Page 184 of Stormbreaker

I knew they’d be here.

Obviously, they were expected to attend.

But seeing them in the flesh becomes a sharp kick to the stomach.

My parents.

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I immediately start drifting toward the stage, drawn in by the gravitational pull of my mother and father. Mom looks regal in a dress not dissimilar to mine, adorned with purple roses and black sparkling lace. My father’s hair is neatly slicked, a perfect complement to his dark, elegant suit.

My throat hurts, and my heart pumps painfully in my chest as I stare at them. I miss my mom so much. The key card I stole burns a hole in my pocket, and I wonder if my father has noticed its absence. Maybe he has multiples and this was a backup.

General Sol is saying something, but I can’t hear it over the blood rushing through my ears. I become aware of Rook and Domino appearing at my sides, prepared to take the stage due to their finishing times in our final test, but I only have eyes for my parents.

My father knows what I am. He killed someone to protect me, leaving Greta without a mother. It was wrong and heinous, and though I’m not surprised he’d do it, I am surprised he’d do it for me. He lied to The Shield for the sake of his children. Why?

I didn’t think he had that in him.

As if feeling my eyes on him, my father looks over, and our gazes catch.

A shadow passes across his expression, his lips pressing together. I don’t know what I read there. Regret? Sadness? Maybe I’m just seeing what I want.

“Please welcome to the stage Poet Graves!”

When I hear my name, the world around me shrinks, noise spilling into my ears like I’m emerging from under a layer of dirt.

“What?” I ask no one in particular.

“Go on,” Rook whispers in my ear. His hand rests on my lower back. “You’re being called up.”

Right. I’m being honored for winning third place during the cadet exam. I nod, and then I start walking. The room has gone strangely quiet as I place a boot on the step, trying to gather myself. My knees have become spring twigs, thin and delicate, likely to bend under my weight.

Slowly, I climb the stairs to notice three other groups of students are already waiting—evaluation winners from the other Houses. They eye me with suspicion as I approach the general, who waits in the middle of the stage. She watches me with an assessing look, as though she can sense something is off.

I stop in front of her, and she holds out her hand. Somehow, I manage to reach out and shake it. Can she feel the clamminess of my palm? She grips my hand tightly, her expression wholly focused.

She warned me about defecting from Fiama.

“Congratulations,” she says. “Despite your rather dramatic year, it seems you’ve managed to end on a high note.”

A swell of nervous laughter travels through the room at my expense.

“Yes,” I say weakly. “Thank you.”

The general eyes me for another moment before dismissing me and moving on to announcing Domino and then Rook. I take my place in front of the Beauforts, placing me right next to my parents, and I can’t help looking over my shoulder.

They play their parts well, as I should have known they would, keeping their eyes forward as they stare out at the room and offer congratulations to the three House Fiama evaluation winners. It all happens as if I’m in a dream, like I’m moving through sludge.

The general talks about something, but I hear none of it.

When applause erupts and everyone begins moving off the stage, I assume we must be finished. I start walking and bump into someone. My mother turns around and looks down. I’ve stepped on the train of her dress, and we both stare at the toe of my boot peeking from the edge of my skirt.

“Poet?” she asks. “Why are you wearing that jacket over your lovely dress?”

It’s exactly the kind of thing she’d say, and for a moment, it feels so normal that I want to cry. I grip her elbow, squeezing it.

“Did you know, too?” I ask in a low, desperate whisper.