Page 11

T he world reassembled in fragments. Blurred edges pulled into focus, the damp grass beneath my back and the dizzying pulse of my heart rattling in my ribs. Somewhere beyond the haze, voices murmured, and bodies shifted. But I was still here. Still breathing.

I wasn’t dead.

I turned my head, vision swimming as I tried to make sense of the space around me. The courtyard’s willow tree loomed above, its silvered branches trembling in the wind. My body was slow to believe what my mind already knew. I had survived. How?

More importantly, if the upperclassmen were capable of something like this, survival would be short-lived. There was a commotion above, shouting. Then Oscar and another prefect took off into the night, chasing after the twins. They’d escaped.

I shivered, terror lancing through me. What the hell was this? How had I survived a fall like that?

The Thread curled through the corners of my mind, a ribbon of silk slipping through my thoughts. “You’re asking the wrong questions. ”

Whatever warmth held me had long since unspooled as I blinked up at the night sky. Panic clawed up my spine as I pushed onto my elbows, lungs burning. My back met the willow tree’s trunk, rough bark pressing against my shoulders as my attention darted across the courtyard.

And then I saw her. A spill of blonde hair across the grass, limbs twisted at wrong angles. She wasn’t moving . A choked sound lodged in my throat, but before I could make sense of the horror pooling in my stomach, a laugh cut through the silence.

Laughter.

I turned sharply. Dorian leaned against the base of the tower, arms folded, the very picture of careless elegance. Hair spilled over his brow like an artist had placed it there with careful deliberation. He looked like something out of a dream.

But I knew now that he was a nightmare. He was not a man, not a human. He was something else entirely.

Dorian’s voice unfurled through the night, edged with amusement. “Well, well.” He tilted his head, violet eyes glinting like cut glass. “Didn’t take you for the desperate sort, Davenant. Clawing onto a prefect mid-fall?”

I couldn’t speak. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I barely registered the dampness seeping into my uniform, the wind biting at my skin. My focus was on the body crumpled next to me.

A slow exhale ghosted through the space between us, and when Dorian spoke again, his voice was quieter. “She wasn’t chosen.”

He stood there, composed, arms folded against the velvet of his robes, his posture so insufferably unbothered that something vicious took root in my chest.

I loosed a breath. “You’re a monster.”

Dorian barely blinked. “She didn’t belong here.” The words were as weightless as the branches of the willow tree, unbothered. I surged to my feet. “What is wrong with you?” My voice cracked, as a slow smile smoothed across his face.

“Relax,” he said as if this were a minor inconvenience rather than a girl’s life. “You survived. You should be thanking me.”

I recoiled. A breath of silence stretched between us, thin as a knife’s edge.

“ Thanking you?”

Dorian inclined his head, as if indulging the conversation. “You survived,” he repeated. “That’s all that matters.”

Something inside me snapped. I launched myself at him. I didn’t care that I wasn’t strong enough, that my body still screamed from the impact that never came. I just wanted to hurt him.

Dorian barely moved. He didn’t flinch, didn’t brace for impact. He only let out a quiet, almost amused sigh as I gave up, and my hands curled into useless fists at my sides. “It had to be done,” he said simply.

I dragged a hand across my face, wiping the hot tears threatening to blur my vision. I hated them. I hated him. The way he stood there, untouchable, beautiful and terrible in equal measure.

“She wasn’t saved.” Dorian folded his arms across his chest, his words impatient. “She doesn’t belong. This is what it’s like here.”

My chest heaved. I wiped my hands on the hem of my sleeve, though there was nothing there. Nothing but blood and grass and the kind of silence that made your thoughts louder. Somewhere behind me, the prefects laughed. It sounded far away, like it came from underwater.

“Saved?” My voice scraped raw. “Saved by what?”

Dorian only sighed, as if I were the one being difficult. The sound of more laughter scattered through the night like shards of ice. The robed students had gathered at the mouth of the clock tower, their faces bright with an excitement I couldn’t begin to comprehend. And then?—

“Ruby?”

I barely recognized my own voice. She practically skipped toward me, her curls in wild disarray, her cheeks pink with exhilaration.

“We did it, Arabella!” she squealed, hands clasped together, bouncing on her heels. I felt something crack inside my skull, severing. I was grateful to see her alive, but a girl had died right in front of us, and Ruby was smiling.

My mouth was bone-dry. “How can you be happy about this?” I hissed. “A girl is dead.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ugh, I know, but she’ll be resurrected. Verrine just hates doing it.”

The world swayed. “…What?” I didn’t know if I whispered it or screamed it.

Ruby tossed her hair over one shoulder. “It’s such a pain. It takes a ton of power to clean up a mess like this.” She leaned closer. “But it’s better for us. Less competition, at the end of the day.” Less competition?

I took a slow step backward, breathing shallow and uneven. That was not a normal thing to say. That was not a normal thing to think.

A voice cut across the courtyard. “Still playing these pathetic games, Cavendish?” Dante called.

He approached, a rolled cigarette dangling between his fingers, the glow catching on the defined lines of his jaw. His posture was all indifference, but his pewter eyes were locked onto Dorian with something colder.

Dorian narrowed his eyes. “You forget I run things here, not the other way around.”

Dante exhaled, rolling the cigarette between his fingers. “Run things?” He tilted his head. “Your father would be thrilled, wouldn’t he? You’re a real credit to the family name. What was that phrase he used to preach? Straight and narrow? Or was it onwards and upwards ?”

A muscle flickered in Dorian’s jaw. It was brief, barely noticeable. But Dante had seen it, too. “We both know I never intended to go upwards,” Dorian bit back.

Dante let out a mirthless laugh. “Enjoy the fun while it lasts, Cavendish.” He turned, cigarette in hand, disappearing into the dark. The Thread was quiet. Still, as if holding its breath.

“That was a new one.” A robed girl stepped forward, red-polished nails flashing as she extended a hand. “No one’s ever grabbed a prefect mid-fall before. Nice one, Davenant.”

“Thanks,” I said bitterly. I didn’t take her hand, but her smile only deepened.

“I’m Rosaline. Your third roommate.” She studied me, gaze sweeping over me like I was something unexpected.

“You and your friends killed an innocent girl tonight,” I said, gritting my teeth.

Then, to my horror, she laughed. “Innocent?” she echoed, shaking her head. “That’s not a word we use around here.” My skin prickled, but not with anger, not entirely. She took a step back, her robes swishing. But before she turned, her voice dipped lower, just for me. “Be careful, Davenant.”

It wasn’t a threat, but it wasn’t a reassurance. I braced against them but the words took root inside of me, somewhere deep the Thread could not reach.

Dorian turned back to me, brushing off Dante like dust on his sleeve. “Celebratory drinks are on me,” he said easily, as if nothing unusual had transpired tonight. “Crossed Keys. Midnight.”

I barely heard him. My eyes were locked on the body still sprawled on the grass. Dorian nodded to Rosaline. His attention flicked down, lingering on the corpse for no more than a second. “ Deal with her,” he said.

I felt sick. He didn’t need to clarify. “I’m going to Verrine. Right now.”

Dorian was in front of me before I could move, grip curling firm around my wrist. “No, you’re not,” he said, voice low. “My mother doesn’t care, Arabella. Come have a drink instead. You passed the initiation. Now, don’t you want to know what comes next?”

“This is when you learn our secrets,” Rosaline said with a wink.

I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to run or listen, and that was the problem. The hesitation, the pull, the fact that some part of me wanted to know. I sickened myself. Silence dragged between us as the prefects herded us across the rain-slick cloister and back to the dorms.

I stared at the stain of blood on my pyjama sleeve. Not mine.

“Oh my saints,” Ruby gushed as she flung the door to our room open with a flourish. She was still grinning, cheeks flushed, curls damp with mist. “I have to say, I doubted you’d make it. Marcus told me about the initiation, but I didn’t know when it would happen.”

I whirled on her. “You do realize someone died?” My voice came out hoarse, raw. “I’m only going to the pub to get signal. We need to call the police.”

Ruby groaned. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” She rolled her eyes, peeling off her soaked cardigan like we were discussing a boring lecture. “And the police?” She scoffed. “They don’t come here. The girl will be fine, anyway.”

They don’t come here. Something in my chest cracked. I felt everything at once, burning too hot, too cold. “You actually believe she’ll come back to life? Do you hear yourself?”

Ruby hesitated. Then her expression shifted, pitying. “Oh, right.” A slow smile curled at her lips as she glanced at the watch at her wrist. “You’re still new. I swear, the girl will be fine. She’ll probably be back here soon to collect her stuff.”

“You can’t expect me to believe that.”

Ruby winked, reaching into her messy top drawer and pulling out a halter-neck tank. “I promise. Now, does this make my boobs look flat? Because yesterday Marcus said?—”

A hysterical sound clawed up my throat. Not because it was funny. It wasn’t. It was insane. I dragged a hand down my face, trying to shake off the unreality of it all. “Ruby, I swear to God—” The word stuck in my throat. God . I loosed a shuddering breath.

This wasn’t real. This was some kind of mass hysteria. A cult.

Ruby studied me now, her amusement fading like a receding tide.

The halter top she was holding fell to her side.

“Do you really not understand what’s going on here, Arabella?

” Something in her tone, gentle and almost regretful, made my skin prickle.

She studied me carefully, and then, as if the thought had only just occurred to her, “You just survived a ninety-foot fall.”

A deafening silence stretched between us.

“You think that was luck?” She gestured, then perched on the edge of the bed and took my hands in hers. “That was magic , Arabella.”

I yanked away. “You’ve lost it.”