Ruthless 🗡️/ Fourth Wing

Chapter~21

When I opened my eyes, the room was bathed in the soft light of early morning. The gentle rays didn't ease the heaviness in my chest, though. The murder attempt and the bounty on my head lingered, draining the last bit of strength I had left. My throat burned from the fresh cut, a constant reminder of the target I've become.

I dragged myself out of bed, my body sore and stiff from last night's fight, but the adrenaline had worn off, leaving only the exhaustion. As I dressed, I couldn't shake the thought that I needed to make a statement. Something to show the others that they can't just come after me. They can't just think I'm some easy target. But then again, maybe it's foolish. Maybe I'm not thinking at all, but one thing is clear: the bounty on my head is bigger than any consequence they could threaten me with.

The moment I stepped out of the room, I felt the weight of every eye that followed me. The murmurs in the hallways were low, but the tension in the air was palpable. Word travels fast in places like this. People were already talking about the attempted murder. Of course, they were. I could hear their whispers, see their eyes darting to the fresh blood on my neck.

As I made my way through the hall, the whispers grew louder. They didn't even try to hide it. The stares were like daggers, and I felt every one of them. They didn't just see the blood. They saw the fear. They saw the proof that someone had tried to kill me, and it made them nervous. I could hear the creaking of floorboards as people shuffled in and out of their rooms, getting ready for the day. It was like a game of whispers, spreading faster than the sunlight creeping through the windows.

It wasn't just the usual stares. People were looking at me like I was a ghost, like I didn't belong in this place anymore. The mark on my neck was enough to confirm everything they suspected—someone had tried to kill me.

Who? I didn't know. But I had my suspicions. The hand that had pressed against my throat was too delicate, too refined to belong to just anyone. A girl, most likely. The hair had flowed out from under her hood like silk, and the way her fingers had wrapped around my neck felt almost practiced. That narrowed it down to half the college population, if that. But I had no clue who. Not yet.

The wound on my throat stung with every step. I could feel the blood still clotting, the pressure of it pressing against my skin. It was a reminder of how close I'd come to dying. The thought sent a flicker of unease through me, but I pushed it away. I wasn't afraid. Not yet. Not until I knew who was behind it.

"Think, Nora. Think. They were unbonded cadets," I muttered to myself under my breath as I walked, the weight of the situation pressing on my mind.

"They'd need a wingleader to get access, to move freely, to get into the room..."

I paused, the thought cutting through my focus. "But who would be stupid enough to help them?"

My mind raced as I continued through the halls, the murmurs of the crowd fading into the background. As I neared the podium, the crowd parted, but I barely acknowledged it. I didn't care about the spectacle; all I cared about was finding her.

I had to kill this girl.

It clicked. Everything finally clicked.

Amber. Of course, it was Amber. The cadet wingleader. She was always after power, always hungry for more.

It was so obvious now. Amber had always been the one who pushed the boundaries, the one who used others to get what she wanted. She was barely bonded, clinging to the connection by the thinnest of threads.

It made sense—only someone like her, desperate for strength, would risk helping unbonded cadets. It was a gamble. But one she must have thought would pay off.