Page 11 of Stormbreaker

She pouts, stoking the flash of rage that burns in my chest. I’m just a fucking joke to everyone, no better than my mother, forced to endure my father’s transgressions with a pained smile plastered to my face.

“Sure thing, baby,” he replies and points at her with his finger and thumb cocked. Bile climbs up my throat for a whole slew of reasons.

Lacey beams and then tosses me a dirty look. I remind myself that she can’t help how she’s acting. Most girls are taught to believe it’s better to be like my mother, protected by a powerful man. The reminder only marginally cools my anger.

A bell dings somewhere over our heads, and a door swings open. I scan the shifting tide for Trinity, Silver, and Hazel, but it looks like they didn’t follow us over. Not that I blame them.

I’m trapped under Knox’s elbow as he propels us into a wide tunnel. We wind through a few corners before we find ourselves in Amery’s great main hall.

I’ve seen pictures, but nothing quite prepares me for the grandness of it all. The floors are shiny wood inlaid with floral and geometric designs, the walls lined with arched windows decorated with metallic gold and silver frames. To top it all off, four massive crystal chandeliers dangle from a domed ceiling covered with mirrors.

I don’t have time to truly admire everything because a booming voice shouts, “Everyone! Please line up. Everyone!”

Several men and women in teachers’ uniforms shout at us to arrange ourselves in lines marked on the floor. Their attire resembles ours, with black fitted pants and coats, tall black boots, and wide ribbons cinched around their waists, but with gold accents instead of silver.

It takes a few minutes and some jostling to form four groups.

I stand with House Fiama between Knox and Trinity, facing the center of the room. Across from us, House Aria assesses our lines, and the teachers slowly walk past, eyeing us carefully, perhaps deciding who will survive the next three years and who . . . won’t.

A glance to my left shows the cog kids have randomly slotted themselves into each House.

That’s when the doors open at the room’s far end. A hushed murmur ripples through the crowd as a trio of Storm Breakers emerges. They’re dressed in their tactical gear that includes fitted black pants and sleeveless vests overlaid with metallic purple harnesses designed to highlight the chiseled strength of their carefully honed bodies.

The two men and one woman also wear sleek, high-tech goggles propped on their foreheads to protect their eyes from flashes of Spark. They proceed down the center of the hall as everyone falls silent.

They’re beautiful and intimidating. Absolutely fearless. Slowly, they walk the length of the aisle in their metallic purple combat boots, and I find myself straightening and holding my breath.

I don’t care what my father wants; this is why I came to the academy. With my ability to withstand Spark, I could help protect my city, family, and friends. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. And maybe if I can prove that I’m useful and good at it, it will give me a bit of freedom from the controlling grip of my father’s hand.

As they pass, I recognize Henry, my brother’s boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. I haven’t seen him since the funeral, when he cried so hard he almost had to be carried away.

He seems older. Harder.

He’s also sporting a beard that looks good against his deep-brown skin, and he’s buzzed his black curls close to his scalp. I can’t help but smile to myself. Raine would have loved this new Henry.

His gaze catches mine for the barest fraction, and his lips press together before he proceeds like he doesn’t know me. We were never close, but his dismissal twists a prick of longing deep in my chest.

After the trio leaves the room, everyone bursts into a flurry of excited talk.

Storm Breakers always carry a sort of magnetic pull.

Not only must one be at their physical peak, but they must also be mentally fit. Nothing is more important than the line that protects New Manhattan.

“Please!” comes the same booming voice, trying to settle us down. “Can we please have silence!”

Eventually, everyone quiets before we’re introduced to the school’s head, Dean Selena Withers, whose piercing blue eyes scan the room. She’s a tiny woman with a ramrod-straight posture, her smart black suit contrasting nicely with her fair skin.

My chest tightens as I spot a silver pin with the House Fiama crest on her collar. The dean will be loyal to my father, then, and I make a mental note to stay out of her way.

Next to her stands one of the leaders of The Shield, Chancellor Tennessee Marks, who governs House Aria and House Fiama. He greets us with an amiable smile, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. He wears a long navy robe over a dark suit, and his brown hair falls in messy tangles around his face.

Thanks to my father’s position, Chancellor Marks is a regular fixture for dinner at my parents’ apartment, and he’s always struck me as a reasonable and fair leader.

Dean Withers begins reciting the academy’s rules in a clipped voice.

We have an eleven p.m. curfew. We aren’t allowed to leave the premises without permission, except on one Friday night per month, when we’re permitted to visit the city until one a.m. No stealing, killing, starting fights, and all the usual things one would expect when a few hundred hormonal young adults are forced to share a building.

While the dean speaks, my palms start to itch, and I scratch them absently. A storm must be brewing. I force myself to hold my hands at the small of my back, all too aware of how many eyes are in this room.