This time when I wake, it’s only because of the mundane drumming of rain against the window.
What a relief.
Ludo is lying on the floor next to my chair. He has no cushion or blanket; he sleeps silently, fully dressed, lying straight on his back. Max is back under the covers on the sofa, but Alexis and Donovan are nowhere to be seen.
I push back the blanket and step onto the floor as quietly as possible.
Ludo’s eyes fly open. —Nymph?—
—Gotta pee—
The half-bath by the apartment door has a clock on the wall. It’s nearly six. I don’t think I’ll get back to sleep; what I need most in the world right now is a shower and a change of clothes.
—Lu? Can you walk with me back to the basement so I can get ready for the day?—
—Of course—
No one else is stirring, so I send a text to Alexis and Donovan telling them where I’m headed. I also include Maximus in the thread.
My fingers paused over Wes's name. It’ll just annoy him to be texted by me, so I leave him off.
But before hitting send, I add Cosmo.
27
Iallowed myself two hours of sleep then left well before sun-up; being caught leaving a student's apartment is precisely the kind of violation Dean Crankshawe would use to dismiss me.
Gods, I wish I could have stayed, though.
What the fuck happened in the middle of the night?
Must compartmentalize.
I’m moving through the dark, damp woods, heading toward the staff housing, trying to let the air relax me. The heavy scent of pine is a sensory throwback to my early years and sometimes brings me peace.
But just as I’m clearing the treeline, a low, frantic murmur puts me straight back into high alert.
“I didn’t know. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t know.”
The voice is a blend of panic and raw, choking pain.
Student drama doesn’t interest me, but this doesn't sound like young adult angst.
I move closer until I can see—Professor Amos. He’s sitting hunched on a fallen tree trunk, holding his head in his hands. The man is visibly trembling, but I can’t see who he's talking to
“Forgive me, Petra. They would have killed us all, but still,” he chokes out, his voice cracking. “But still, it was the worst thing I’ve ever done.”
Amos’s words finish with a great, rasping sob.
My instinct to avoid getting involved evaporates. What the fuck is he talking about? This sounds like a confession.
“I was caught in their web, Petra. There was no way out. I was trapped in the inescapable net of ruin by my own want of sense.”
I wouldn’t have pegged Amos to be someone who’d quote Aeschylus, but I guess I don’t know him very well.
“Hell is empty,” Amos whispers, “and all the devils are here.”
When he staggers to his feet, I see he’s holding a battered photograph.
