Mr. Carrow sighed and pushed the book aside. “Men like the chancellor don’t need reasons. They need victims. They need to remind everyone, constantly, of their power. And the surest way to demonstrate power is to destroy someone without cause.”
“But Marco always did everything the chancellor asked of him.”
“And for that very reason, the chancellor was never going to respect him. Loyalty only offers momentary protection. The real currency that matters with bullies is fear.”
It was the first time he ever heard Mr. Carrow call the chancellor what he actually was—a bully. It made Jack proud but also nauseous with fear. “You shouldn’t say that.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
The chancellor reshaped reality any way it suited him, manufacturing a stunning amount of lies in a single day just to manipulate others and shape the world to his narrative. He lied so much, people doubted the truth right in front of their eyes. It was a trick to control others, not through strength but through confusion.
“Just once,” Jack whispered, shaking his head, “I wish someone would call him out on his lies.”
“They need to believe him, Jack. The alternative is admitting they’ve given their loyalty to a monster. That they were wrong. So they double down and defend him even more fiercely.”
The tutor met his eyes with a meaningful stare Jack was afraid to translate. He looked at him that way for a long time, as if seeing the real him he kept carefully hidden from everyone else.
“You deserve better, Jack,” Mr. Carrow finally said after a long moment. “You’re remarkable, you know? Brilliant, but also strong. Most children who’ve endured what you’ve endured would have shattered by now. But you...” He shook his head. “You see the world for what it is and somehow manage to still show shocking integrity for a boy your age.”
Jack didn’t know how to respond to such praise, so he fidgeted awkwardly, accidentally knocking his arm against the table in a way that made him flinch.
“Can I see your arms, Jack?”
The request was quiet. Not a demand. Not an order. A secret. And Jack learned long ago how dangerous secrets could be.
But he trusted Mr. Carrow more than anyone else in this world, so he carefully pushed up his sleeves.
“Jesus.”
Fat purple fingerprints had started to yellow at the edges. Scars showed in silver dashes along his skin.
Mr. Carrow’s jaw tightened as his hands curled into fists. “You won’t be here forever,” he finally whispered. “Somehow, we’ll figure this out.”
Jack rolled down his sleeve, glad Mr. Carrow couldn’t see the other parts of his body. That was where the real ugly marks hid.
They never talked about his bruises again. And the months that followed blurred together like watercolors in the rain. Spring eventually surrendered to summer, summer burned into autumn, and through it all, Jack sensed something shifting in the pressure, the way it does before a terrible storm rolls in.
Danger approached. It hummed in his bones the way animals feel earthquakes before the ground shakes. Mr. Carrow seemed to feel it too.
Their lessons took on an urgency they hadn’t carried before, as if time were running out and there was still so much to cover. And despite years of traveling back and forth between his flat and the estate, a strange pressure urged him not to leave.
“You’re going home.”
“I don’t want?—”
“Did I ask what you want?” the chancellor snapped. “The car will be ready in an hour. I’m away on business for the next few weeks, so pack what you need.”
Jack’s jaw tightened.
“Go.” The chancellor ordered.
The car ride home was silent, cutting through the lush countryside before plunging him back into the grey maze of London’s lesser streets.
Despite all the money the chancellor had deposited into his mother’s accounts, the exterior of their home never improved, it only grew more dilapidated with age. Much like the woman inside.
When he entered the dreary flat, he was greeted by a rhythmic, static pounding that carried through the walls and floorboards overhead. Jack set his bags down in the entryway.
“Mum?”
