CHAPTER SEVEN
Home.For one impossibly soft breath, I believe it. The pillow is sun-warm beneath my cheek, heated by the single strand of light spilling through the narrow window beside me. The blanket against my palm is rough, the same coarse weave as Bren’s back home.
By habit, my hand glides across the mattress, reaching for the familiar rise and fall of his chest, but bumps into something smaller, softer…
My eyes snap open. Grey stone ceiling, large wooden door. And Ezzy, bright as dawn, perched on my mattress, swinging her legs back and forth.
“Morning!” she sings, as if she hasn’t just shattered the last good dream I had left. “Ready for your first day?”
She’s already in uniform—buttoned tight, sleeves rolled and her short white-blonde hair neatly pinned back with her sparkly pin.
For a second I forget what I’m doing here, but then somewhere down the hall, a door slams and suddenly the weight of yesterday presses down on my chest like a boulder.
Fuck. Right, the deal. Stay or be Reassigned. One month, no screw ups, no stumbles, no scenes. Don’t get killed by Talen and get out alive, with the journals.
The journal.
My lungs pull tight beneath my chest, and a familiar itch sparks beneath my skin as my eyes scan the bed, fast. It’s not in my arms. Not under the pillow. Shit. I scramble, patting the sheets and tossing the blanket back.
Ezzy’s hands fly up. “Oh! Don’t worry. It’s on your desk. You fell asleep holding it, and I didn’t want it to get wrinkled or, you know…”
She reaches over for it?—
“No. Leave it.” The words come out harsher than I mean. Whatever Merrin did yesterday to my Threads is wearing thin. The pressure’s been building all night.
Ezzy freezes, hands in the air. “Oh, okay…”
I let out a breath, slow, and force myself to unclench my fists. “Sorry, it’s just… personal.”
Her smile wobbles but stays. “Of course. Totally, I get it.” She tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and bounces a little to cover the awkwardness, then places a towel into my lap. “You might want to freshen up. We’ve only got an hour before lectures and Demonstrations begin.”
For a second, I hesitate, jaw tight as I rub the back of my neck. My magic’s already stirring and I don’t know what the hell I’m walking into today.
Ezzy notices and leans in a little closer. “Don’t worry about Talen, okay? He’s, like, always off on some big assignment or whatever. Honestly, you’ll probably hardly see him around.” A wide grin spreads across her face. “You’re going to be great today.Totallygreat.”
Her naive confidence and optimism? Yeah, it rolls right off me. Talen’s out for blood, and sooner or later, he’ll find a way to sink his teeth in, trap me in those beautiful fucking petals of his.
I could just stay here? Keep my head down, hide out in the room, hold my magic down? Would anyone even notice? Slip under the radar, out of his way until I figure out how the hell this place, howhe, really works. But I made a deal. It doesn’t matter how much Merrin twisted my hand; I’m the one who signed.
A long sigh slips out as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and stand. The floor is cold beneath my feet, probably not half as cold as whatever’s waiting outside this room…
But I can do this. Idostuff like this, and I’ll do it my way: eyes open, no mistakes, no scenes. One month. Just one month.
“Right, which way to the washing chamber?”
The walkto the first lecture feels longer than it should. I know Ezzy showed me around yesterday, but honestly, I barely remember it.
She walks one step ahead, white-blonde hair catching the morning light as we head along the central corridor that circles the open-air courtyard below. Babbling on about the schedule and how lucky we are to have Professor Marovian for our first lecture on Thread Ethics andsomethingalignment.
It’s boring as hell, but I don’t stop her, I let her talk, too busy wrestling my bloody magic back down.
It’s back, faint, but twitching under my skin like a splinter I can’t dig out. Usually I let it burn off by now, find somewhere quiet and let it loose.
But here,this place,where the fuck can I do that?
I’m already a walking target. If anyone sees how out of control I am, I’ll be dead before sundown.
Still, at some point, I’m going to have to let it out. It’s only a matter of time before it builds too high, spills over, and then... Well, shit, I don’t even finish the thought. Just tug the collar of the uniform higher, like that’ll hold it down. A chill slides down my spine as the fabric shifts, it fits too easily, too well. Every seam feels like it’s trying to shape me into them, press me into their rules.
