Mara didn’t train like an instructor. She didn’t ease me into the drills or explain what I was supposed to do. She trained like someone who’d been hunted, someone who knew hesitation could cost you everything. The first thing she did was throw a coin at my head. I barely had time to see it coming before I had to decide whether to duck, dodge, or take the hit.
I caught it on instinct, then glared. “Seriously?”
“Reflex test,” she said. “Also you look like someone who’s never been hit with consequences.”
“I’ve been hit with consequences my entire life.”
“Emotional consequences don’t count,” she said. “We’re doing physics now.”
She stepped to the edge of the circle and raised her hands. Her magic spread out, invisible but heavy, like heat shimmering off asphalt. My skin prickled.
“Rule one,” she said. “Nullborn power doesn’t behave like witchcraft. If you try to force it into witchcraft, it’ll snap back at you.”
“Cool,” I said. “So what do I do?”
Mara’s eyes gleamed. “You listen.”
She snapped her fingers. The air inside the circle tightened, like the room took a breath and held it. A thin band of pressure wrapped around my wrists, not rope, not a binding spell, more like… reality politely insisting I stay still. My body tensed.
“Don’t fight it with force,” Mara said. “That’s what they expect. Ask a different question.”
I frowned. “Like what?”
“Like,” she said, “Who says this gets to hold you?”
A flare of anger ignited in my chest, not chaotic rage, but something clean and focused. I turned my attention to the invisible restraint and sensed the rule behind it: You are contained. My magic rose in response, strangely quiet, gathering without a sound or a tremor. Then I said, without speaking, No. The restraint vanished. It wasn’t broken or cut. It was simply dismissed, as if the rule that held it in place had ceased to matter.
Mara’s grin was bright and fierce. “There it is.”
I exhaled, heart pounding. “That felt, ”
“Like turning off a light?” she supplied.
“Yeah.”
Mara circled me like a scientist and a big sister at the same time. “Nullborn power isn’t a bigger hammer. It’s a lockpick. It’s cheat codes. It’s the ability to tell the universe ‘your terms and conditions are cute, but I’m not clicking agree.’”
“That sounds… terrifying.”
“It is.” She paused. “That’s why they buried it.”
I swallowed. “So why aren’t you buried?”
Mara’s gaze went distant for half a second. “Because I ran. And because I’m not fully Nullborn. I’m… adjacent. A cousin branch.”
I frowned. “Then why are you helping me?”
Her eyes returned, sharp. “Because you’re the first one I’ve seen in years who can do it clean. That means you might actually survive long enough to make them regret everything.”
I stared at her. “So I’m your revenge project.”
Mara’s smile was unapologetic. “Aren’t we all somebody’s revenge project in this city?”
Fair. Annoyingly fair.
Mara lifted her hand again. “Next test. Wards.”
The circle shimmered. The air thickened. I felt a ward press down on me like a cathedral ceiling.
“Normal witches push through,” Mara said. “Vampires brute-force. Lycans break things. You, ”
“I say no,” I finished.
“Not always,” she said. “Because if you ‘no’ everything, you’ll no your own bones right out of your body, and that’s messy. You need precision.”
She tightened the ward. Pressure gathered behind my eyes, and my vision blurred at the edges. A faint buzz spread beneath my skin, prickling through my arms and chest. My magic surged in response, instinctive and protective, rising before I could think to stop it.
But it didn’t feel like an explosion. It felt like a blade sliding free from its sheath—sharp, controlled, and suddenly within my grasp. I focused. Not on the ward itself, but on the rule that powered it, the command woven through its magic. Access denied.
I reached toward the phrase as if it were a loose string, something I could touch without disturbing everything around it. And I plucked. The ward wavered. Its surface shivered, the barrier briefly losing its certainty.
Mara’s eyes widened. “Again. But softer.”
Softer? The word seemed impossible. Yet my magic responded as if it understood the concept. I didn’t yank at the rule or try to tear it apart. I nudged it, barely enough to shift its hold. The ward loosened. I stepped forward, cautious and unsteady, expecting the barrier to snap back against me. Instead, the ward parted for me. I stopped on the other side, breathing hard, my heart pounding as the magic settled around me.
Mara exhaled. “You just walked through a lock like it was a curtain.”
My throat tightened with something like awe. “So I can… bypass things.”
“Yes,” she said. “And that’s why Cassian looked at you like you were a new religion.”
I winced. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Truth doesn’t care about your comfort.” Mara stepped out of the circle. “Now comes the part you won’t like.”
“Cool. I hate character development.”
Mara’s face went serious. “You need to know who’s texting you.”
My spine chilled. “I don’t.”
“Yes, you do,” she said. “Because if they want you bleeding next time, they’re either a predator… or a House testing you.”
“And you think it’s one of the Houses.”
Mara shrugged. “It’s Gravepoint. That’s like saying ‘I think the ocean is wet.’”
She walked to her desk and opened a drawer. Pulled out a sleek black phone.
“I traced the number,” she said.
I blinked. “How?”
Mara smirked. “I have hobbies.”
She turned the screen toward me. A name. Not a person name. A designation: ASHFALL INITIATIVE.
My stomach dropped. “That’s…?”
Mara’s voice was low. “It’s a program. Off-books. Cross-House. Vampires, witches, lycans, everyone contributes.”
My mouth went dry. “Contributes to what?”
Mara’s gaze pinned me. “Collecting anomalies.”