And again.
“Okay,” I said softly. “Stupid question.”
Jess glared at me likeIwas the one interruptingherday.
I sank onto our tiny couch, pulling my knees in, watching her carefully.
“So. Lyra’s… something, huh.”
Jess snorted. “Psycho Barbie, more like it. Did she try to fuck with your head too?”
“I think so.”
“Not surprised. She’s a vicious cow.”
I looked down at my hands, suddenly so tired I could feel it in my bones.
“Will you tell me where I can find food?” I asked finally.
Jess flicked her lighter closed and glanced at me from the corner of her eye. A lock of red hair slipped across her cheek, half hiding the look that saiddon’t push your luck.
For a second, I thought she wasn’t going to answer.
“Fine,” she muttered. “But only because I’m going too.”
I nudged the box of clothes with my toe. “Do I have to wear this now?”
She gave a short laugh. “Not at dinner. You’ll wear it at breakfast and lunch, though. Someone will dump a schedule on you before lights out—what classes, shifts, whatever they’ve decided you need.”
“What sort of things?”
Jess arched a brow. “What am I, a fucking guidebook?”
She leaned back, boots landing on the edge of the table. “You’re in the institute, which means you screwed up somewhere. So—counselling, trade work, maybe a few lectures about redemption. Whatever keeps us all pretending we’re fixable.”
Her gaze swept over me. “Come on. Now or not at all.”
I stood quickly and followed.
She led me through a maze of corridors, the air humming with low conversation and footsteps. Groups of students clustered near doorways or leaned against the walls—some watched me like I was fresh meat, others didn’t bother at all.
When we reached the cafeteria doors, a tall boy stepped into our path. Nineteen, maybe. Ash-blond hair, hazel eyes, easy smile.
Earth-mover, my mind noted automatically. Solid aura. Grounded. Not dangerous.
“Hey, Jess. How are you?” he asked, voice warm.
She shot him a glare and shouldered past without slowing.
I kept my head down and followed her in, but I still felt his eyes trail after her.
“Who’s that?” I asked once we joined the buffet line.
“Not that is any of your fucking business. But his name’s Brian.”
Her fingers tightened around her lighter until her knuckles blanched. She flicked it once, though it wasn’t even lit, and I caught the faint heat of embarrassment rising from her.
“He seems nice.”
