Page 19 of Stormbreaker

In the top rows, several girls stare before giggling and whispering to each other. Even Trinity is looking at him with wide-eyed wonder. I get it. He doesn’t seem real. Like his edges are a bit smeared because he doesn’t really belong here.

Solitudes killed my cousin. My brother.

Then took Raine’s body, so we couldn’t even say goodbye.

I’ve spent many dark moments imagining all the vile things they must have done to him.

So far, Rook has done nothing to dispel the notion that Solitudes are dangerous and to be avoided at all costs. I get the feeling he could happily kill everyone in this room, dust off his hands, and walk out, all while whistling a tune.

Was he a part of the group that killed Raine? They were never caught. He probably isn’t old enough, but who knows how things work in the Wastes. Nevertheless, his very presence pries out that jagged piece of my brother I keep locked away, unsealing old wounds that will never really heal.

The Solitude takes a heavy step into the auditorium, joined by a chorus of cruel snickers.

The air has shifted from last night. Everyone was in shock, unsure how to react to his arrival, but people are more confident now. Sure that he doesn’t belong here. Whispers follow him as he makes his deliberate way down the stairs. His relaxed shoulders and neutral expression suggest he isn’t the least bit affected.

Slowly, his gaze sweeps over us, left and right, almost as if he’s judging us and not the other way around. He continues down the length of the stairs and stops at the front row, where every seat is occupied.

“Get out,” he says to the terrified couple staring up at him.

At first, they don’t move. I think he’s frozen them to the spot.

He leans in and adds quietly, “I said move.”

The girl squeaks, and her boyfriend practically tramples her trying to escape. “Sorry,” he even mumbles as the Solitude gives him a look that I feel all the way through my chest. When the pair has cleared off, the Solitude—Rook—drops into a chair and slings his arm along the back of the second before kicking a foot up on the railing that circles the teaching area.

Everyone stares while they whisper, some horrified and some thrilled, most a combination of both.

Knox scoffs. “Show-off.” Then he speaks louder. “Is the scat house-trained?” he asks, using an old slur for Solitudes. I wince, recoiling from his side. “What if he shits on the floor? Who’s cleaning that up?”

I watch the back of Rook’s head, but he doesn’t move. That spurs Knox on as he raises his voice. “His roommates better watch out. He might mistake them for his next meal.”

Cannibalism is common lore for Solitudes. It’s the kind of story parents tell their kids to keep them in line, and it’s one of the grislier scenarios I’ve concocted for the fate of Raine’s body.

“Knox, shut up,” I snap. I don’t trust Rook for one moment, but Knox is behaving like a monumental dick.

“How’d he even get in here?” Knox continues, ignoring me, of course. “There’s no way this animal knows how to read. Can he hold a pen with those paws? Or are they hooves?”

I’m still watching Rook as he slowly turns around to peer at Knox.

I hold my breath, and I swear everyone around me does the same.

Then Rook is standing before I have a chance to blink. He leaps up the rows like he’s exempt from the rules of gravity. A few people scream as he reaches Knox. A large fist wraps around his throat as Rook yanks Knox from his chair.

Rook has one foot firmly planted on the seat in front of Knox and the other on the edge of my armrest. He shouldn’t be able to balance like that, but he’s as steady as a tree rooted to the earth. I find myself frozen, wishing I could escape.

“What was that?” Rook asks, his hazel eyes flashing.

Knox chokes as Rook squeezes his throat, and the room erupts into chaos. People are screaming and running away, but I sit glued to my seat as my gaze jumps between Rook and Knox.

“Say that again,” Rook challenges, but Knox just gapes like a fish. Also, he’s turning a bit purple. Would Rook kill him? Given the wild look in his eyes, I wouldn’t be surprised.

Should I do something? I should do something.

Knox gags as he claws at Rook’s hand and wrist, his knees crumpling as he struggles to receive oxygen to his brain.

“Enough,” I say, my voice shaking. “Let him go.”

Rook’s gaze bounces to mine, and I swallow because he’s terrifying. His jaw is hard, and his eyes blaze with menace. His head tips ever so slightly. It reminds me of a nature documentary we watched in school about the large felines that once roamed the sub-Saharan grasslands.