H E GIFTED YOU HIS FANGS.” S LEN STUDIED K IDAN INTENTLY. “I STILL can’t believe it.”

They’d met extra early, at West Corner Tea, and fresh pastries now filled their table. Slen’s gloved hand wrapped around a mug of black coffee.

GK didn’t eat, choosing to fast most days like all Mot Zebeyas. A touch of concern lingered in his words. “Even in the Last Sage tales, fangs are often a symbol of pain and loss, never an offering of companionship.”

Kidan popped in a cinnamon mini doughnut. The taste always brought memories of a flustered June baking with serious concentration, fussing over her journal as she experimented with different ingredients. “Guess he wanted to make a statement.”

Yusef ran his hand through his hair, using the back window to double as a mirror. He was particular about his appearance, wanting his thick curls to sit at a certain angle.

“And boy, did he. Everyone’s been talking about it.” He frowned. “Makes the heel I got look like a consolation prize.”

“Enough with the jealousy,” Slen said, touching her temple. “You’re not his type. Get over it.”

Yusef looked offended, then grinned. “It’s okay. I’m your type.”

GK flipped through his book. “I think to be her type you’ll have to focus on a page longer than you do on your own reflection.”

Yusef’s mouth dropped, Slen’s mouth twitched, and Kidan burst into an unexpected laugh. She touched her lips, surprised the sound had really come from her.

GK raised a brow at her and smiled, chin bowed.

Yusef shook his head. “It’s always the quiet ones.”

“Like GK said, focus, please.” Slen turned her laptop to them. “Quadrantism. Our new topic. The Aarac translation for Quadrantism says that the four quadrants of a dranaic produce a paradise, of which the human is a mirror . Yusef, do you want to share?”

Yusef folded his legs on his chair and unwrapped a chocolate muffin. His flared brown pants and rolled-up white sweater made him look effortlessly handsome.

“Quadrantism is a theology that says to live a good life, a human must keep all four pillars intact,” he said. “I practice it.”

“What do you mean you practice it?” Kidan asked.

“It’s a way of life. Metaphors for good behavior. To obtain optimal quality of spiritual, mental, physical, and material well-being.”

“A lot of artists practice it,” Slen said. “They believe it brings them closer to creation, saving four hours every day, each dedicated to strengthening the four pillars.”

“Then you can help us pass?” Kidan asked Yusef.

He winced, rubbing his neck. “Ironically, I failed Dranacti at this stage.”

“Oh,” Kidan said.

No one spoke for a while.

“It’s similar to the Last Sage’s principles like Settliton,” GK finally said.

Slen tapped her chin with a pen. “An interesting lens. Are you able to deliver your exegesis without personal bias?”

“Exegesis,” Yusef said absentmindedly. “Put a dollar in the jar.”

Kidan watched in amusement as Slen sighed and took out a crumpled dollar from her jacket pocket. Yusef retrieved a small glass jar from his bag and slipped the money inside. It was labeled on Scotch tape in his block writing: WORDS THAT MAKE ME FEEL SAD .

He held it to the light. “I’m going to buy a new charcoal pencil set soon.”

“Really?” Kidan had never thought Slen would engage in this.

“It’s fair play. I have a jar for him too,” Slen said.

Yusef’s jar was labeled in Slen’s cursive writing Debilitating Creative Rants and was half-full.

Yusef leaned toward Kidan. “Funny thing is, she owed me a dollar for the word ‘debilitating.’”

Kidan’s lips curved with mischief. “GK, do you think you should get one for Yusef? For the times he checks himself out?”

“I did.” GK’s warm eyes danced, catching her meaning. “It became too heavy to carry.”

Yusef could only stare at GK, then at Kidan, wonder breaking his voice. “Okay, what happened to you two? I’m the funny one.”

Kidan laughed softly, absolutely loving this and feeling normal for once.

They worked quietly for the next two hours before deciding to meet again in the afternoon. Kidan left with the required readings.

GK followed her out of the room, his light expression fading. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shifted, his chain clicking. “It’s just you told me Susenyos did something to your sister and then you showed everyone his fangs.… Did he hurt you?”

His eyes filled with turmoil. He must have been worried all this time. Kidan squeezed his arm, surprised she was initiating human touch at all. It felt… nice.

“I’m okay, GK. Really. I shouldn’t have told you.”

He traced his finger bone chain, jaw tight. “But first your sister, then Ramyn?” He shook his head. “I’m worried.”

Ramyn had died after getting close to Kidan. Now Kidan was spending time with GK. She swallowed. She needed to keep him safe.

“How about Mondays before class, you and I go for a walk around the grounds? We can look out for each other.”

The tension seemed to leave him. He nodded and opened the door, then paused, looking back at her with a small smile.

“It was nice to hear you laugh. Even if it was only for a moment.”

Kidan’s chest lightened, though she was unable to understand why he was so good to her.

“Thank you,” she said.

She clung to the weightless feeling, refusing to touch her searing bracelet. For a few minutes, she’d almost enjoyed herself in a world without June.

Guilt knotted her from the inside out.

Later. She’d punish herself later.

Kidan lay awake in bed. The house pressed in on her like a boulder, crushing her chest and determined to grind out the sliver of joy from the day. June and Mama Anoet swarmed her in cycles, their voices more vivid than ever, crossing from the hallway into her room. She dressed and left the house in a hurry, barely closing the front door. Grabbing onto her knees, she inhaled clean, sharp air, dizzy with the emptiness of her mind. Her neck prickled with the feeling of someone watching. Her eyes darted up to the window. It was dark and no one was visible, but she could have sworn the curtains of Susenyos’s room had fluttered.

She shook her head and walked on campus, illuminated by the lion-shaped lampposts. It was midnight, but one room in the Philosophy Tower glowed soft orange. Kidan took the elevator up. Slen was there, as expected, and the two nodded at each other, settling in. A single thin candle burned in the middle of the table.

Slen inched a book titled The Sage’s Quadrant toward Kidan, who opened the thick cover. It spoke about the four principles the Last Sage practiced in his seclusion. Settliton. Kidan highlighted the values in relation to Quadrantism, hoping to decipher the topic. They worked in a practiced quiet of shuffling papers, light typing touches, a cap twisting in Slen’s teeth. Her usual piney scent mixed with the lingering aroma from several empty coffee cups. Kidan should tell her not to drink so much. It was probably why she couldn’t sleep.

The room grew hot around their second hour there. The sensor heaters turned on, and Kidan took off her scarf and opened her collar. Slen shrugged off her large jacket and slipped free of her gloves. Three lines of deep welts—no, scars—ran along her palms, the almond color of the flesh broken up with dark lightning bolts. Kidan’s hand froze on her turning page.

Slen didn’t notice for several seconds that Kidan had stopped working. Then she caught Kidan staring, blinked, and quickly reached for the gloves, frowning.

“I almost forgot you were here.”

“You… don’t have to put them back on.”

Slen hesitated, then gently set them down, not looking at her. Kidan didn’t ask. But the warm space swelled with the expected question. Slen shut her eyes like she’d come across an inconvenient piece of Aarac to be translated.

“The bow of a violin can cut flesh if you swing it hard enough. My father doesn’t like errors.”

Kidan’s lips parted. Then, almost as quickly, her teeth rang with fury. She looked away, veins tight. “My foster mother didn’t like errors either. Whenever my sister and I spoke Amharic, we were punished with a painful pinch.”

The sharp twist of skin between hardened fingers burned hotter than a lit cigarette. Perhaps that was why the language still tasted like iron on Kidan’s tongue.

“Let me help you.” Kidan moved her jaw with great effort. She wasn’t sure exactly how she would, but she wanted to do something.

Slen stared deeply, a curious glint to her gaze. “Passing Dranacti will help me. It’ll make me the next heiress to House Qaros. An heiress can make all the errors she wants and still be valuable.”

Kidan’s mouth soured. “You shouldn’t have to be an heiress to be valuable.”

Slen faced the gentle flame. “In a place where houses are power, there’s nothing else we can be.”

Those cinders caught in her dark eyes again. Kidan could almost imagine them crackling, daring her to burn this place to the ground—or perhaps it was her own thoughts pounding like a drum, wanting to shake the girl and scream, We don’t have to wait for the houses to give us power. Power can be a match and a lighter, a gun, a fire. I can kill him for you.

A chill like no other swept over her. She touched her forehead. What was wrong with her? She really was getting worse.

“Maybe you can be honest with me now too,” Slen said.

Kidan’s brows rose. “About?”

Slen’s words were low, unexpected, and almost dark. “Did Susenyos Sagad poison you?”

Kidan’s mouth opened, but at first no sound came out. “How did… you—”

“Taj Zuri belongs to my house. He talks a lot.”

Right. And Susenyos had obviously told his friend. Still, it surprised her. She didn’t want anyone to know yet.

“And if he did poison me?” Kidan asked, sliding her a side glance.

Slen fixed her with those flat black eyes. The flame bent close, as if listening too.

“I can take care of him for you.”

Those were Kidan’s words. Sharp with an underlying bite to them.

Her eyes widened. Her heart pounded close to the surface of her skin. Did Slen mean it the way Kidan had at the gala? Did she mean… kill Susenyos? The tower room became sweltering again. Why was the thought that they could be alike so exhilarating yet horrifying? Kidan wanted to say yes. Wanted this girl to experience what taking a life felt like. Let them spiral into a fit of violence and shared misery. But that couldn’t be what Slen was hinting at, could it?

“What do you mean?” Kidan asked, desperate to stop her buzzing thoughts.

Slen stared into the flame, brown skin iridescent. “I mean Susenyos can be one more task on my list once I’m heiress. I never fail my assignments.”

Kidan found herself transfixed, desperate to crack open Slen’s thoughts and truly understand. Slen brushed her short braid away, tucking it behind a pierced ear. The sight of those graceful, scarred palms poured ice down Kidan’s back. Shook her free.

Slen was already in her own version of hell. Suffering.

Kidan bit the inside of her cheek, using the pain to anchor her. “No, he’s helping me find a life exchange.”

Slen’s brows drew together a little. “I see.”

Kidan’s chest squeezed at the withdrawal in her tone. There wouldn’t be another moment like this with Slen. Vulnerability was a flaw, a thing to be corrected. But as much as Kidan wanted to find a partner in all this, what she wanted more was for Slen to survive. She couldn’t bear it if Slen was the next person to dangle from a tower by the neck. Some sliver of light had to exist for girls who were punished just for existing.

All that lurked in Kidan’s revenge was guilt and self-hatred and eventual death. Taking a life would only inflict a deeper permanent scar on her.

No, she promised herself. Kidan wouldn’t be selfish with Slen. She’d help her keep her soul, not destroy it.

There were other, more depraved methods Kidan could use to feed her loneliness before she met her end.