Overqualified for the Moderates? I couldn’twaitto tell James!
After what looked like an eternity, he walked in about ten minutes later, his face unreadable.
His looked at me in all seriousness, and I couldn't help but smile. “So,” I started, my excitement bubbling over, “I had my first class.”
For a brief second, James’s features softened, though a flicker of worry in his expression remained. “How did it go?”
“Well, Frodo—” I began, pausing with a grin, waiting for the laugh which never came.
James blinked, his brows furrowing as he processed my words. “Who?”
“The instructor,” I clarified, a little sheepish now. “You know, the guy who looks like an older version of Frodo Baggins.”
He didn’t even crack a smile, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Grayson. His name is Grayson.”
“Oh. Well, Grayson told me to time my interface. He said I’m fast. Like, very fast. So I was hoping you’d be willing to time me?” I trailed off, my earlier enthusiasm faltering as I searched for some sign of acknowledgment in his face.
Instead, his jaw clenched, and a new edge settled into his features. “You pulled me out of a Council meeting for this?”
My heart sank at the sudden shift in his tone, which was now icy and terse. “I didn’t know you were in a meeting. I’m sorry?—”
He ran a hand through his hair, then averted his look, as though weighing unspoken words. “I told you this morning what's going on, Emma. I’m to be the next Leader, and we’re on the brink ofwar.” His voice hardened, but there was an edge of something else beneath it—panic, maybe?
My jaw dropped slightly. “Gods, James. I didn’t do it on purpose.”
He didn’t reply but his eyes flicked to mine, then away again, too quickly. Not avoidance exactly—more like retreat. Like he was locking something behind his teeth before it could slip out.
I watched the way his fingers curled into his palm, the way his throat worked around whatever he wasn’t saying. This wasn’t just about me interrupting a meeting.
Clearly there were things he wasn’t saying. And me being me, I wanted to push—harder than a conspiracy theorist in a comment section.
But I held back. Because I did get it —he was in a position I wasn’t, with access to things I didn’t have. And as much as I ached to press him, I also wanted to show I trusted him. Even if it took everything I had not to pry it out of him right then and there.
Still, something in me bristled. Holding back didn’t mean staying silent. “I’m not entirely sure your reaction here is proportional,” I said as calmly as I could, though I couldn’t resist letting a little edge sneak in. “And hey, if I interrupted something more important, my sincerest apologies. I’ll try not to be inconveniently human next time.”
I took a step closer. “But you forget that I don’t have access to all the secrets you do, which means I’m working with half the picture, if that. So if I occasionally misjudge what matters,maybe that’s less on me and more on the whole ‘need-to-know’ policy you keep clinging to.”
I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t lash out. I just stood there, waiting—giving him the chance to meet me halfway. But instead of leveling with me, he shut down like a door slamming in my face.
“Bullshit, Emma,” he snapped, too fast, too sharp—like he needed to wound before he caved in himself. “I told you exactly what you needed to know to make the right call, this morning.”
He shook his head in disappointment. “I don’t have time for this. You should’ve known not to interrupt my meeting forthis.”
I wanted to punch him. I wanted to punch him out cold, but instead I took a deep breath and reminded myself I was now talking to my boyfriend, whom I loved. And who was under extreme pressure.
So I channeled Jackson’s measured demeanor as much as I could, and apologized. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize?—”
“Just forget it,” he muttered, cutting off my attempt at mature conversation. Then he stared at me, his jaw tight, his eyes tired, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. He gave another slow shake of his head—less angry now, more...tired. Worn down.
Then, without another word, he opened a portal. His eyes didn’t meet mine again. He simply stepped through and vanished, leaving only silence behind.
I waited for him to come back. For a breath, a glance, anything.
But the silence stayed.
So I swallowed the lump in my throat and quietly left the room and made my way back to my dorm, trying to shake off the confusion and the sting of his reaction.
Later that evening, as I sat in my dorm replaying the tense exchange with James, a knock sounded at my door. I opened it to find Nino standing there, her expression calm. “You mind if I come in?” she asked, her tone firm but kind.
