CHAPTER 65: BREAK OR BREAKTHROUGH (2)

Cael drove forward on my call like a door ram. Aura ran down his spine into the ground and back up. Verrin tried to twist out. Cael rode the twist, pinned a thigh with his knee, and turned the motion into a clamp.

I went high.

Hollow pecked the wand tip—tap, tap—locking timing. Marrow cut at his heel, not to maim, to make him set his foot where Cael wanted it. When his boot hit, Cael shifted weight. The floor felt like a trap closing.

He snapped the wand at my face. I slid my cheek past the cut. The sabre’s guard hammered his knuckles. Hollow bit the tip and shoved it a thumb-width off line.

"Cuff," Cael grunted.

"Better," I said.

I tore two plates off the Warden’s belly and crossed them with a thong—a clamp, not a ring. "Arm."

Cael shifted without giving a gap. Verrin swung. I gave him forearm, not jaw, slipped the cross over his wrist and thumb, and cinched. The knot tightened under strain.

"Illegal," he hissed.

"Not lethal," I said. "Don’t move."

He moved. A sharp gust at my ear made everything ring. He wrenched his cuffed arm across his chest to turn pain into leverage.

"Down," I barked.

Cael dropped his center, pinning hips and thigh. The bridge moaned. The prusik sang. The ox blew air and listened to the handler’s hand: one step, one stop.

"Marrow—hold." The hound planted both paws on the cuff, turning bone against wrist into a vise. Hollow hopped, beak ready.

Verrin inhaled for a big wave.

"Don’t," I said.

"You won’t kill me."

"I’ll break your fingers," I answered, flat. "You won’t hold a wand for a month."

He drove the wave anyway. Cael took it on his back and answered down. My point sat on the tendons by Verrin’s thumb, light as breath.

"Last warning," I said.

It worked for a heartbeat. Then he rolled the grip into a backhand and stabbed for Lyra—low, mean, fast.

"Enough," I said.

I didn’t cut flesh. I cut the wand.

Steel shaved through treated wood and the copper inlay. Sparks spat. The wand split, half in his fist, half on stone. The wind he’d loaded broke with it and slapped outward in a flat gust that made flags jump.

Silence after the smack. Verrin stared at the broken stick like he couldn’t accept the picture.

Then he screamed, raw and short, and tried every cheap thing people try: headbutt, bite, knee. Cael gave him cloth and angles, not skin. He writhed, went limp, then burst again. Cael rode it and shifted the clamp an inch higher.

"Dogs," Verrin spat.

"Live dogs," Cael said evenly. "Stay still."

Proctors moved at last, slow enough not to spook anyone, fast enough to matter.

"Saint," Pierce called. "Status."

"Two contained," Liora answered. "Cuff nonlethal. Wand disabled." Her eyes were cold. She had seen Lyra’s cheek.

"Copy," Pierce said. The bowl hushed.

Verrin looked from the broken wand to Liora, then to Seraphine. She didn’t help. The sponsor beside her had gone the color of paper.

"Stand down," Liora told him. "You are done."

"I am not," he said, and shoved aura through his torso hard enough to pop Cael’s grip a thumb-width. The cuff bit; Marrow planted harder. He took a breath like he would break his own wrist for one free shot.

"Don’t," I said again.

"You’re soft," he spat.

Maybe. I still had the point. Hollow’s beak hovered near his eye. Cael’s weight stayed in the ground. Lyra held the rope behind the rail, keeping a line of students from leaning into their own trouble.

"Armand," Cael said without looking, "end it."

So I did it clean.

"Grip," I told Hollow.

The bird braced the cuff knot. I shifted the sabre to my left, slid my right under the plates, and pressed my thumb into the pressure point between wrist bones while pushing the cross down. Small pain. Honest. Fingers opened a fraction.

Cael folded Verrin’s shoulder across his chest and locked the arm like a lever. It is hard to cast with your chest corrected and your wrist pinned. Verrin tried anyway. Nothing came but breath.

"Now," I said.

Cael exhaled and took him down the last inch. Not a slam. A heavy put. Marrow shifted to hold the cuff flat. I ran a second thong to the ground ring on the post and cinched. Ugly. Effective.

Verrin tested the hold twice. Air hissed between his teeth.

"Done," I said.

"Done," Cael echoed.

Proctors stepped in. Two took knees, hands open. One slid a stamped iron over the cuff knot and clicked it. The rune flared. My bone stopped being mine and became school property. I let go. Hollow hopped to my shoulder. Marrow sat, very pleased.

"Refuge," Liora called without turning. "Report."

Lyra dabbed her cheek with a clean square, checked her fingers, then said, "Line held. One near fall prevented. No civilian drop. Coordinator unfit to continue route; transferring notes." Professional, flat. Only her ears held color.

"Logged," Liora said.

He laughed; the iron clicked and the sound stopped.

"Escort to holding," Pierce ordered. "Saint, interview within the hour. Valcrey, Veyron—statements and medical."

"Copy," Liora said. To us: "Stand."

We stood. My cheek stung. My wrist ached. Cael rolled his shoulders and let them settle. We both looked at the bridge.

The ox took two calm steps. The handler kept one hand on the neck and one on the halter, whispering: one step. The cracked wheel sat crooked, but Gareth’s soil lip and our prusik brace kept the angle honest. Pelham hadn’t moved his hands from the line. His face was white and set. He met my eye and nodded once.

"Finish the crossing," I said.

"Copy," the handler answered.

The wagons made it across. We pulled the prusik and packed the wedge. Gareth smoothed the soil lip with his palm and stepped back like a carpenter checking a shelf.

Noise crept back. The sponsor wrote. Seraphine watched. She glanced at the iron on Verrin’s wrist, then at my cheek, then away.

"Hold still," Liora said, stepping close. She dabbed my cut with a cold pad. Sting, then fade. She made three small nods—at the cuff, at Lyra, at Cael. "You didn’t grandstand," she said quietly. "Remember that when they tell it wrong."

"Understood," I said.

Cael gave half a smile. "You broke his stick."

"He was going to break someone’s face," I said.

"Fair trade," he said.

Proctors led Verrin off. He kept his chin high like posture erased iron. It didn’t.

Pierce rang a bell once. "Route B continues," he called. "Scores adjusted for interference. Move."

We moved. Moving keeps hands from shaking.

Gareth slid beside me. "That was something," he said.

"It was a job," I said.

He snorted. "Looked planned."

"It wasn’t," I said. "We just didn’t argue."

Lyra matched pace for three steps, handed me a fresh cloth without meeting my eyes, then cut toward Refuge. "Twelve seconds," she said. "No more."

"Understood," I said.

We planted the last flags, checked ties, returned to start. The sponsor was gone. Seraphine wasn’t.

At the board, Pierce chalked fast. "Prelim: Route B, Team Two—top three for method. Voss cell penalized for unsafe discharge. Notes to Discipline." He didn’t look at me. He looked at Liora.

"Statements," she said. "Plain language. Then water. Then, Armand and Cael—south office."

"Copy," we said.

We went where the work pointed.