Page 32

T his world was built on balance, but the scales had begun to tip.

It was late afternoon, and the red number on my slate pulsed like an open wound.

No matter how many times I blinked or how many silent prayers I whispered to the Thread, it did not shift, move, or care.

It was clear that the heavens did not barter with the desperate.

I wasn’t scheduled to graduate immediately, which was a relief. But I was still going to be marked as a Daemon, if I survived the Rift. With a score as unexceptional as mine, it looked unlikely. My fingers curled tightly around the device, nails biting into my palm.

A sharp cry shattered the hush of the dormitory, followed by the blue glow of Ruby’s slate. “No! Nononono!” She keened, ponytail askew, mascara tracking down her cheeks.

“What’s going on?” My voice was thick, uneven, still weighted with sleep.

“They still haven’t fixed it.” She thrust the scoreboard screenshot under my nose. “Everyone’s scores tanked while you were in Elsewhere. If this is because you stole the Arcana?—”

“What do you mean?” My voice splintered, barely a whisper.

Ruby’s slate trembled in her hands. “I mean,” she spat. “Whatever you did is dragging us all down with you.” I read through the names. The scores were all low, very low. Then I saw it. Hugo Fox. His name flickered, half-transparent, the digits beside it trying to resolve and failing.

“Ruby, I’m sorry!”

“Tell me now. Did you do this?” Her voice shook. “Are we all being punished because you stole those stupid cards?”

“No— no ,” I managed. “Of course not.” I hadn’t even considered it. I hadn’t thought of anyone but myself. Had I done this? Had I pulled everyone down with me when I stole the Arcana? My necklace burned against my skin, singing me.

Ruby’s mouth twisted. “We were supposed to be Angels, Arabella.” Her voice broke. “We were supposed to have a future.” I didn’t know what to say. I had lost my future, too, but she didn’t care about that.

“I’m sorry.” I sat there, feeling hollowed out, watching Hugo’s name flicker. Thinking about him caused a burning pit in my stomach. Ruby scowled, grabbing her gym bag as she marched to the door.

I stood. “Ruby, wait!”

“We’re late for conditioning. I don’t have time for this.” She shouldered into me. “Good luck. Everyone hates your guts. If the Rift doesn’t kill you, they will. ”

I moved to follow, but she’d slammed the door so hard the stained-glass window rattled in its frame.

The scent of sweat and burning incense hung in the air of the sparring hall, and vaulted ceilings nearly swallowed the flickering torchlight whole. I stood alone near the perimeter, arms folded. Professor Althrian, a thick-necked Nephalim with coal-black eyes, bellowed today’s rules.

He reminded us that conditioning was a class designed to prepare us for our roles in the After or Elsewhere.

It was a way to keep our muscles strong and our mind sharp.

Now, so close to the Rift and so close to graduation for the Upper Sixth, it was an opportunity to boost our ether scores.

A single win this late could gift ±50 points.

Exactly what I needed. But I’d never sparred in my life. Back home, I’d barely passed PE.

Wooden spar platforms rose in tiers at the center of the room.

Win a bout and your ether would spike, lose and it would hemorrhage.

Succeeding at conditioning and sparring clearly meant more to Evermore than history lessons or exams. I watched the scoreboard, students scores advancing by well over fifty points if they won.

Marcus high-fived a girl from Lower Sixth, sweat gleaming down his temples. She’d beaten him, and he’d taken it well.

“Next pair, please,” Professor Althrian barked, noting something down on his slate. My hand shot up. Four wins. Four wins. That’s all it would take to push me near Angel territory, to make sure I was marked for the After when the Rift came to claim me.

“Don’t choke,” Ruby snarled as I passed her, and the Seraphim girls around her burst into laughter. Lilibeth chewed her bottom lip as she gave me a nervous nod.

I made my way to the center of the ring, javelin in hand as sweat beaded my brow. I recognized the guy opposite, vaguely. He was in Lower Sixth, in the House of Thrones. He was massive, twice my size at least.

A strike launched at my ribs. I pivoted left, narrowly avoiding the iron-tipped javelin as it sliced through the air.

The crowd below us roared. They wanted blood.

They blamed me for their scores, and I was the one they wanted to see sparred straight through.

Whether or not I was truly to blame didn’t matter. They had decided I was.

Another strike came, faster this time. I moved to block all too slow. Crack. Pain lashed through my shin, a white-hot snap that shot up my leg. My slate beeped against my waistband, my score dropping.

I drank air in shallow gasps. “That’s not—” Fair.

Another feint came, and I braced too late.

The blunt tip crashed into my shoulder and I skidded off the platform.

I clung to the edge, fingers sweat-slicked and slipping.

My opponent stepped closer, the javelin pointed at me.

I dug my nails in as my hands grew slicker, slicker…

And dropped. The impact of the fall was just great enough to bruise, to slam through me and steal the air from my lungs. Pain bloomed like blood in water, but I forced myself up. They wouldn’t see me crawl. This would hurt like hell tomorrow. “Up,” Professor Althrian barked. “Again, Davenant.”

This wasn’t a conditioning, this was a punishment, and the professor was in on it. Fine. Let them come. I gritted my teeth, forcing myself up, refusing to give them the pleasure of breaking me. I had made a mistake. If stealing the cards had done this, I hadn’t meant for it to happen.

I climbed the steps up the platform, my muscles screaming. Someone was waiting for me at the top, my next sparring partner. Hugo twirled his practice spear, expression blank, no recognition at all.

He was alive. He was well. A smile stretched across my face despite myself. The expression written across his face said that he hungered for me in all the wrong ways. There was no recognition in his face, like he hadn’t died beside me in Elsewhere, like we hadn’t clawed our way out together.

But the bond was fake, so maybe this was the reality. He flipped the javelin in his grip, considering it. Then, without hesitation, he hurled it straight at me.

I didn’t move fast enough this time, my muscles weren’t responding. The dull side slammed into my stomach, the force of it tore through me. I stumbled, knees crashing against the wooden planks, the air knocked from my lungs.

A cheer erupted from the crowd. I choked on my own air. Every inhale burned, ragged, but I refused to let them see. I lifted my head, meeting Hugo’s eyes. There was nothing there. Not anger, not regret, not recognition. A slow smile curved his lips.

He leaned down, his words a fresh blade pressed against my throat. I didn’t recognize this boy. But worse he recognized me, and hated everything I was.

“Dorian told me about your mother,” he murmured, the smell of the musky cologne he’d worn the night at the pub enveloping me. Something in my chest fractured as he dropped to a whisper meant only for me. “She never should have walked free.”

“Hugo,” my voice broke.

He pressed the spearpoint to my collarbone. “You shouldn’t exist. This is all your fault. And now we might all lose the After because of you.” There was no trace of the boy I knew as he said, “I'm going to make sure you don’t.”

I tried to rip away, but he only held tighter. My voice was embarrassingly pleading as the tip of the javelin crept closer to my throat. “Let go . Hugo. Look at me, you know me.” I held his gaze, still searching for the false promise of us.

Hugo tilted his head. “No.” His voice was smooth, empty.

“I don’t know you at all. No one here does.

” I flinched. “You are a liar and a damn good actress, Arabella Davenant. You could have been a star, but that doesn’t matter now.

We know who you are and what you’ve done, and we want you dead. All of us do . ”

My ears were ringing. Somewhere, I thought I heard the echo of his laugh. Or maybe it was mine, splintering apart inside my head. My life would end here, fading into searing pain and darkness, unless Verrine cruelly resurrected me and forced me to take the Rift.

Hugo turned as the hall filled with the sound of hundreds of slates chirping in unison. A single message flashed across the screens:

ASSEMBLY IN ARIEL HALL. IMMEDIATE ATTENDANCE REQUIRED.

A murmur spread through the crowd. Hugo released his grip on me like I had burned him. He stepped back, shaking out his fingers, eyes narrowing before turning away. “This isn’t over.”

I pressed a trembling hand to my ribs, pain pulsing through every inch of me. What did he mean? What had my mother done? And why was everyone so sure this was my fault?

I brushed away tears, pushing myself to my feet, and made my way toward Ariel Hall.

What had Dorian told him? What truth about my mother had made Hugo hate me enough to kill?

I didn’t know. I only knew that everyone here had made up their minds.

There was only one person to blame for all of this. Me.