Page 39 of The Scars Within (Twisted Thorn #1)

I fucked up. Deep down, I knew the potion I was brewing for the Grim wasn’t destined for decorative purposes.

I had to sneak into the basements to scavenge a spare cauldron, a feat as risky as it was difficult.

I can hardly walk ten feet down the hall without being recognized.

Fortunately, I found a hooded cloak in a janitor’s closet, which I’ve since hidden away in the bottom of my dresser drawer for safekeeping.

The potion turned out too potent, causing Hogboom to croak before he could dispose of the evidence. But surely, not knowing the exact nature or purpose of what I was brewing means I can’t be considered an accessory to murder, right?

The Grim was not happy. He left a chillingly threatening note under my pillow last night.

My anxiety peaks each time I climb into bed, dreading the moment I find another ominous message and worried that I won’t be alone when I do.

I’m counting the days until I can escape to a personal room where I might find some semblance of privacy.

At least Hogboom’s death is overshadowed by the news of the villagers’ murders. Hopefully, that will blur the lines of the investigation enough to keep my involvement hidden.

I wrote to the Grim last night, asking if he was behind the attack on the villagers, but by morning, he hadn’t bothered to send a reply.

Today is Rhodes’s last day accompanying me for my work assignment. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or a little bummed about it. I thought I knew which Wylder brother I preferred spending time with—until this weekend.

Since the awful news of Hogboom’s death, I haven’t had a real chance to talk to Rhodes about the tavern.

Or about how he’d scooped me up in his arms and kept me safe during the storm that night.

And he hasn’t sought me out to ask why I was so upset on the rooftop.

There were several moments when I wanted to find him.

.. but I refrained. I don’t want to send him mixed signals. That would not be fair.

After my outburst about not knowing if he liked having me around, claiming I wasn’t seeing his brother… only to run into him at the library with his brother.

And then kissing his brother.

And going to the tavern with him.

And sleeping in his bed.

And kissing his brother again .

I’m a mess.

This week has been a whirlwind of change. It started with my introduction as an air wielder in class. The relief of being spared from the impossible choice of facing the Burn Trials felt like a boulder lifted off my shoulders.

And learning to wield air? That was exhilarating.

Still, it is more complicated than I’d imagined. Air-wielding requires more focus and precision than I’d anticipated. After a few classes, I could only manage the most basic tricks. But it was progress.

Daydreaming about my element was enough to distract me from my tangled feelings toward the Wylder brothers—until one walked in.

“Hey,” Rhodes said, getting ready for his shift .

“Hi,” I replied, sipping my coffee as I leaned against the counter.

“How’s your week been? I heard you channeled air. Congrats.”

I was a little thrown by his talkative timbre—not his usual norm. But my response came naturally. “It’s been tough, but fun. Laney’s in my air classes, so we get to learn together.”

Rhodes took an order from a cadet, tucking the pencil behind his ear as he approached me. “That’s good. It’s nice you have her with you,” he said with a slight grin, revealing a dimple.

I had to look down at my coffee.

Dimples get me every time.

And I really need to figure out where my head’s at with these damn Wylder boys.

Clearing my throat, I held out my hand for the order form. He handed it over and went to grab the cups. Glancing at the order, I realized we’d need a lot more sugar—this study group of cadets liked their coffee extra sweet.

“Did you refill the sugar canister?” I asked.

“Nope. Too busy watching you play in a puddle of coffee, remember?” he deadpanned.

I rolled my eyes, smirking. “I was not playing .”

“Whatever you say, coffee bean.”

I laughed softly. “I’ll go grab more sugar from the kitchen.”

Leaving the station, I headed toward the buffets.

The kitchen door was behind them, giving the cooks easy access to the spread.

I’d never been inside the cafeteria kitchens, and I was surprised at how busy it was.

All I’d done at Jaelyn’s tavern was serve food—this was a whole different kind of hustle.

A worker made eye contact with me as she stirred a massive vat of oatmeal. “Sugar?” I asked.

She nodded toward a pantry door. Inside, I found three walls covered in high shelves loaded with cans, plastic containers, and bags of supplies .

There it was—the sugar. At the very top, of course.

I scanned the room for a stool but came up empty. Just as I was calculating how many shelves I’d have to climb, Rhodes walked in behind me.

“Figured Mr. Cooper left the sugar on the top shelf again. He forgets not everyone’s over six feet tall like he is,” Rhodes said.

I glanced back at him and started to climb the shelves. “It’s just a few steps up. One second—”

“Scarlet, no!”

The warning came a second too late. As soon as I started climbing, I realized why Rhodes had protested—the shelves weren’t bolted to the walls. The whole unit wobbled dangerously under my weight, tipping forward.

I didn’t have time to react before I felt the entire shelving unit begin to tilt.

Suddenly, Rhodes wrapped one arm around my waist, yanking me to the side as his other hand shot out to stop the shelves from crashing down on us both. I looked up just in time to see him shove the unit back towards the wall—just as something fell from the top shelf.

There was a loud swoosh as a bag burst open over Rhodes’s head, drenching him in flour. White powder flew everywhere, coating him from head to toe, with a dusting even splashing onto me.

For a moment, we just stood there in the middle of what looked like a flour tornado. Clouds of it puffed up with each of his breaths, making the scene even more absurd.

His grip around my waist loosened, and I stumbled back onto my feet. I turned to face him, covering my mouth with my hands. “Oops…”

Rhodes remained silent, now completely white from head to toe, his expression unreadable beneath the layers of flour.

“Thorn in your… um…” I squeaked shakily. “I’m. I’m gonna go.” I pointed my thumbs toward the door, backing out slowly, trying to suppress a laugh.