The hall is so quiet, I canhearthe thick swallow that bobs his sharp adam’s apple.
But there’s no getting out of this.
The headmaster flips open the notepad.
He brings pen to paper and, without looking up, starts to slowly move the ink over the page.
Through the dim light, Dray shifts in his chair, angled more to face the podium.
His intense stare is locked onto James.
He’s not the only one.
Students shift, lean over others, arch up in their seats—all to get a glimpse at whatever the headmaster is writing or drawing.
But that’s useless, because shadows have settled back over him.
Now I’m certain he’s using some kind of enchanted item to hide himself when he doesn’t want to be seen.
The pen stills.
It pauses for the briefest moment.
James has a mousy voice on the best of days.
Today is no different. “The rabbit caught in a trap hopes for kindness.”
Headmaster Braun rips the page from the notepad and hands it over to Wealdwine.
She takes it, glances at it for the quickest moment, then brings her own pen to the clipboard.
A big tick.
A murmur ignites in the room, a collective warble said to no one in particular, just general awe.
James is overlooked.
Always has been.
Even I overlook him—all the time.
But I stare up at the stage, as the headmaster starts to write again, and James’s eyes have narrowed, his jaw tense with concentration, and I think I see him for the first time in a decade.
The headmaster writes, and his face is blank, no concentration, no furrowed brow—until the pen pauses on the paper, and he lifts a stunned look to James.
Headmaster Braun tears the page from the notebook, then—without looking at her—hands it to Wealdwine.
She reads it aloud, “I don’t want to be here.”
Heat roars on James’s face.
Landon scoffs, a light smile on his face that he forces back to stone.
Headmaster Braun announces, “I meant to writethe hunter hopes for a full belly.”
Wealdwine tosses the paper to the mess on the trolley, then brings her pen to the clipboard.
Tick.
