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It was the second time she had prayed, because the cameras were following Sophia around, and Isobel was forced to prove that she actually came to the chapel every morning to worship the Gifted religion.

So she sidled up to Stygian’s banner and lit a candle while Sophia shuffled around restocking a cupboard.

Niko slipped into the booth behind her, pressing his weight gently into her spine as they both looked up at the banner.

Is it normal to pray as a couple? she asked through the bond.

No . His response was amused. I’m just here to supervise.

She glanced at him over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes on his face before realising one of the cameramen had repositioned himself to record them. She quickly faced the candle again, trying to look deep in prayer.

You’re trying to make sure I don’t smite anyone again, aren’t you ? she accused.

I have to admit, I’m curious, he admitted. You don’t understand how hard it is to get the gods to listen—and even then, how hard it is to get them to care. They seem to be paying attention to you.

Curious enough for me to try praying again? she asked.

His hands landed on her shoulders, tugging her back to rest more firmly against his chest. Fuck it. What’s the worst that could happen?

Other than another lightning strike ? she asked. I don’t know, maybe like … a giant biblical wave ? A swarm of locusts?

Please clear your mind of tsunamis and locusts before you start praying.

She closed her eyes and tried to silence her thoughts.

Unfortunately, she had too many of them, and the camera was still trained on her, making it very difficult to focus.

The thoughts buzzed around in her head like flies, swarming away from the net she danced around with, trying to corral them without success.

She didn’t know if this was what prayer was supposed to feel like. She wasn’t kneeling. She wasn’t speaking aloud. She wasn’t really sure if she was praying at all. Just thinking very hard in the direction of a god who likely couldn’t care less.

Stygian , she thought. Are you still watching ? Are you listening?

Nothing happened.

I don’t know what you want. Worship? Sacrifice?

Nothing. No flickering of the candle, no deathly lightning strike. No locusts.

Fine. Here it is. I need to know which door to pick on Friday.

The Stone Dahlia is a cesspool of corruption and brutality, and you can’t remedy that gross imbalance of power by burning it down.

They’ll just rebuild. You need us to do the work .

You need the Gifted and the humans to team up.

Well … we’re trying. I’ll be standing in the middle of six doors on Friday, and the human I need to team up with will be on the other side of one of the doors. I need to pick the right one.

The room around her seemed to still. It was the slightest hush, a thickening of the air … like someone had leaned forward to listen. Behind her, Niko tensed slightly, just enough for her to feel the slight bunching of his muscles against her spine.

And then … nothing.

No sign. No voice. Still no locusts.

Just a candle burning lower, and the subtle smell of smoke winding upward.

Isobel stepped back from the banner and blew out the candle with a harsh, frustrated breath.

She didn’t know if Stygian had heard her—or if he gave a shit—but she had prayed, and that was either very brave …

or very stupid, considering what had happened the last time she attempted it.

She tried to catch Sophia’s eye on her way out of the chapel, but Sophia had her head buried in the cupboard that she had apparently decided to clean out. Probably as an excuse to climb partially into it to hide from the cameras.

Sophia had always hated the idea of the Ironside Show . She was one of the few Gifted who couldn’t even be bothered to watch it, and now she was suddenly their new star.

Isobel sent her a text as they jogged back to the dorm, trying to be as supportive as she could. She had learned several more words in sign language and was dying to practise them with Sophia, but the cameras were always around, and Isobel couldn’t go and visit her in the human accommodations.

She found herself shadowing Theodore during their small group session, mindlessly copying his stretches and then following him to the treadmills with her mind a million miles away.

When she almost stepped up onto the treadmill behind him, Elijah caught her around the waist from the neighbouring machine, setting her back down on the floor.

“Let’s do some Yoga?” Theodore suggested, eyeing her carefully.

She trailed him to the mats and began copying his movements again. She could feel all of their eyes on her, but none of them pressed. They knew her heart. They knew how much she was hurting for Sophia.

After their session, she followed Theodore into the shower, but he didn’t laugh at her; he stepped back to gently position her under the warm spray and began handing her the things she wanted before she even reached for them.

And then he walked into her dressing room, knowing she would trail him, and picked out her clothes for her.

He seemed to know that these little decisions had become too stressful for her.

As they left the dorm again, forming a rare pack instead of breaking off into smaller groups, she switched from Theodore to Gabriel, going so far as to hold a tight fistful of his shirt as she huddled close to his side.

During their Icon Matters class, the air between Isobel and the Alphas became heavier than usual, thick with a shared vigilance.

There was something about Ironside’s latest move that just felt …

different. Worse than usual. The officials had tortured a girl, stolen her voice, and were now so confident in their control over her that they were gleefully giving her a public throne.

It felt almost reckless, and there was something infinitely terrifying about a dangerous person or group suddenly becoming reckless.

It felt like they were racing against an invisible clock and failing, falling behind.

Every Friday night at the Stone Dahlia was some new horror.

Every week, a new test. Things were changing too fast, and the changes were pushing them too far past their boundaries and limits.

Oscar’s knee bounced erratically as they waited for the professor to arrive, riotous energy radiating off him in waves.

Theodore looked unbothered as always, but he tapped his pen in an almost frantic rhythm until Gabriel leaned over Isobel and snatched it off him.

He muttered something to Niko, on his other side, before slapping a tennis ball down on Theodore’s desk to replace the pen.

Even Cian was subdued, the corners of his mouth twitching downward whenever anyone looked their way for too long.

The rest of the class wasn’t watching them much, though. Not today.

Today, they were obsessed with Sophia and Bellamy.

A quick scroll through social media told her that people were talking about how Sophia had recovered from her Death Phase so beautifully, tragically, and silently.

None of them knew she was still sleeping upright most nights, too terrified to let herself relax, just in case she closed her eyes and woke up back inside the Stone Dahlia with bleach bubbling in her throat.

By the time Isobel trailed Gabriel into their second class, the buzz had only intensified, and Bellamy wasn’t looking too good. He excused himself halfway through to go to the bathroom and never returned.

She followed Gabriel to the dining hall for their morning break, hoping to catch sight of Bellamy as Gabriel made her a coffee, but the Beta was nowhere in sight.

As soon as the bell signalled the next period, she shadowed Gabriel to his next class, instead of hers.

The professor seemed to be about to say something, but one look at Gabriel’s face somehow convinced her to allow it, and Gabriel led her to the back of the small classroom, pulling out a chair for her and then dragging it tight against his own as soon as she sat down.

When they piled into the auditorium again for Advanced Influencer Intensive before lunch, Bellamy was back, and he looked worse than she had ever seen him, aside from the time her father almost broke his nose.

His curls were flattened on one side, like he’d fallen asleep and stayed that way too long.

His shirt was wrinkled. His eyes were bloodshot.

He scanned the room once, then made a beeline straight for their group.

He dropped himself into the empty seat beside Theodore, on the end of the row where Isobel sat.

The entire class froze.

“Don't even,” Bellamy grumbled as Oscar turned to glare at him, lips parting on a breath that was likely to deliver a cutting threat for Bellamy to move his ass somewhere else. “I can't handle any more questions.”

Oscar narrowed dark eyes on him before turning to face the front again, dismissing him.

Kiki Rayne, one of the girls who usually hung around Bellamy’s group of friends, popped out of her chair and moved to sit beside him.

“Don’t even fucking think about it,” Oscar snarled. “Fuck off back to your own section.”

She froze, eyes widening in fright, and cast a quick look to Bellamy for help.

He didn’t even acknowledge her. He stared listlessly at the front of the classroom, waiting for the lesson to start.

Theodore dug something out of his pocket—the tennis ball Gabriel had given him.

He placed it on Bellamy’s desk as Rayne scurried back to her previous seat .

Bellamy blinked down at the ball. “What’s this for?”

“You squeeze it till it pops,” Theodore explained. “Therapy.”

Bellamy gave him a flat look and then leaned forward to meet Isobel’s eyes. These are your idiots, his voice projected into her head, reminding her of his Beta ability. You deal with them .