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“No.”
“There was an earthquake.”
Earthquake? On the island?
Swallowing down another pained groan, I struggle to a sitting position and scan the room.
Blue walls. Wooden panels. Fitz’s prized Le Verous painting.
I stare at the swirls of colors.
Greens. Blues. Abstract nonsense.
“You got smacked by the vase.” Fitz points to the broken pottery lying in pieces near my sneakers.
I push myself up.
The world is spinning.
Damn.
I touch my forehead. Something sticky smears against my fingertips.
Sweat.
Blood.
Barclay leans against the wall, his slim arms crossed over his chest. “You should probably get that checked.”
“I’m fine.”
Miles laughs. “Says the guy with blood dripping down his face.”
“Just get me a napkin.”
Fitz strides to the bathroom and emerges with a cloth. It’s engraved with the Brighton Academy logo.
I grab it from him and sop up my head.
Barclay pushes off the wall. “Need me to grab one of your fan girls? They’d kill for the chance to nurse you back to health.”
“It’s just a scratch. Head wounds bleed the most.”
Fitz is still frowning. “You should see a doctor, Hawk.”
“I’m fine,” I say again.
Miles shrugs. “Then we should head to the auditorium. They’re having a meeting to discuss the quake.”
I try to walk confidently, but I’m still a bit shaky on my feet.
Black spots dance in front of my eyes.
I stumble.
No one reaches out to help me.
They know what I’ll say.
