This was how it had happened every day. Every time she was close to winning, her blood-magic rushed out of her control, overwhelming her mind, rendering her a monster once more—and then Aramis tranquilized her like a runaway horse.

It was becoming infuriating.

She was losing time and learning nothing. Every day her chances of finding Yeva grew slimmer. Half their training sessions ended with Aramis and Percy scurrying away, heads together, voices too low for her to make anything out. If Ranka tried to follow, Aramis would roll her eyes, give Ranka a look that made her feel two inches tall, and sigh, Sit down, witch girl. This is a matter of the mind. When we need you to come break things, we’ll let you know.

Ranka was really, really beginning to hate her.

Now she lay sprawled on her back, waiting for the numbness to fade. From her position on the sidelines, Aramis picked up her skirts and made her way toward them, her eyes on the book that she’d propped against her forearm. She was always scribbling in that damned thing, muttering to herself, filling pages with lines of looping, messy text that intersected with numbers.

She knelt down and took Ranka’s pulse, scribbled more nonsense in that little book of hers, and squinted. “You lost control faster this time. Sloppier at the end, too.”

Ranka braced herself, waiting for a sharp rebuke. She’d failed again.

Instead, Aramis frowned. “Is she okay, Percy? You shouldn’t let her face-plant like that.”

“She’s fine,” Percy said. “I don’t think I could break Ranka if I wanted to.”

He rubbed his neck, where bruises had already bloomed in the shape of Ranka’s fingers. An older yellow mark cradled his left eye. Three days ago, she’d clocked him right in the face.

It had been incredibly satisfying.

“It’s definitely tied to emotion and pain,” Percy said, tilting his head to look at Aramis. “She does good until I piss her off. Then it’s all brawn and no skill. She might as well be a bear on a rampage.”

“Hey,” Ranka slurred.

Percy ignored her and hopped to his feet to peer over Aramis’s shoulder, his lanky frame dwarfing the princess as he read her notes. “Wait, didn’t we already try that?”

Aramis waved him off. “Yes, with old blood. Did you notice this time it took longer for her eyes to shift?”

“I hate that part.” Percy shuddered. “She looks like a corpse.”

“Hey!” Ranka said. “I am literally right here.”

“You get used to that,” a new voice sighed. “When Percy and Aramis get going, there’s no breaking into their bubble.”