Ruthless 🗡️/ Fourth Wing

Chapter 48

I sit in my room for what feels like forever, the afternoon slipping into evening. The silence presses down on me, and I don't move, not even when the shadows begin to lengthen across the floor. My mind is a storm of thoughts, but I don't bother to try and sort through them. There's nothing but the faint ringing in my ears from the fight, the blood still sticky on my skin.

Then the door creaks open, and Violet's smug voice cuts through the quiet.

"You psycho bitch. You punched him." She leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, her lips curling into a smirk that is too knowing for my liking.

I don't even lift my head from the pillow, just let the weight of the moment settle around me. "Are we stating facts now, or is that just your version of a compliment?"

Her smirk only widens, and she steps fully into the room, the door clicking shut behind her. "Well, given the fact that he's still outside our room, I'd say you might want to go handle that."

I close my eyes and exhale slowly, trying to ignore the tension twisting in my gut. Violet's words linger, but it's her tone, too casual, that irks me the most. It's almost like she's enjoying this, like she expected it to happen.

I don't respond right away. The thought of going out there to face him—Xaden, Garrick, or whoever else is lurking—doesn't exactly thrill me. And yet, I know she's right.

"Fine," I mutter, pushing myself off the bed and wiping the blood from my hands. "But don't expect me to apologize."

Violet shrugs, not the least bit surprised. "Wouldn't dream of it."

I pause as I reach the door, casting one last look at her. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

She grins. "What's the fun in not?"

With a final glance at the door, I step out of my room.

There he stands, the epitome of irritation and pride, arms crossed, his nose still bruised from the punch I landed. The sight of it almost makes me want to laugh.

"Admiring your work?" His voice is rough, but there's an edge of amusement buried beneath the annoyance.

I smirk, letting my gaze linger on the mark I left on his face. "Always."

I start down the steps, my steps deliberate and unhurried. Every move I make feels like it has purpose, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. His presence is a constant pulse at the back of my mind, like an itch I can't quite scratch.

He follows me, his boots heavy on the stone floor. "You really think you're untouchable, don't you?"

"Not untouchable," I say over my shoulder, my tone sharp. "Just not afraid to leave a mark."

At the bottom of the stairs, I pause and turn to face him. His glare is as fierce as ever, but there's something different about it now—something darker. It's like he's trying to figure me out, but I don't have the time or patience for that.

"Let's take this outside," I say, my voice low and dangerous, eyes locking with his. "Wouldn't want any signet flare-ups in here."

His lips curl into a smirk, but I can see the edge in his eyes. "Lead the way."

I don't wait for him. I turn and make my way out the door, the cold night air greeting me like an old friend. Behind me, I hear his footsteps echoing in the quiet

—

We stand in silence outside, leaning against the cold brick wall, the night air wrapping around us like a suffocating blanket. It feels like hours, but in reality, it's only been a few minutes. A few minutes of pure, unspoken tension, broken only by the steady back-and-forth of the churum Xaden brought, passing between us like some twisted peace offering. Neither of us says a word, but neither of us is truly silent, either.