One-two-three-four.
My toe taps against the floor—tap-tap-tap-tap—four times before I force it still.
The classroom empties.
The door closes.
And I'm left alone with Professor Harrington, who's looking at me with an expression I've learned to recognize over years of receiving bad news.
Pity.
Resignation.
The face of someone about to take something from you and wishing they didn't have to.
"What's the matter?" I ask, my voice coming out flatter than I intend.
She gestures to the chair nearest her desk.
"Sit down, please."
I don't sit.
Sitting means vulnerability. Means accepting whatever's about to happen. Equals tostaying stillwhen every instinct I have is screaming at me to run, to fight, to do something other than stand here waiting for the next blow to land.
Professor Harrington sighs—a soft, resigned sound.
"I know Ms. Chen informed you about the rescheduled recitals," she begins, her fingers fidgeting with something on her desk. A paper. A letter. "The audition in three days. The opportunity with Ms. Martinez."
Opportunity.
The word tastes like ash on my tongue.
I've been calling it that too, haven't I? Opportunity. Chance. Possibility. All the pretty words we use to dress up desperate hope and make it look respectable.
"But I believe you should read this."
She holds out the letter.
My hand trembles slightly as I take it—not fear…just the fucking tremors that never quite go away—and unfold the paper with deliberate care.
The words swim before my eyes.
...effective immediately...
...auditions officially canceled for all packless Omega students...
...only participants with verified pack bonds or probationary pack arrangements will be eligible...
...minimum probation period of one month required for verification...
...we regret any inconvenience...
Inconvenience.
A giggle escapes.
High, bright, absolutely fucking unhinged.
