At Zenith Hall, being spared only meant someone had chosen a later hour.
11
Hale was waiting at the south stair the next morning.
Not for me, officially. Hale didn’t seem to do anything officially unless someone had made him, which seemed to rarely happen.
He stood with one shoulder against the stone, eyes on the traffic moving between breakfast and first hour.
I stopped in front of him.
The Pull noticed him before I wanted it to.
Leather. Warm skin. The faint metal-salt of the salle. Something steadier underneath, held so tightly it made my own ribs feel narrow.
I closed my hand around the strap of my bag and decided my body could have its opinions somewhere quieter.
“You were there yesterday.”
“I was.”
“You saw Delphine go through the west door.”
Hale’s gaze stayed on the stair.
“I saw.”
“And me?”
His eyes dropped once to my wrist.
“Yes, I saw you there as well.”
“Then tell me why they didn’t call me.”
He frowned and shook his head.
“That’s it?”
“Not here.”
“I’m starting to hate those two words when they’re in your mouth.”
Hale’s jaw tightened.
“You should just be glad it was her, not you,” he said.
“But why her and not me?”
“Because Quill isn’t finished deciding what you are.”
That was about the farthest thing in the world from comforting.
“And Delphine?”
A second-year passed too close. Hale waited until she was gone.
“Dimming is a removal word,” he said. “What your Mark is doing is something else.”
