And I don't know what to do with that.
"If I do the audition," I ask, forcing my brain to focus on practical matters instead of emotional spirals, "what happens if I do well?"
Ms. Chen's face transforms.
Beaming.
Actually, genuinely beaming, like I've just asked the question she's been waiting to answer all morning.
"If you perform well—and I have every confidence you will, Seraphine, you're the most talented dancer I've seen in my twenty years at this academy—you'll immediately receive a scholarship to the dance school of your choice."
The words land like physical blows.
One after another.
Scholarship.
Dance school.
Choice.
"Everything would be paid," she continues, and now she's the one who sounds slightly breathless, caught up in the possibility of it. "Tuition, housing, supplies, everything. The International Alliance of Contemporary Dance Excellence handles the financial arrangements. And with the approval of your pack?—"
She pauses.
Lets the weight of that phrase settle.
"—you'll be able to leave Ruthless Academy."
Leave.
The word echoes in the sudden silence of the office.
Leave Ruthless Academy.
I've been dreaming about this since I was twelve years old.
Since the night my parents died and I was thrown into this system like refuse someone forgot to properly dispose of. Since I realized that the walls around me weren't protection butprison, and the education I was receiving wasn't preparation for life but training for death.
Leave.
Escape.
Freedom.
The concepts are so foreign, so impossible, so thoroughly beaten out of me by three years of survival that I almost can't process them.
I could be free.
Actually free.
In less than a week.
My hands are shaking worse now.
The papers rattle, the sound too loud in the quiet office.
One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four.
