Page 116 of Stormbreaker

“Ohhhh,” Journey says, smacking her forehead. “Riiiiight. You’ve got some family baggage to deal with, I guess, hey? Were your parents mad or something? What did they say? Are you in trouble now? What’s the deal when someone like you changes Houses?”

She’s talking so fast that my temples throb.

“I don’t think Poet wants to talk about it,” Domino says, and I toss her a grateful look.

“Yeah, yeah,” Journey says, miming the action of shutting her lips with a zipper and tossing the key. I rub my neck and will my stomach to settle, because she isn’t wrong.

Before tonight is over, I might actually throw up.

We enter Amery’s massive ballroom with high mirrored ceilings, ornately tiled floors, and crystal chandeliers. Waiters dressed in black vests and ties circle the room, balancing canapés and flutes of sparkling wine. Many of the school’s parents have arrived, dripping with jewels and dressed in their finery. I can smell their expensive perfume from the doorway.

Domino and Journey hesitate a step behind Trinity and me, and I realize this is completely new territory for them. We’ve been to a million of these parties, and I can’t imagine what it must be like to see this with their fresh eyes.

I notice some of Trinity’s new friends waving her over, including the scary girl, Ruby. “I should go say hi,” Trinity says. “I’ll see you soon.”

She doesn’t wait for a response before she walks away. I stare at her for a few seconds, slightly put out by her abrupt departure. Shaking it off, I turn to Domino. “Are your parents coming?”

She nods as she bites her lip in a nervous gesture. “Yeah, but they’re going to feel so awkward. Everyone’s so fancy.”

As if on cue, I hear someone call her name. A couple rushes over and hugs Domino. Her mom looks just like her, with her brown skin and shiny black hair, and she frames Domino’s face in her hands before kissing each cheek. Domino told me the Parsonses run a successful hardware store and repair shop, and that’s how they were able to afford Amery’s tuition.

“I’m so proud of you,” Mrs. Parsons whispers, tears forming in her eyes. “Have I said how proud I am?”

“Ma.” Domino huffs, extracting herself from her mother’s hold and playfully batting her hands away. “Only about a thousand times.”

“Well, I’m just so proud! Journey!” she says, turning to her. “I saw your parents on our way in.”

“Mom, Dad, this is my friend Poet Graves,” Domino says. “We’re in the same dorm room and in cadet training together.”

The Parsonses’ gazes then fall on me, and their eyes widen.

“Hi,” I say. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Domino’s father says, holding out his hand and shaking mine. “You’ll be pledging with my daughter?”

He asks the question with a hint of hesitation, suggesting news of my defection has reached everyone.

“Yeah,” I say. “I am.”

“Poet pissed off all of Fiama!” Journey says excitedly, with absolutely no self-awareness. “But I think that’s kind of badass.”

The second statement slightly softens the first.

Thankfully, I’m saved from more of Journey’s observations when she shouts, “Mom!” practically in my ear. The two families come together, talking excitedly, and I take the opportunity to extricate myself.

The room is filling up as more people arrive, and I swerve around several groups, some of whom are familiar. The ones I don’t recognize are obviously parents from the other Houses.

I search through the crowd for a friendly face, wondering if that even exists in this room.

I round a group of people, my breath catching when I spy Rook standing near the wall, holding a glass. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in his dress uniform, and the effect is . . . something else.

The fitted jacket stretches over his chest and shoulders and then tapers at his waist in a way that makes it look like the fabric is worshipping him. Thanks to all our training, he’s already put on more muscle, which both leans him out and makes him appear stronger.

Those solid thighs encased in fitted pants and his tall leather boots do something to me. His hair hangs half up, half down, with the top part tied back in a knot. Maybe he senses my attention because his gaze finds me in the crowd, causing liquid warmth to flutter in my stomach.

Since the night we snuck out of the city, we’ve settled into a sort of polite truce. It isn’t exactly friendly, but it’s a little less prickly. I’ve managed not to say anything entirely ridiculous for at least a few days. Despite everything, he’s the only one who understands what I’m going through. It’s not only nice but a complete breath of relief to be able to share my secret with someone.

And though he’s always guarded in our interactions, I think he feels the same.