Page 52 of Fallen Gods

“You okay?” Ziva asks, leaning over.

I don’t even bother to deny what she must have seen. “Getting there.”

“Just don’t fall for him,” Ziva says, her voice low and steady. “Or do, just don’t mistake obsession for intimacy. That’s how they win.”

The words land like an anchor in my chest—sinking, dragging. It’s almost like she’s talking from experience. I mentally file the observation away.

Up onstage, Sigurd is still talking, but I can’t hear a word of it.

Ziva’s gaze is fixed ahead, calm and unbothered. But I’m rattled.

Don’t mistake obsession for intimacy.

I grip the edge of my chair, heart tripping over itself. Because I think that’s exactly what I’m doing. And the worst part? I don’t want to stop.

He doesn’t just pull at me. He’s pulling me under bit by bit.

And the more I fight it, the more I realize—I was never meant to swim free.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Rey

After an hour of hearing former Endir graduates and prestigious—their word, not mine—alumni make speeches, Sigurd’s at the mic again.

He’s beaming like a game-show host as he introduces the faculty like they’re the starting lineup of an NFL team. When will this end?

I clap when everyone else claps.

I’m here. I’m totally normal. Not a killer. Not from a notorious crime family. I’m participating. Go Endir!

As if sensing my inner sarcasm, Sigurd pauses. Hand to his brow, he gazes out across the Assembly Hall. “Ladies and gentlemen, you’re a part of Endir now. This school is your legacy! Your fellow students and alumni will become your friends, your family.”

Where is he going with this, and why does it feel all sorts of wrong?

Cue the psychopathic villain chuckle in three, two, one.

He laughs.

Bingo.

I’d take pride in my prediction, but it’s just too easy.

“Don’t be shy,” Sigurd says. “You’re all so spread out. That’s not the way to make lifelong friendships.”

Is he serious right now?

“Come on,” he cajoles. “Everyone to the front. No sleeping in the back. Fill in the gaps, introduce yourself to your fellow classmates. Celebrate your differences, your commonalities. Form alliances!”

Alliances, hmm? What an interesting word to use.

Ziva laughs a bit too loud, too forced. But she stands, so I do, too.

I follow her out of the row and toward the front, not because I want to but because disobeying Sigurd’s directions would draw too much attention, and again, I just want orientation to be done.

I file in behind her, and we settle into our new seats, maybe ten rows from the stage.

The students in front of and behind us lean in expectantly. Time to make friends. Wow. This is really happening.