smiled to himself.
"Meet me in the plaza under the Citadel tonight. I'll be there when the Gate closes."