He cannot get anywhere near Elaris Isle without taking a bullet, or several, to the chest.
Only if the Thirteenth Circle allowed it.
The idea crosses my mind, and I dismiss it almost as quickly as it forms.
The Thirteenth Circle runs St. Monarche´ Academy, just as the Ferrum Syndicate runs Velmark Academy, and I am part of one while he belongs to the other. They have been enemies for decades.
If he is determined to come after me, he would have to do it elsewhere, in some place beyond these grounds. For now, at least, the academy offers a measure of safety.
Once I arrived, I ran to find the girls, needing to see with my own eyes that they were safe.
Relief washed over me at finding Piper unharmed, but something in her had shut down completely, closed off, silent and unreachable.
Eleanor was nowhere to be found either. When I rang her phone, her father answered, demanded I stop calling, insisted she was with family and perfectly fine.
Something about it felt wrong, but I wasn’t in a position to force the truth out of him.
So I went straight to my sister’s room.
When she opened the door, she looked as if she’d seen a ghost, pale, haunted and disoriented.
Then I saw the blood at her forehead, and we realised together that she’d lost two years of her memory.
I don’t know what happened to her, and that terrifies me more than I’ll ever admit, especially because, while I was fleeing the party, I heard whispers about a boy found dead in the woods.
My mind yesterday was filled with nothing but my sister, the girls, the party and… Milo Markev.
How I failed.
Not just in protecting my sister. I failed to finish the job.
And I don’t make a habit of failing, because in our world, one mistake is all it takes to end up dead.
Everything fell apart at that party exactly as I predicted.
The only one who seems remotely fine, aside from being irritating, is Adelaide, the one responsible for the mess we’re in.
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, the covers tangled around my legs.
I exhale and grab my phone from the nightstand, flicking through the screen without purpose until a post pulls me out of my haze.
It’s a picture of Ophelia and me from yesterday, uploaded by one of the academy’s gossip accounts.
The caption reads: “The Bellanti sisters are back. Ophelia stitched up and looking guilty, Octavia smashing phones like the psycho she is.”
Psycho.
I’ve been called worse.
The thing is, I don’t care. I actually rather enjoy it.
If being apsychomeans protecting the people I love, then I’ll wear the label with pride.
I do have a slight issue with control, admittedly. I react before I stop to think. I don’t slow down to analyse.
So yes, I smashed a girl’s phone yesterday, but she should consider herself fortunate it wasn’t her head instead.
She was trying to take pictures of my sister while she was hurt, most likely to sell them or post them somewhere, and I was never going to allow that.
