Page 32

“You’ve got this, honey,” he says.

She tries to smile, but it falters.

We stand in silence when she enters the trial. I watch Bellamy. He stays unmoving and unblinking for as long as he can, completely locked in that moment when he touched her, when she’d been by his side. Is he listening for her scream? Is he expecting it? It seems to drag forever. When the dean begins the next round without the sound of her cries, Bellamy crumples in relief.

But it means nothing until we know she is alive.

“Leo Shaw,” the dean says.

Leo turns to me, and I remember the note my brother left. “The gun is useless,” I tell him and Bellamy, and I don’t wait for them to question me.

Bellamy slaps him heartily on the back, full of bravado.

Then—of course—it happens.

The dean opens his mouth.

“Cassius Jones.”

11

LESSON ELEVEN

The room is dark.

I stand perfectly still, waiting for my eyes to adjust.

I feel three things in that moment.

Dread sits in me like lead. I saw it reflected on Leo’s face moments before he’d stepped through his own door to face whatever terror lay beyond. Guilt is another thing latching onto me. I should have shown everyone Thaddeus’ note earlier. I might have been able to save someone’s life.

The third thing I feel is betrayal.

Thaddeus betrayed me—potentially betrayed my family by letting me run blind into these tests. If I fail, the Jones’ family will be thrown out of the wards. So why hadn’t Thaddeus told me?

It is too messy a feeling, too heavy and too much for me to think about now. I shove it out of my mind just as a spitting hiss envelops the room. Along the walls, torches in sconces lit up with sudden fire.

The room is narrow. With a torch in each corner, most of the room is lit by dull fire light. But there are still pockets of shadow for a teras to hide in. The floor is cement. There is blood on it, just a few splashes, though I note large areas of the floor are drenched in water. A drain sits off to the side. I grimace and squint over towards my goal: the door I need to escape from is plain and wooden. Completely ordinary.

But extraordinary circumstances.

I know I’m being watched. I keep my breathing steady, even with my heart racing. To my left sits a short wooden table. I scan it haphazardly, too on edge to commit my full attention to it. It’s covered in weapons. A gun. A knife. An iron bar. All manner of weapons are laid out on it. My breath sounds loud as I move closer to it.

Another hiss echoes in the chamber. I freeze, scanning the room for another torch. There is no new light. There is no teras waiting for me on the ground.

I don’t look up. Not when I tune in to the wheezing breath. Not when saliva drips from the ceiling.

I brace myself, panting once, twice.

I move.

I launch myself to the table and wrench up the iron bar, spinning so my back slams against the stone wall. With my left hand, I pull one of the torches free from its sconce.

Raising the torch into the shadows above me, I reveal my enemy. A huge snake-like body slithers overhead. Its jaw cracks open, wider and wider. Venom coats pointed teeth in thick, dripping layers. I have enough time to clock its monstrously wide body before the thing drops.

I run. I haul myself onto the table. The teras snaps at my feet, rushing forward to nip at my legs. Like a fool, I stay jumping, trying to keep my legs out of range.

I am not fast enough.