His voice?—
The sound makes my throat hurt.
I can practically feel Morgan stiffen next to me, like a cat arching its back. Me, I feel almost the opposite. Too soft. Too tender. Like I’m about to collapse, a slow-motion melt to the ground.
I hate it.
“Evening, King.” Morgan speaks first. “How’s everything with you, then?”
“Fine,” Kingston says dismissively, like he’s uninterested in himself. “How are you, Gwenna?”
HowamI? What an absurd thing to ask. In general, and for him, of me.
“Still here,” I hear myself reply. In another context, the words could come off saucy, or even flirty. Now, they’re nothing more than a statement of fact.
Still. Here. I am still here.
Kingston presses his lips together. “I…see you’ve gotten your things from Morgan.”
Nothing to say to that.
“And the registrar’s informed me your classes are all arranged.”
“You might wanna talk to Kai,” Morgan interrupts. Kingston shoots her a look, and it’s only when he does that I realize he’s been staring at me.
I’ve been looking at nothing. The black void that is the center of his chest.
“Kai?” Kingston says, as if he’d rather not think about his foster brother.
“His attitude about this whole thing is, excuse my language, piss-poor. So maybe talk some sense into him. Some of that ‘the beatings will continue until morale improves’ or whatever it is you do.” She shrugs, and turns to me. “Gwenna, I don’t want to be rude, but I’ve got this?—”
“Go,” I say. Whatever it is, she should go. Morgan should be writing essays or brewing potions or dermaplaning or basically anything that propping me back up. She’s already done more than her share.
Morgan casts a glance from me to her stepbrother. Then back to me. “Are you sure?”
Sure that she should get a break? Yes.
Sure about anything else? To be determined.
But I nod.
“Okay.” Morgan nods back, and reaches out to squeeze my elbow—“because I know you’re not much of a hugger.”
That actually gets a little laugh from me.
“Oh, and—” Morgan fishes around in the various pockets of her coat. “Here.” She produces a long brass key, which she hands over. “To my suite—our suite. So you can get back in.”
Kingston clears his throat. Morgan rolls her eyes.
“What?”
“She doesn’t need that,” he informs her. “We all have copies.”
We.
Morgan’s brow wrinkles. “Seriously? How did—you know what?” She abruptly shuts her mouth. “Never mind. I know how.” She pushes the key into the palm of my mitten. “You should have your own anyway.”
I clasp the key like a magic talisman—which, for all I know, it literally is. “Thanks.”
