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Only then did his fangs recede, like blades being sheathed. The rage and violence that had seemed to possess him completely now drained. His shoulders sagged. I took a deep breath, realizing for the first time I was shaking from head to toe.

Blake exhaled, looking my friend up and down, his eyes suddenly soft, unguarded. “Are you hurt?”

Medra shook her head, but I could see the red marks still around her throat from where Lochlan had strangled her. She touched a hand to her neck self-consciously, and Blake’s mouth hardened. A whimper came from nearby, and I realized Isha was still there, crouching on the floor near Lochlan’s body. She stared up at Blake, wide-eyed, tears running down her cheeks.

I didn’t blame her for being afraid. Blake ignored her, his eyes fixed entirely on Medra. I swallowed, unable to help but wonder how it must feel to have someone look at you like that. As if you were their entire world. As if the entire world and everyone in it were worth destroying for their sake.

Then I caught sight of Medra’s stricken face, and any thoughts I’d had of what Blake had done being romantic were wiped away.

“That’s quite enough of that, I think,” a cool, clipped woman’s voice announced from behind me.

The crowd parted, students scrambling back. Professor Amina Hassan stepped forward, her cane clacking against the stones. She looked past me with distaste at Lochlan’s still form, but otherwise paid it no more mind than she might to a dead bird that had crashed against a window pane.

“Professor Stonefist will not be coming today,” the instructor declared. “I was assigned to replace her, but I now see my time will be better spent elsewhere. Class is therefore dismissed. All students will clear the halls.”

No one moved. We were frozen, all of us transfixed by the sight of Lochlan’s still body.

There’d been deaths in Bloodwing’s halls before. Blightborn losses. Naveen hadn’t made it past First Year. But this? All of this felt different. I’d found two students dead in the hall just a few days before. Now Blake had killed another, trying to protect Medra. Everything was changing. Everything felt wrong.

“Perhaps your ears are not working,” Professor Hassan snapped, raising her volume to a higher pitch. “Students will clear the halls. Immediately.”

Slowly, the mob of students began to move. I turned to go with them, hitching my bag of books over my shoulder. I’d been planning to do some extra work in the greenhouse. I’d had my essay for Professor Allenvale on my mind all morning, and I wanted it to be perfect. Suddenly I wondered how Nyxaris had even known I was headed there. I hadn’t spoken to him in days—not consciously. Just how much of me and my life could he see? Could we not shut each other out completely, even if we wanted to? Based on the impressions I constantly received of him, the answer seemed to be a clear no.

Before I could take another step, a hand grasped my arm, nails digging in, pulling me to a halt.

“Oh, no, no. Not you, Miss Shen.” Hassan’s expression bordered on gleeful. “You’re not going anywhere. You and Miss Pendragon will both be coming with me.”

I looked over at Medra helplessly.

“See to Dani,” Medra quickly said to Blake. He nodded and turned to the dwarven girl still huddled by the wall. She looked confused and dazed. But as Blake approached, she didn’t shrink away.

Medra came up beside me, and we followed Hassan down the hall. Though I tried not to look back, I couldn’t help it. Lochlan’s body still lay there, but Isha had vanished. Blake was crouching beside Dani. His face was calm as he helped her to her feet. The transformation between what he’d done just a few minutes ago and what he was now doing seemed incredible. I touched a hand to my collar, feeling for the silver pendant that dangled around my neck—a small silver fluffin sitting on a stack of books. Blake had given it to me, just a few weeks ago. Before … well, before everything had changed.

For the first time, I wondered if things had changed for everyone. Not just for me alone. I’d been so wrapped up in myself, in my own cares and worries. I’d been selfish. I glanced at Medra guiltily, but her eyes were fixed on Hassan’s back.

“Where are you taking us?” my friend demanded after we’d turned a corner.

The professor didn’t bother to reply. But our destination was clear within a few minutes: the headmistress’s office.

Belatedly I realized Professor Hassan must have been in the hallway observing things for quite some time. She’d watched Lochlan choking Medra, but she hadn’t intervened. She’d seen Blake appear, and still she’d done nothing.

She’d heard me speak about Nyxaris, I realized with a chill. She knew. And in a few minutes, Regan would know, too. And if Regan knew, Viktor would soon know.

I stopped as a wave of dizziness washed over me. Medra’s hand touched my elbow encouragingly.

“Keep moving,” Hassan barked, turning to glare at me.

We arrived all too soon. Hassan didn’t bother to knock. Lifting her cane, she shoved open the door of the antechamber. Inside, a tall young highblood man lounged at the secretary’s desk with his feet up, a telltale blood-and-sword badge visible on his uniform. The whole school knew about this group of alumni who’d been called in to form Regan’s new socalled Bloodguard.

He looked up in surprise as Hassan marched in. Apparently, Hassan’s reign of terror stretched back to this highblood’s time, because he gulped nervously and immediately took his feet off the desk. “Professor Hassan! I know the headmistress would be happy to see you, but she’s already in a meeting …”

It was pointless. Hassan didn’t even pause. Under any other circumstances, I might have admired the woman’s nerve—and her skills with that cane. She knocked open the set of doors leading into the headmistress’s office, the heavy wood banging against the walls. The Bloodguard boy rose from behind his desk, wringing his hands. But it was too late; Hassan had already swept inside. Medra and I glanced at one another. There was no choice but to follow.

I’d never actually been to the headmistress’s office before, even back when we had a headmaster. I’d never been one to get into trouble. I wasn’t a rule-breaker. I was a model student. I kept my head down. Got good grades. Was well-liked by all my teachers. I shouldn’t have been there. The thought appeared once and then, like a tainted piece of coin, wouldn’t go away.

I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be here. This wasn’t my life. This wasn’t who I was. The sharp chill of cowardice was on me again.

I thought suddenly of my mother—safe in the library, with no idea any of this was going on. With no idea her daughter was about to be marked as a troublemaker, a rebel, a dissident.