Page 88 of Stormbreaker

mom: What is it? Everything okay?

I look around the space, ensuring I’m alone before switching to video call mode. My mother answers almost immediately, her worried face filling the screen.

“Baby?” she asks, her dark eyebrows drawing together. “What happened?”

I inhale a deep breath, willing strength into my body. There’s no point in dragging this out.

“I completed my second test,” I say. “And I’m pledging to House Aria.”

She goes completely still.

Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe for several long seconds. If I couldn’t see her sitting right in front of me, I’d swear she passed out.

“Mom?” I prompt when the silence stretches too long. “Say something.”

Her mouth opens and then closes. Opens again.

Finally, she speaks, and the sound is raw. Filled with grief. Like someone died. Maybe me. “I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

I drag a hand through my ponytail, my entire body trembling.

“I’m wondering . . . how . . . how do we tell Dad?”

“We?” she asks.

In that moment, I sense something snap between us in that single harshly flung syllable. A thin, fraying thread I didn’t realize I was still holding.

She exhales sharply. “Your father will hit the roof. The one I currently live under while you’re off having fun. There is no ‘we’ here.” Her eyes harden. “Why are you calling me with this? Were you hoping I’d do it for you?”

The words land like a slap.

I don’t know why I thought—just once—she might stand up for me instead of supporting him. I’ve built this version of her in my mind for years, but she’s never really been that person at all.

“How could you do this to me?” she asks, her voice a whisper. “He will . . . I don’t even know what he’ll do. You have to fix this. Go back and ask them for another try.”

I peer out the window, scanning the lilac-hued clouds as they dissipate across the sky. “I can’t,” I say quietly. “It’s done.”

“Your wedding,” she blurts, as if the idea has only just occurred to her. “What will Trey and Molly say?”

I press a hand to my chest. It feels hollow. Scooped out.

“I don’t want to marry Knox.” The words hang there, bare and exposed. I’ve never said them out loud. Not like this. “He is just like Dad.”

Her eyebrows draw together. “Poet, what do you mean?”

My eyes narrow, but I don’t hesitate. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Every raised hand. Every flinch. Every silent meal.

Each bruised moment settles between us.

She doesn’t deny it.

She doesn’t say anything at all.

I swallow. “Mom, I wanted to tell Dad before he heard it another way. I thought you might be able to help.” My voice falters. “I shouldn’t have assumed that. I’ll just call him.”

“No,” she says.