Chapter 16

GRAYSON

I t's been five days since I took over Prue's training. Five days of pushing her to a breaking point in a different way each day. And, to her credit, she's made progress. She's not where I want her to be, but she's getting there. Slowly.

We're standing in the clearing again, the same spot where she first accessed her power. The air is cooler today. She's in front of me, her red-brown hair pulled back into a messy braid, her green eyes focused and determined. Emmett hasn't graced us with his presence today which is a nice change of pace. The guy can get fucking pedantic about this whole training thing.

I watch her closely. "You've tapped into your power, Prue. Now we're going to take it a step further."

She's waiting for me to explain the next task, but there's a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. She's nervous. And she should be.

"Time jumping isn't like manipulating objects," I say, my voice steady. "It's not just about bending time around you and wrapping your will, forcing the energy to bend to you. You have to move with it. You have to engage the time stream, understand where you are, and where you want to go."

Her brow furrows while she's trying to process what I'm saying. She's always in her own head. That's been the biggest hurdle so far, getting her to stop questioning everything and just act.

"It's about focus," I continue. "You can't hesitate. If you're not completely sure of where you're going, you'll end up somewhere you didn't intend."

Tension stiffens her body. She's still unsure, still afraid of what might happen if she gets it wrong.

"Relax," I say, softening my tone just slightly. "You've got this."

Her gaze flicks to mine, and for a moment, there's something there like she's beginning to trust me. I ignore the sensation.

"All right," I say, closing the space between us. "I'm going to guide you through it, but you need to focus on the time stream. Now, picture the cabin," I say sternly. "Get it clear in your head."

"I have it." Her expression's strained. She's trying to keep it in her mind and her power open and accessible.

"When you're ready, tap into your energy and push yourself there."

"Don't I need to jump off a cliff?" she asks referring to the first time we jumped.

"No, sometimes the height and the feeling of falling just helps you tap into the time stream. But you can do it from anywhere." I hold her gaze, not backing down. "Try."

She exhales but doesn't move. Her breathing hitches. She's on the edge, teetering between giving in and holding back. It's in the air between us, that charged energy.

"Let go," I say again, my voice barely above a whisper. I run my hand down her neck, soothing her. I slide my hand around to caress the back of her nape.

Her body relaxes just a fraction. Then, just like that, the air around us shifts. There's a ripple, a subtle distortion in the space between us. The pull of the timestream, the way it bends around her.

Her eyes are still closed, her face calm but focused. The ripple in the air grows stronger, and the energy builds around her. She's on the verge of jumping. I'm about to let go of her neck, but my fingers graze something raised. I stroke the groove, and my eyes widen. I spin her without thinking about it.

"Grayson," she exclaims.

I let out a breath, stepping back.

"I was about to jump." I ignore her and shift her braid off her neck. Scars—thin, jagged lines running along the side of her neck, disappearing into the collar of her shirt. I pull the edge of her top aside a bit and trail my fingers down. There are more scars, deep and raised.

"What the hell?"

"Grayson, stop." Her words catch me off guard.

I don't move. She faces me. Her face is flushed, and her hand goes to her neck for a second, then she readjusts her braid, so her scars are covered again.

"How did you get those?" I ask trying to keep my voice as even as possible.

"That doesn't matter." She replies and it is so soft that I strain to hear the words.

An anger whips through me. I'm unreasonably heated. I want to hurt whoever did that to her.

"Prudence." There's no room for argument in my tone. She looks down then back up at me again, her eyes glisten a bit. "Who did this to you?"

"I was about to time jump, Grayson."

"For fucks sake Prue, that doesn't matter currently."

"Me controlling my powers is all that has mattered to you."

She has a point, and my stomach dips with the guilt. I haven't bothered to treat her as anything more than a Time Witch, as the person who needs to fix all this mess.

"This matters." I keep my voice calm, and move closer, I let my hand go up to her cheek, and trail it down again, then let my fingers wrap around her neck once more, settling them on the scars. "This matters," I say with a force, making sure she gets just how serious I am.

"You're always so cold." She shivers slightly at my touch.

"Tell me," I command and don't let her go.

"Okay," her voice is soft. "The last foster home I was in," she pauses and diverts her gaze away from me. "The woman in charge there, if you did something she didn't like, you were punished. And her form of punishment was unique." She stiffens under my touch, so I run my hand back and forth over her neck. She still won't look at me. "She'd find me, make me lie down on the ground, dig her knee into my back and carve a mark into my skin. She had this knife that she kept with her. A constant reminder of the threat. I was particularly difficult at that age. I fought her whenever I could. One day I didn't pitch to help her with the housework, and when she found me, she lost it. The last scar," Prue covers my hand with hers, using her index finger to guide my finger down to a long deep scar. "She went deep. I remember being overwhelmed, and the pain was excruciating. I was crying and wanted to go somewhere safe where people like her didn't exist." She pauses once more, and this time she catches my gaze. She drops her hands to her side. "I found myself in Haddlebrooke, unsure exactly how I had got there."

"You time jumped." My voice's calm, but my stomach churns. A force of emotion rips through me at how she got those scars.

"I think so."

"This is what you meant when you said you'd used your powers before." I think back to why she'd been willing to go with me, when she'd said she'd done odd things before. "Fuck, Prue, why didn't you tell me about this?" Her anxiety at not being in control, of over thinking makes a lot more sense too.

"What difference would it have made?"

The question catches me off guard. Would I have treated her any differently? Would she still be standing here in front of me? Would I have pushed her any less?

"Just," my voice is louder and firmer. "Don't keep things like this from me." It's all I can say to her, I finally drop my hand and turn to leave. I need a break; a moment away from her, away from all of this, because I wasn't sure I was any better than her foster mom. I wasn't physically hurting her, but I wasn't exactly removing her from harm's way. At that thought, that I was giving her a different form of scars made me sick, made me hate myself just a little bit more than I already do.