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No matter what bullshit he said about not being able to control how others acted, he was responsible for this. Any sympathy I had towards him had disappeared when he made me choose between keeping a best friend or keeping her safe.
My phone screen has gone black, but it lights up as my alarm goes off, ready for my breakfast shift.
Moving like a zombie, I dress in the work uniform, brush my teeth, then fix my hair and makeup before heading out. As I step into the corridor, I stare up at the little red light in the camera opposite my door. The addition was there when I returned to my room to wash the health shake off me and change into my college uniform.
Syn wasn’t lying when he said he had eyes everywhere, but this was a much too obvious statement.
I glance over at Penny’s door before locking mine. Then I leave the dorm and head to the dining hall. Today, Doris has me in the back for the whole shift, and I’m grateful.
Since working here, I’ve realized that there’s an unwritten rule with the kitchen staff. Behind the doors, where the students don’t go, it’s almost like a sanctuary. Because when you’re out front, no matter what the students say or do, you take it, or you turn a blind eye to it.
I know everyone here is aware of what’s been happening to me, but back here, no one mentions it. I just get sad smiles and looks of pity.
When my shift is over, I get my breakfast. I’ve not got much of an appetite, but I grab a bagel and a coffee. Trying to ignore everyone, I find a table in the corner, but I’ve been scanning the crowd, looking out for that familiar pink hair. Either she ate earlier, or Penny skipped breakfast today. Either way, it means I can eat alone and not worry about her trying to join me.
I’ve barely sat down before a shadow falls over my plate. Looking up, I find Dawn glaring down at me. She’s one of this year’s initiates for the Elite, and I know this because she’s wearing a maid uniform.
Most maid uniforms are plain and modest. Usually a dress, but the skirt falls past the knees, and the sleeves usually fall to the elbow or longer. We used to have a maid, as did most of my friends.
The uniform Dawn is wearing isn’t quite “Halloween” French Maid costume, but that’s only because there’s a couple of extra inches in the skirt and covering her cleavage. All the initiates that serve Syn, Royal and Gemini have to wear a uniform. The girls show a little skin, whereas the guys have waistcoats and suits with tails.
Penny told me it was lowkey hazing of these guys. Make them wear something silly and have them serve the Elite’s president and vice presidents.
She clearly had no idea about what went on beneath the church.
“Can I help you?” I ask Dawn.
“That table is taken.”
I let out a long sigh. “Of course it is. Is this where you tell me to leave?”
Dawn shoots me a withering glare. “You have been assigned a table.”
“Sure.” I pick up my drink and take a sip.
“That’s fine. Penny can take it instead.”
Looking up at Dawn, I set my coffee down, barely registering that the action has sent coffee spilling over the side of the cup. Then I glance over at Syn’s table. His golden eyes are watching our interaction carefully.
I’m not stupid. I know full well that this table is going to result in some form of public humiliation at best. But I get to my feet, pick up my tray, and give Dawn a smile like she’s about to present me with a seat at a table with the King of England. “Lead the way.”
Dawn wrinkles her nose like I’m a bad smell, which, to be fair, after a three-hour shift preparing vegetables and washing dishes, is probably the case. But she turns on her heels—because the maid outfit wouldn’t be complete without impractical three-inch stilettos—and walks away.
She walks like she’s on a runway. The outfit is designed to create attention, and regardless of whether or not it’s embarrassing, she’s owning it.
Dawn leads me through the dining hall to Syn’s table. Today, it’s just him there. I have no idea if the other two have eaten and left or just never came in. The other initiate serving Syn, Peter, is standing back, like he’s one of those guards outside Buckingham Palace that don’t ever react to anything.
For a moment, I’m sure Dawn’s about to make me sit at the table with Syn. At the last moment, she stops and points.
Their table is long; big enough to seat six people, even though only Syn, Royal and Gemini ever sit there. It lives on a small platform at the back of the room, the rise of about a foot, enough that anyone in the dining hall can see them clearly, and they can see everyone. Weirdly, it reminds me of a head table at a wedding. Although all the tables in the dining hall have pristine white tablecloths and cloth napkins in the same shade of blue as the university colors, this one has a runner with the university crest in the center. There are also two fresh flower arrangements at either end, bigger and more extravagant than any of the other arrangements in the room.
The table Dawn points to is a single. Metal, with the seat attached. It’s right in front of Syn’s table on the lower level, and it’s facing them, not the room. There’s nothing on this campus that looks like this, and I know this has been ordered specifically for me.
More irritating than the fact that even though this table was probably custom built, is that the ridiculous amount of money it surely cost to have this made and shipped was probably not even a factor.
“What do you think? I had it made especially for you,” Syn says, confirming my suspicion.
Summoning my poker face, I place my plate and cup on the metal surface and take a seat. The metal is ice cold and seeps through my clothes. Worse still, the dimensions are off. The height of the table is lower than the rest in the dining hall, and so is the seat, making me bend my knees uncomfortably as I try to fit in.
