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“Shen. Florence Shen. Her mother is a librarian here,” Hassan quickly replied. “They’ve both been friends with the rider from the very start.”

She made it sound as if that was some kind of a crime. I could feel my chin wobble slightly. Why had she brought my mother into this? The horrid woman.

“Miss Shen,” Viktor said, his voice deceptively soft, “why don’t you tell us the truth—is the professor correct, or did she mishear you?” He laughed lightly, as if it made no sense to him. “It does seem rather strange for you to claim the dragon belongs to you.”

I took a deep breath. Was I really going to do this? I had to. “She’s lying,” I said, trying to hold my voice steady. “I never said he was mine. That would be silly, just as you say. I’m no dragon rider. Just look at me.”

Viktor did just that, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. I held still. I was a mouse, he was a hawk: One wrong move and I’d be his next meal. I was defenseless. Vulnerable. I’d always known that. I was blightborn. But never had I felt it quite like this.

Viktor’s eyes lingered on my face. I tried not to flinch. “Miss Shen,” he murmured. “You have quite lovely ears.”

I blinked. “Th-thank you, Lord Drakharrow.”

“They have such fine points to them. Very few people have such a distinctive shape of ears. Have you ever noticed?”

I couldn’t help it, my hands shot up, touching my ears. My fingers fumbled around their edges. Desperately, I wanted to look at Medra. I forced myself not to.

“Her ears are the same as they’ve always been,” Medra said. I could tell she was trying to sound bored. “They’ve looked precisely like this ever since I met Florence.” But there was a panicked look in her eyes.

Viktor smiled thinly. “Pardon me if I don’t consider you a reliable source of information any longer, Miss Pendragon.”

I forced myself to lower my hands, but it was too late. My face must have given away everything I was feeling. Because when I raised my hands to touch the tips of my ears, I’d felt it—a sharpness that hadn’t been there before. They’d changed. Were changing. Angling into points like Medra’s. I’d been hiding in my mother’s apartment for weeks; I hadn’t even been looking at my ears. I hadn’t been attending classes regularly enough for anyone to tell me about them either. Now I realized hiding had been pointless. Lying had been pointless. The truth was literally being written onto my body. How long before they looked exactly the same as Medra’s? What else about me would change? I touched a finger to my hair without thinking, and Viktor’s smile widened.

“Miss Shen is lying,” Professor Hassan spoke up. “Of course the girl would lie.”

“Of course the girl would,” Viktor murmured. “Fortunately, there’s a very easy way to find out the truth.” He smiled at me. There was no kindness to that smile.

Suddenly, claws were stabbing into my mind. Raking through my thoughts. My knees buckled, and I fell to the ground, gasping and clutching at my head. The pain was indescribable. I’d led a fairly sheltered life, I’d never been badly injured, never been in a real fight. I’d had headaches, a toothache once or twice. This put every pain I’d ever felt together in one bundle of agony and then put all of that to shame. It was as if my mind was being peeled open, flayed while I was still alive. As if from a distance, I could hear someone screaming.

It was me.

Farther off still, I could hear voices. Medra shouting. Hassan yelling something back. The scrape of a chair. But everything was very far off, muffled under the misery coming from my skull. Viktor was in my head. He was in my head, and he was tearing things apart.

Nyxaris, I thought desperately—even though I knew I shouldn’t.

The highblood’s claws sharpened, pouncing upon the thought.

My hands covered my face, trying futilely to get the pain to stop.

Let me in, girl, Viktor’s voice called in my mind. I could feel his voice—permeated with cruelty and rot. There’s no sense in hiding. There’s nowhere to go. I hold your mind in the palm of my hand. I will find the answers I seek. Give them to me now and perhaps you’ll come out of this whole.

I screamed aloud.

“Stop!” Male. Loud, authoritative. Familiar. “Stop this at once, Lord Drakharrow. This girl is under my protection.”

I couldn’t open my eyes. Couldn’t move.

Viktor was rifling through my thoughts. Cherished memories of my mother. Books I’d recently read. The idea I had for my next essay. He threw them aside one by one, searching deeper, looking for things I didn’t wish to share—shouldn’t have to share. Things that were mine. Private parts of me. He dug deeper, claws scraping through the layers. My screaming intensified with the search.

The day I’d met Medra.

The day Naveen had died.

This boy cared for you, did he? Such a pity he died. But he was a weakling, Florence. Bloodwing purges the weak. You’re still standing, though. Interesting. Very interesting.

This was nothing like hearing Nyxaris—this was a violation, a nightmare. Viktor’s voice in my mind left a trail of decay and gore behind. I felt filthy, soiled by his touch.

“She’s Avari! She’s my house,” Kage thundered from somewhere nearby. “You have no right to do this. Let her go!”