I force my eyes back to my own hands, trying to ignore the metallic scent of blood still hanging in the air. Suddenly, my inability to channel seems like the least of my problems. The casual brutality makes me think of home—of my own guilt, my own bloody hands—and I push the memory away. I can't afford to drown in the past when death lurks so close in the present.

This place is a powder keg, and Malakai is already playing with fire.

But as I stare at the crusting blood that someone will eventually be ordered to clean, a darker thought takes root. If I can't learn to channel soon, I'll be next. Easy prey. A simple way for someone else to improve their chances.

And if I get myself killed, Mireen and Ambrose will be on their own. Alone in this place where allies are hard to come by and trust is a luxury few can afford.

I flex my hand, concentrating harder, desperation lending strength to my efforts. Still nothing.

Across the room, Malakai catches my eye and smiles. It's not a friendly smile—it's the kind of smile a predator gives its next meal.

I need to learn how to channel. I need to figure out what "unbound" means. I need allies.

There's certainly no escaping Confluence Academy. Not alive, anyway. We’ve all been told the only way we leave here is as a full primal after five years of training or in a coffin. And despite everything, despite the danger and the horror and the lies I'm living...I'm not ready to die. Not yet.

Not here.

I close my eyes, pushing away all thoughts of Malakai, of blood, of failure. I reach down deep inside myself, searching for that well of power I know is there. And for just a moment—brief as a heartbeat—I feel something respond. I feel the latent water essence in the air drifting toward me, tentatively and slowly, but it’s there.

A single drop of water rises from my palm, conjured from thin air.

6

Ever since the elemental trial, the nightmares come almost every night. At first, they weren’t so vivid. So terrifying. But night by night, they’re getting stronger. More real. Dark water pressing in around me and the cold awareness of something vast moving beneath me, watching from the depths.

A deep, horrible voice whispers up to me from the darkness. “Unbound… Nessa Thorne… Un…bound.”

I wake gasping, sheets twisted around my legs, the phantom sensation of drowning still tight in my throat. I bolt upright, gulping air and pressing a hand to my racing heart, my lungs burning as if they'd actually filled with water.

As if the challenge of daily life here at Confluence wasn’t bad enough after nearly six weeks, my sleeping mind has decided to join in for the fun. Fucking wonderful.