OPERATION WINTERSPINE (Strings Between Us Book 2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: OF BREATHING GHOSTS, FLICKERING LIGHT,

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: OF BREATHING GHOSTS, FLICKERING LIGHT, AND THE BOY WHO HELD THE LINE

Arielle Rylance Del Rio's Unconscious Flashback | Age Thirteen

Celestine Ardent Academy – Corona Plaza South Courtyard

That morning, the Ardent Court had scattered across the academy like pieces of a blade drawn for war.

Lyle, ever the dutiful leader, had been called to the Headmaster's tower for a classified debrief. He went without question—because when duty called, Lyle never hesitated.

Keryn had dragged Saichel off toward the mech lab, mid-argument over a decoy cloak malfunction. Their bickering echoed through the east wing like a pair of mismatched thunderclaps—one scientific precision, the other full-volume chaos.

Tofer had gone dark on comms, his signature move whenever recon demanded silence. No one asked where he was. If Tofer wasn't reporting in, it was because he was tracking something important.

In the west wing, Seb and Thres had taken up temporary posts, patching up the aftermath of a sparring match gone wrong. A few overconfident cadets had underestimated the Court's Shield and Trap Master. They wouldn't make that mistake again.

And Alexie—always the image controller—had been pulled into yet another emergency media cleanup after a first-year accidentally leaked restricted visuals. She left grumbling, but with her usual dramatic flair and a veil of projection tech shimmering on her wrist.

Only one of them stayed close.

Xythe.

Quiet. Composed. Alert as always.

He hadn't said where he was going. He rarely did. But Riyee knew. He'd taken his usual silent loop along the southern wall—just close enough to keep her in view. Just far enough not to crowd her. She never had to ask him to stay near. He just did. He always did.

Because to the rest of them—

To Seb, Thres, Alexie, Tofer, Keryn, Saichel, and even Lyle—

She was Princess Ari.

The soft center of the Court. The warmth they guarded like fire in winter.

But to Xythe...

She was just Elle.

Not Ari. Not Arielle. Not even the Princess.

Just Elle. His. And his alone.

The part of her untouched by war. The name that sounded like softness, not duty.

It was supposed to be a quiet morning.

The air in Corona Plaza South was touched with lavender. Garden stones glistened with dew. Wrought-iron benches framed a sleepy courtyard, where ivy danced against whitewashed walls, and the sun had just begun its golden stretch across the academy.

She sat reading with her legs tucked beneath her, cheeks warm from sunlight, heart strangely steady. The corners of her lips were still curved from something stupid Xythe had muttered earlier—something about tactical superiority being less effective than her smile.

He'd kissed her forehead before stepping away. Barely a brush. Barely a breath. But it had stayed.

And then—everything shattered.

She hadn't heard the footsteps. Just a shift in the wind. A whisper of breath too close behind her. She turned and a gloved hand struck like a viper, yanking her off the bench.

Her scream never made it out. She elbowed back. Kicked. Bit. But there were three of them—masked, trained, one with a blade against her throat. Her body stilled. Her mind didn't.