“No.” She doesn’t elaborate, and I smother a laugh at her candor. That must be an Anderson trait. “How’s my sister doing?”
“Ah…we’re not terribly far into the semester,” I say. “It’s a bit difficult to talk about progress when there’s little to have been made.”
“But she’s showing up? Doing her assignments? Participating?”
“Oh, she’s showing up,” I mutter. “Earlier than my other students most days. Though I do have to ask why that’s your concern? Her application and references for enrollment were sparkling.”
Quincy adjusts her glasses. “You looked at her file?”
The air in my lungs solidifies, panic pumping through my veins.
Fuck, did I just say that out loud?
No way can I admit to her sister that Elle’s file is the only one I haven’t returned to the student archives yet. It’s currently tucked under the pillow in my bedroom, where I spend each night poring over the details, obsessively trying to commit them to memory.
Because despite my best efforts, I’m hanging by a thread here, trying to maintain distance.
She’s the first thing I think about in the morning and the last before I go to bed. My soul feels like it’s cracking in half every time I push her away, as if I’m splitting it down its seam and severing my own humanity.
It shouldn’t be like this, the connection I feel to her, but it is. There’s no escaping it. All I can do is pretend it doesn’t exist at all. That’s how I’ll keep her safe.
So I hold on to the file in the hope that its contents will placate me. Thus far, I have not been successful.
“She applied to be in Visio Aternae, so I might have taken a quick glance,” I answer, swallowing over the sudden dryness of my tongue. “Standard procedure for new initiates, as I’m sure you know.”
“Wait, she applied to be in Visio Aternae?” Her brows furrow. “She didn’t ask to be enrolled in Daughters of Persephone.”
“Maybe campus beautification isn’t her thing.”
“That’s not the only thing we—” She stops herself, snapping her mouth shut.
Her group is notoriously more secretive than Death’s Teeth. The public at least knows the gist of what happens at our meetings—the sex stuff anyway. But nobody talks about Daughters of Persephone outside of their revitalization efforts.
If I believed in the curses and conspiracies, I’d be concerned. Around here, secrets are just a currency. Everyone’s got them.
Shifting in her seat, Quincy toys with the rings adorning her fingers, seeming to work through something silently in her head. “I don’t mean to make my sister sound like a troubled student. I just didn’t think she’d want to get involved in anything here.”
“Why wouldn’t she?”
“Well, she never really cared much about school. She was good at it, don’t get me wrong, but it wasn’t a passion of hers. Learning by doing was her preference over sitting through lectures and doing classroom scut work.”
“Seems like joining a campus-run organization would be right up her alley then.”
“Sure, but then there was the whole…” Quincy trails off, glancing at me from the corner of her eye, as if refraining from revealing sensitive information. “Maybe you’re right. I just…worry, you know? I mean, you get it, right? You’re an older sibling.”
There’s a slight pause as we consider this truth. Neither of us mentions the connection between our younger siblings, whichis good since I’m supposed to be pretending the cave incident never happened.
She continues. “My parents are amazing, but I’ve never been able to stop from feeling like I needed to watch over my brother and sister. Especially Noelle, who’s always been sort of reckless and?—”
“And what?”
The two of us startle at the addition of a third voice, and my gaze flickers in the direction it came from. Elle stands in the open doorway, a dripping umbrella tucked beneath one arm. Her hair is damp and a little frizzy, as if she’d been caught in the rain before she could shield herself from it.
She arches her brows, glancing between Quincy and me. Waiting for an answer.
“Ms. Anderson,” I greet, keeping my words as even as possible. I’m not sure why, but as the two sisters stare at each other, I can’t help feeling like I’m watching the moments before a predatorial attack. “What can I do for you?”
Elle’s icy gaze slides toward me, and I ignore the ache in my chest. Even when I’m teasing her in class, there’s never been a lack of warmth when she looked at me, yet it feels as if she could slice me to pieces with the daggers she shoots my way now.
