Page 4 of Heimlock

“Okay, thanks.” I scan the crowd of excited students, most holding their diplomas as trophies. For the umpteenth time, I wonder how many of them hide secrets. What is it like for them at home? Did they kill their mother too? Does their father abuse them in revenge? Does anyone else suffer as I do?

Who would I be if I’d been born into a normal family? What opportunities would’ve appeared? Would my smile be genuine?

What’s it like to be truly happy?

“Well, I’m headed home,” Quilen announces. Shoving the diploma into the backpack, they sling it over a shoulder. “See you tonight at the graduation bash?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” I won’t.

Pretending there’s somewhere else to be, I follow them out of the auditorium, giving other friends smiles and hugs. I hate hugging people, but it’s a socially required behavior. People become unreasonably hurt if they’re denied an attempted hug. Sometimes, I want to scream, I get touched enough!

But I don’t think anyone would hear me.

After one last hug with Quilen, I drag my feed toward the nearest launch pad. Pausing at a trash can, I throw my backpack inside, diploma and all.

Once at the launch pad, I shift and take to the skies. Father will expect me home in twenty minutes — I plan on milking every second of freedom.

For ten of those minutes, I pretend this Dragon form is the only one I know. How it used to be before the formation of the melting pot called Gondora. Where Dragons turned mountains into glass or fought in talon-to-talon combat.

Each minute ticks down like a threat. Inside my chest, the Fyre rages, desperate to be loosed as an offering to Fortuna.

The thought of my goddess forces a scoff out of my long throat. What has she ever done for me? What protection has she delivered? She doesn’t deserve an offering.

With exactly one minute to spare, I land in front of the house. Shifting back, I stare at my prison. It’s made of gray stone, with bare shrubs in the front. Father keeps the shutters painted a dark red to match his scales. Keeping the pretense, I suppose.

Each step pounds my heart faster. Dread is a weighted blanket on my energy, making each step heavier than the last.

Pausing in front of the door, my hand trembles as I press down on the handle. It squeals as it swings open, revealing a dark hallway. The scent of my father is everywhere.

He’s everywhere. In the air … under my skin.

Silent as a phantom, I step inside and close the door, leaving it unlocked for a quick escape.

“Trinte?”

His voice pebbles my scales and dries my mouth.

Clearing my throat, I say, “Yeah. It’s me.”

“Come here. I’m in the bedroom.”

Sweat beads on my forehead. Each step is made with weakened knees. Why is this my future? Why has it been my past?

Why am I not brave enough to tell someone?

Because no one would believe me.

Fortuna’s acolyte, Racidious Gleanscale? The man responsible for thousands of coral donations to the local churches? Volunteering at events to feed families and providing job opportunities through his construction company?

He’s ensured no one would believe me.

Father stands in front of a mirror, examining the tailored suit hugging his muscles. His amber eyes flicked to where I’ve paused at the door frame. Maybe he just has a question. A chore directive.

“How was the last day of school?”

The lump in my throat is difficult to work around. “It was fine.”

“Where’s your diploma?”