“Knew you’d be smart about this,” he says, clapping a hand on my shoulder like we’re buddies. His fingers squeeze a little too hard. “Wrath boys usually lead with their fists, not their brains. Refreshing to meet an exception.”
He turns to walk away, running a hand through his short dirty blonde hair. Then he glances back over his shoulder, smirk dangerous again.
“Oh—and Brixton?”
I look up despite myself.
He taps the side of his temple. “I see everything. Keep that in mind.”
I leave the grounds, shoulders stiff, each step heavier than the last. Ryker’s words echo in my head, slicing through every thought I had of Arwen. If he makes good on his threat and I’m kicked out of the academy, the only place for me will be on the front lines. And I can’t afford a caretaker with that measly wage.
I hate him. I hate everyone like him. The way he wields power like it’s a weapon. It’s too easy for him to shrink me down into nothing.
But I hate myself more, because I know he’s right. I don’t have the power to fight him on this.
My mind drifts unbidden to Arwen. The way she tilts her head when she laughs, like the world’s biggest secret tucked in her smile. The way she’s so impossibly stubborn, so fierce, but still… she trusts me. Sometimes. Enough to let me in for a second before the walls snap back up.
I kick the dirt. I can’t have her. Not like this. Not when I have too much at stake. My sisters. Their safety. The plan I’ve built since Dylan. One wrong step and everything crumbles.
I see her face in my mind, and it makes my chest ache. Every memory we’ve made—the courtyard laughs, the teasing, the stupid flirting that feels just a little dangerous—stings like salt in a wound.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to push it away, trying to remind myself of the rules I have to live by. Arwen can’t be mine. She’smy friend. My best friend. One of the few people who sees me as more than just a Wrath brat with nothing to offer. I can’t throw that away. But I have no choice.
I can’t tell her. I can’t risk her knowing what happened and blowing up at Ryker. He’d surely get me tossed out then.
I sink down by a tree, staring at the academy. Wishing that Ryker had never existed. That the academy didn’t run on power and fear, that I didn’t have a plan that demanded sacrifice. That I could just… be with her.
But I can’t. Not ever.
So I swallow the anger, the longing, the guilt. I tell myself that distance is the only option. Protecting my sisters is more important than protecting my heart.
I bury the thought of her deep enough that I can pretend I’ve let go—until the next time I see her, and my chest remembers all over again what I’m missing.
30
Thou Shalt Not Confuse Wine with Wisdom.
Arwen
Ishove the door open with my hip, still fried from another tutoring session with Maddox. My brain feels wrung out, but the second I step inside, I stop dead.
Holly’s on her bed with a half-empty bottle in hand, cheeks flushed and eyes blazing. Tabby’s perched on Cleo’s desk like she’s watching a show, grinning widely, and Cleo sits on the floor pretending she’s not drinking, though the red tips of her ears are a dead giveaway.
“Uh…” I slide the vial I just got from Maddox into my desk drawer like it’s contraband. None of them notices. Thank you, universe.
“What’s going on in here?”
“War council,” Tabby says. She raises her cup in the air above her head. “Or, depending on who you ask—pity party.”
“It’s not pity.” Holly snaps the word like it offends her. “It’s strategy.”
I glance between them, nerves buzzing. “Strategy for what?”
“For murdering Sly,” Tabby supplies.
Holly hurls a pillow at her. “Not murdering. Just… proving him wrong. He thinks he gets to dictate what fights I take. Like he’s my warden or something.”
I frown and look at my angry roommate. “You two fought?”
