Page 22

The moment my next lesson began, I threw myself into every task wholeheartedly. Godwin assigned an essay on divine intervention, and I was already writing before he finished speaking, ink spilling across the page in frantic strokes.

The lecture shifted to the Fallen Angels. I spoke before anyone else could, the answers jumping out eagerly. When Lilibeth reached for a textbook, I passed it to her with a smile stretched so wide my cheeks ached, my teeth clenched so tightly I could feel the strain in my jaw.

My hands shook against the parchment. My pulse sounded in my ribs, erratic, a caged thing trying to escape. The grip on my pen was so tight it left ghostly crescents pressed into my fingertips. Ruby glanced at me from her seat several desks away. She’d been keeping her distance .

I had to be good. I had to be better. I had to make sure my score was high enough that Verrine wouldn’t notice it had dropped. But high-scorers weren’t good. I’d discovered from watching sparring the other day. They just knew how to forge obedience into the shape of virtue.

I glanced at my slate.

-18

The number sat there, mercilessly unmoving. It wasn’t dropping much further, but it wasn’t rising either. Panic coiled around my throat, squeezing. Why was it still not moving? Across the aisle, Hugo’s gaze caught mine. He smiled warmly, relaxing back into his chair like all of this was easy.

Ruby’s lip twitched downward. For whatever reason, she’d made it clear she wasn’t a fan of Hugo. She didn’t understand.

Across the aisle, Lilibeth’s slate dinged. It ticked up two points. She’d just corrected Hugo, who incorrectly guessed the method of undoing a binding spell. “It requires reciprocal blood,” she was saying, droning on. “Very advanced.”

There were no rules to the scoring system, none that I could decode sensibly.

Good acts didn’t guarantee a rise. Sometimes the system watched, unmoved.

Sometimes it seemed to score students in anticipation.

It felt like the entire system was rigged.

I was one drop away from breaking into the chapel and smashing the damned Crucible to pieces.

Dorian hadn’t turned me in yet, but not out of mercy.

I saw the way his jaw ticked when he looked at me, like he wanted to.

Like it would be a relief to let me take the fall.

But he couldn’t, not when he was so close to graduation.

Not when Verrine might turn on him too. If I survived this, it would be by his grace, and he’d make sure I never forgot it .

“Miss Davenant.” Godwin’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts.

“Yes?”

“Are you listening? We’re discussing the Great War between the After and Elsewhere. How many years ago did it take place?”

“Um,” I was on the wrong page. I leafed through the textbook, squinting at Dorian’s to find the number. “A thousand?”

“History might be boring, but it has a habit of repeating itself if you don’t pay attention,” Godwin warned.

“Seven hundred years ago. The After and Elsewhere were once unified, one Afterworld ruled by the Twin Thrones. They were balanced, but balance rarely survives ambition. The rulers destroyed themselves,” he said, gaze distant.

“And their courts crumbled to ash. Now, the High Councils rule in their place. Made up of how many Archangels and Archdaemons? Anyone?”

I didn’t listen for the answer and barely registered the rest of the lesson. I just kept staring at my slate, willing that damned number to change. Move. Move. Move. It didn’t. Then, just as the weight of failure threatened to crush me, a note slid onto my desk.

Lunch? You look like you need an escape.

I turned around. Hugo’s blue eyes glimmered with something just shy of mischief. He had a knack for showing up exactly when I needed him and this time, he didn’t know how badly I did.

The rain began to spatter from the sky as I sat on the stone steps outside Ariel Hall, the massive white-stone building with towering pillars that housed the arts classrooms. We’d taken a break for lunch, late.

My stomach rumbled, the least of my worries.

It was foolish to try and distract myself with Hugo but being in his orbit felt like one of the few precious moments I could breathe.

My eyes caught on a shiny, bright poster board advertising the Dawning Ball. It was coming up in a few days, but I really didn’t feel like celebrating.

Had my mother sat on these same worn steps, her thoughts tangled with the same longing? Had she watched the same bleak, endless sky dreaming of escape? Had she counted all the ways she might disappear, too?

I inhaled, shoulders aching from where I had kept them hunched for hours, tension coiled so tightly in my neck it felt carved from stone. I had been so sure that today would make a difference. That throwing myself into good deeds, into virtue, would shift the tide.

And yet, the number refused to rise. I tried to breathe, but it caught halfway. This wasn’t working. And I was running out of time. My fingers tightened around the slate, the edges biting into my palm. I hated the thought that took shape next, hated the cold, inevitable weight of it.

Maybe Dorian was right. Maybe the only way to survive this was not to earn my place in the After, but claim my place in Elsewhere.

I pushed the thought from my mind, disgusted.

I would rather die fighting than spend an eternity like him, an eternity Fallen.

That left one option. Getting the cards back. Dying.

A horrible click sliced through the air.

My head snapped up. A group of Lower Sixth girls hovered near the archway, giggling as they held up their slates, the gentle glow of ether-light catching on their screens.

The things had cameras? Just what this school needed, more evidence of its complete and utter madness.

Lilibeth stood at the center, leading the charge, her gaze fixed past me. Curious despite myself, I followed their line of sight just in time to see Hugo run a hand through his golden hair. A lazy wave followed, and the effect was immediate.

One girl let out a tiny squeak before practically melting into the pavement. The others giggled louder, shuffling back as if proximity alone might incinerate them. They scattered as he approached, vanishing into the corridor like a flock of spooked pigeons.

“Arabella.” His voice was warm, rich as caramel, the kind of voice that slid too easily into the cracks of a person, settling there before they could think to stop it. “I wondered if you fancied a drive.”

“Sure,” I said, though I should have said no. I should have told him I was too busy and needed to focus on saving myself. But my world was falling apart, and I wanted to feel something other than soul-crushing dread. “I could use a drive.”

“Thought so.” A tiny spark shivered up my arm as he helped me up. He was like a tonic, being close to him made me forget everything for just a moment. By the time we reached the circular driveway, it was raining, misting against the windshields of the few parked cars.

Hugo clicked his keys, and a sleek, white vintage Aston Martin purred to life.

I stared. Of course this was his car. He smirked, waiting until I was seated before shutting the door and jogging around to the driver’s side.

“I thought we weren’t allowed to leave the grounds?” I asked as he slid in. He rested his arm over the back of my seat, turning his head to reverse .

“My commitment to Evermore as a celebrity affords me some privileges,” he drawled. His hand brushed against my shoulder, and I felt my cheeks heat. “My life wasn’t an easy one to give up,” he added.

“So why did you?”

He shifted gears, the corner of his mouth lifting like he knew how dazzling he looked.

“Let me think… what would you rather? Become immortal, or star in cheesy romantic comedies targeted at teens until you age out at thirty?” The gate warden bowed at the raised sigil etched on the pass Hugo flashed.

“I see your point,” I muttered as rain pattered against the windshield. “But it’s not guaranteed.”

“My score’s just fine,” he said lightly, but I wasn’t really listening anymore. His eyes stayed on the road, making effortless turns through the winding countryside. “I have a feeling we’ll both be fine.”

He couldn’t have been more off the mark. I leaned against the window, watching the hedges whip past us. “I wanted to be an actress.”

“You still can be,” he said gently. I swallowed against the taste of regret and longing, thick on my tongue.

“You’d better work on your ether, though.

Nephilim who rejoin the Common World have the best shot at acting, followed by Fates, then Angels.

” He tipped his head, golden hair catching the dim light like a halo.

“We don’t expire. We don’t fade. We’ll always be perfect . ”

A shiver danced down my spine. The words shouldn’t have thrilled me the way they did, curling around my ribs with desire.

I hadn’t seen this place as an advantage until now, hadn’t seen graduating as an advantage.

If someone like Hugo, someone with everything I’d ever dreamed of had abandoned it for a shot at becoming a Nephilim, maybe staying wasn’t so bad .

“And Daemons?” I asked quietly as Hugo made a sharp turn.

He paused before responding. “Everywhere in Hollywood,” he said at last. “Not exactly a glowing reputation.” He hadn’t even been marked and he’d chosen his side.

His confidence made me relax, my shoulders dropping against the seat.

Because around Hugo, the world felt different.

I felt different. Like I wasn’t already running out of time, like my future wasn’t a narrowing tunnel collapsing in on itself.

He made it feel vast, endless, possible . Like I had a future, still.

By the time we returned, the rain had been swallowed by Evermore’s mist. The world outside was hushed, still. The gas lamps flickered, casting halos on Hugo’s gleaming car. He turned to me, his gaze lingering, searching, like he was trying to memorize me.

A sudden gust blew my coat open. Hugo’s hand shot out, locking it at my throat before I even felt the cold.

His brows knitted, bewildered. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Been doing that all day, like my nerves fire before my brain, recently. Anyway,” he mused, his voice deeper, threading warmth through the cool night air. “I had fun.”

“Me too,” I admitted.

I knew what was coming. I felt it in the way his focus lingered on my lips, the way the air between us thinned. Then his hand lifted, his fingers ghosted along my jaw, his touch impossibly light. He tilted my chin up, and I let him. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears, the only sound.

And then, finally , his lips brushed mine.

Soft at first. A whisper, a question. But then he pressed deeper, and the world cracked open.

Heat unfurled low in my stomach, and I swayed toward him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if to anchor myself.

His other hand skimmed my waist, steadying me, yet everything inside me was coming undone.

My hands threaded through his hair, the rain picking up again, beading against his skin as we leaned against his car. I found an anchor in his warmth. It all faded away. The Rift. My score. Evermore. The cards. None of it mattered.

The Thread roared. This was not a whisper, nor a warning. It felt like a slap, a shock. My fingers twitched against Hugo’s jacket.

His lips lingered against mine before he finally pulled back, just far enough to search my face. His eyes, once amber in a way that looked gold, darkened. His hand trailed lower, dipping to the pendant resting at the hollow of my throat, thumb skimming over the chain. I felt the Thread shudder.

“This necklace,” he murmured, voice like spun gold. His features tightened as he studied it. “A girl as pretty as you shouldn’t wear something so… worn .”

“It’s sentimental.” I drew back. “My mother gave it to me.”

“I could get you something better,” he murmured, coaxing. “We could go tomorrow. Pick something out.”

For a second, I saw something else in him: the flashy red carpet smile, the practiced tilt of his head.

He was looking at me like a scene partner, someone to dress and direct.

The unease curled low in my stomach, but I forced it down, shaping my lips into a smile as if that alone could smooth the edges of whatever this was. “Maybe.”

I turned, feet crunching over gravel as I headed back toward the gates.

I was being dramatic. Every famous person I’d ever met was a little like this, obsessed with image, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something real behind the facade.

Besides, I needed Hugo. His presence felt like a lifeline. He was a piece of home .

“Wait.” Hugo caught up to me, circling the inside of his wrist as if it ached, then whispered almost to himself, “Feels like something yanks me whenever you’re out of sight.” He laughed it off unsteadily, reaching for my shoulder. “Let me see you through the gates.”

I let him walk me the rest of the way in silence, the Thread still humming faintly beneath my skin.

He rubbed at his temple, breaking the quiet, then dragged a hand through his hair. “Sorry. That wasn’t… very smooth, was it?” he said with a breathy half-laugh, avoiding my eyes. “It’s just—I like you, Arabella. A lot.”

Cheesy. But for once, he didn’t sound rehearsed. He let his confidence crack, just slightly, like he was worried about how he’d come off.

I felt something stir, a pull toward him. I could’ve told him then, about how afraid I was, about my score, the Rift, the feeling that everything was slipping out of control. But the words stayed lodged in my throat.

I liked it better when we pretended all of this was a good thing.