My TB buzzed, along with everyone else's. Some people reached for the cubes; others ignored them. I was the former. A message in white, tinted with the hint of blue, filled one side.
Greige
Train is delayed by 30 minutes, adjust accordingly.
I had no idea what that meant.
I flipped the TB to the time side: Ten-o-three. This placement was now starting late.
“How does this family function?” I said to no one in particular.
Men shifted uncomfortably. One visibly edged farther from me. A weird sense of loneliness and power collided in my chest.
“Very carefully,” a light voice answered, stepping up to my side.
The runt I’d overheard asking about the tremors at the Happy Rooster smiled up at me. He still didn’t wear a uniform. The same loose set of faded jeans and a bright yellow hooded sweatshirt covered him from head to toe. I spotted at least two more sweaters under the yellow one. The guy was too dense to heat himself, apparently.
“Like you actually know,” I said, narrowing my eyes.
The man giggled like a girl before tapping his temple. “Well, on some level, I do.”
I scowled at the dimwit. Our brief conversation yesterday left me astounded by its stupidity. Combined with his display of wealth, it made me think of my mother’s collection of decorative birds. The yellow fit perfectly. Short with a delicate build, he must be the runt of one of the prominent families, possibly a cast-off of the Westwaters. Though with the hint of red hair I saw poking out of his hood, he was more likely a McDonald, except the McDonalds hated the Architect. I doubted they’d send a dead dog here. I searched my knowledge of the families. The hair wasn’t right, but the Tates had old blood, which could explain his eyes. My gaze dropped to his sturdy hiking boots of plastic and synthetics. The Tates had lost their fortune. They couldn’t afford his sweater, much less the rest of his outfit.
He might have stolen everything. The thought made me recoil. There was no need to steal in my compound. Everyone had everything they needed to survive.
The sun came out from behind a cloud, and the statue of a unicorn twinkled.
Everything they needed to survive.
A wave of anger hit me hard.
My gaze locked with the runt’s standing a good foot below me. I forced raw power into the tattoos covering my body, turning themfrom subtle white to deep glowing forest green. They radiated through my cream tunic as my magic charged the air around me. The man should feel my strength. Whatever dregs of control he’d lucked into would pale in comparison.
The runt grinned as if completely unaffected by my display. “Beautiful. Forest green is my favorite color.”
What the fuck? My family was powerful, and I was the most powerful born in the last three generations. A direct son of my Prophet. That should have scared the piss out of this little guy.
“Why are you standing next to me?” I ground out.
The runt’s hand disappeared into his hood and came back out. “I had a little circle of people avoiding me, too, so I figured I’d join yours.” He sighed. “I think that Moore woman spread a bunch of rumors about me.”
I grunted. I’d not heard any, but I wouldn’t have, would I?
My eyebrow twitched. I suddenly didn’t know who I was angry at anymore.
“Welcome to your first practical placement,” the proctor said, finally gracing us with his presence.
I turned toward the sound of his voice and found a large man with thinning yellow hair, which looked glued to his head, addressing us. A set of simple brown robes hung over his exceptionally round stomach.
“My name is Winston, just Winston. No title, please. We’re here to sculpt you into productive members of our family,” he said, a smile stretching across his face, pride practically radiating from him. “These placements gauge your skills and help guide you toward your future in the family. We’re not judging. Every job needs to be done. Try to have fun.”
A wave of whispers rolled through the group. He rested his hand on his stomach and waited, his eyes narrowing slightly until the noise died down.
“Now, I’m splitting you into pairs and one group of three.” He pointed at the runt and the man to my left, then brought his hands together until they centered on me.
"I guess I’m one of the lucky three,” the runt said, still smiling.
I refused to acknowledge him. The other man’s long, cyan-blue hair bounced along his back as he stepped around me to put the runt between us. Coward. A few inches shorter than me and lanky, I didn’t recognize him from one of the main families, but his well-made tweed and leather jacket over his uniform showed above-average wealth.
