Page 3 of Our Little Moments

We both know I’m asking if he has any idea if there’ssomethingI can do to get my life back.

I tap my fingernails against the coffee cup as I wait for his answer.

“Well, I don’t have much.” He sighs. “But I’ve talked about what happened to you during the last tournament with one of our old competitors. He started helping people like us train our magic a couple of months after he quit the tournament.”

Fighters quitting magical tournaments are more frequent than fighters staying.

Winning one of those competitions is especially rare. The fighters are all ruthless—determined to win at all costs.

I would know, I’ve gone through these tournaments. And I won. I won for several years in a row.

But instead of feeling pride, all I feel is hopelessness. That life slipped from my hands, and I had to watch it happen, helpless to prevent it. I remember every detail from that night.

The shame comes back and eats me alive. Ifailed.

“Stella?” Derek calls, a worried glint in his eyes.

“Sorry. Got distracted,” I mutter apologetically.

“I was saying I managed to talk to him. He said he’d be honored to help you train. He witnessed a few of his students get their powers back.”

I recognize that tone. It’s the one he uses when there’s a catch.

“But?” I prompt.

He sighs. “He doesn’t knowexactlyhow to get them back. He saw it happen, but he doesn’t understand how it happens . . .”

Well, if it’s my best shot, what other choice do I have?

Maybe I’m missing something.

Neither of us speak, and for a moment, every rational part of me pauses.

I’m weary down to my very bones.

I can’t push through this. I’ve tried. So many goddamn times.

And the exhaustion won’t go away.

For a second, every part of me is silently begging him to seeme.I’m seconds away from crying, desperation getting the best of me.

I can’t find my way back.

Nothing looks familiar anymore.

I don’t know what to do.

I’m sorry for failing, for disappointing you all.

Please help me solve this.

I’m lost and no one sees me.

The last thought stops me because . . . it isn’t true. My best friend is in front of me, trying to help because he knows I’m struggling.

But . . . does he really know how much?

Does he know what it feels like? To chase after something your whole life, only to have it ripped away from you.

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