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"I love you, Connor," I whisper as my body recovers from the massive adrenaline dump. The fear is still there, but I also feel a kernel of rage festering within. I'll need to tap into that anger if I'm going to get through this. Connor was right. This person is toying with me, but it stops now.

I pull back and look up at him. "I need to talk to the headmaster."

Connor frowns. "Why?"

"I need to know what he saw and if there was a message. If they were… wearing my clothes." Connor cups my cheek. "Will you come with me?"

Connor nods and presses his forehead to mine.

104

Summer

We linger, just basking in each other. Connor’s forehead is pressed to mine, and tears still silently leak from my eyes. Connor has his arms wrapped around me, not possessively but protectively. I came so fucking close to losing him, and for what? Some stupid idea that I’m protecting him? Maybe I will still lose him, and I wouldn’t even blame him. Even though I’ve finally opened up to him, it’s too fucking late. He’s been patiently waiting for a small piece of me, but I’ve held onto every hideous scrap, holding it so close to my chest it’s welded to my skin.

I pull back and cup his cheek, looking at his perfect, handsome face. “I should clean myself up before we go see the headmaster.”

Connor nods, and I leave him in the living room while I retreat to my bathroom. When I’m alone, the fear clutches at me again. The murderer is still out there, and though I suspected it, the confirmation feels worse than I could have imagined. I look at my reflection in the mirror, at how my blue eyes shine, sodifferent from everyone else’s. Right now, they’re bloodshot and puffy, and my nose is red from all the crying.

I hate this version of myself, but sometimes I miss her, the Summer who didn’t feel, who couldn’t feel. She was safe, but she also lacked so muchlife. This Summer is raw and broken. She’s messy, chaotic, and difficult, but she loves and she cares. She has people and has found a family. I won’t give it up, not for the world.

I turn the tap on, waiting until the water is freezing cold before I splash it on my face. The icy droplets are refreshing against my hot cheeks, and as I dry my face, I wipe away some of the sadness, too. Not all of it, but enough that I’m confident I won’t dissolve into tears again anytime soon.

When I walk back into the living room, Connor is still kneeling on the ground where I left him. He looks pensive and is staring down at his hands.

The moment feels so private that I clear my throat to alert him of my presence, trying not to invade whatever space he needs. Connor blinks and looks up at me, a sad smile tugging at his lips, but it’s still so heartbreakingly beautiful.

“Ready?” I ask.

Connor nods and pushes to his feet. His wings disappear before we leave the dorm. Initially, we don’t touch. We walk side by side, and there is an awkwardness between us that has never been there before. I consider reaching for his hand, but before I decide, Connor brushes the back of his hand against mine and then interlocks our fingers. I look up at him, but he continues staring straight ahead as we walk through the campus. I know from afar we look solid, but from this close, I can see every single fracture.

Connor knocks on the door when we arrive at the headmaster’s office.

In a now all too familiar ritual, we enter when he calls, “Enter.”

“Another fae?” I ask before the door even has a chance to close behind us.

The headmaster nods. “Yes, but this incident differed from the others.”

“Did she look like me?” I ask, wholly focused on him.

The headmaster shakes his head. “But she was wearing an item of your clothing.”

Connor’s hand tightens on mine, and bile crawls up my throat.

The headmaster waves his hand, and a projection manifests in front of him, glowing a faint blue. Connor steps toward the desk, but I grab his arm, stopping him.

“You don’t need to see this, big guy.”

Connor meets my gaze, steely resolve hardening the beautiful blue of his eyes. “Yes, I do.”

I nod, and together, we step forward to look at the projection. On the screen, a dead fae female is lying at the bottom of the Dullahan Hall stairs. Blood stains the steps and is puddled around her. Unlike the other victims, her body has not been posed and positioned for the viewer. Her legs rest on the stairs, and her arms are extended as though she is reaching toward safety. She is wearing my black t-shirt, the wordsRuin My Runesnow littered with slashes and painted with gore.

The headmaster slides his hand through the projection, rewinding it to the point where her head slams down. The thud is sickening, and a wave of nausea rushes through me. He rewinds again and again, trying to see… something. I’m about to beg for him to stop, to get rid of the spell, but then my eyes catch on the slightest flicker in the upper corner of the magical screen.

“Wait,” I say, grabbing the headmaster’s wrist just as he is about to dismiss the spell.

He goes rigid and stares at my hand. I quickly let go. He obviously doesn’t like to be touched, or maybe he just doesn’t want to be touched by me, but either way, I have more important things on my mind.