“This is you,” he says stopping in front of the marked doorway. “Mark Theory.”
The cold feeling from this morning settles back into my stomach.
“None of you are in this one.”
“No.” He pauses. “But we’ll be right here when you get out.”
I nod. He doesn’t move, like he’s waiting for something.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, even though I’m not sure that’s true.
“I know.” He says it like he believes it. “You’ve got this.”
I nod, heading inside.
The room is small. Twelve chairs arranged in a circle with no desks, nothing between me and the other students. It feels intimate in a way that makes my skin crawl.
I take a seat near the door and count the other students as they filter in. Eight. Nine. Ten.
The professor is a woman with gray hair and sharp eyes. She’s arranging papers on a small table in the center of the circle.
Two empty seats remain. The door closes.
I’m starting to think I might actually survive this when it opens one more time.
Two people walk in together.
Trey.
My chest tightens before I can stop it. His eyes find mine now and there it is again, that same pull, I felt in orientation.
And beside him, a man with dark hair, cold eyes. One of Harrick’s group from the path yesterday. He doesn’t look away when our eyes meet, and I don’t like it.
They cross the room and take the last two seats. Directly across from me.
The door clicks shut.
Oh shit.
Chapter 13
Nova
The professor waits until the door clicks shut, then looks around the circle.
“Mark Theory is not a lecture course,” she says. “It’s a discussion. You will be expected to participate, to share, and to examine your own experiences alongside the texts.”
Great. My favorite kind of class. The kind where I can’t hide.
“We’ll begin with introductions. Name and mark. Show your wrist as you speak.” She gestures to the student on her left. “We’ll go clockwise.”
My stomach drops. I count the seats between that student and me. Seven people. Seven introductions before I have to figure out what the hell to say.
The first student extends her wrist. A clean mark, elegant lines. “Sera. Dream.”
The next. “Jonah. Shadow.”
They go around. I stop listening to the names and start planning my escape. I could say I’m sick. I could say I need the bathroom. I could just stand up and walk out and never come back.
