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Four hours. I wipe at my groggy eyes. Just thinking about the first gauntlet sends my adrenaline into overdrive. If there was a shot in hell of waking Ruby from her snorefest, I would force her to use one of her calming spells—which she’s aptly named sleepy-sleep magic—to lull me into my dreams.
If the past two nights are any indication, I’d have more luck talking the moon from the sky than rousing her.
I shoot a longing glance at my bed. It’s not you, buddy. It’s me.
Now fully committed to getting up, I run through a short list of ways to use my time. Study. Finish the pile of laundry in the corner. Write out my weekly email to my aunts . . .
I exhale. Too restless. My body feels jacked, my legs twitchy and wired.
Only one activity cures my increasingly anxious moods.
As quietly as I can, I slip on my last clean pair of gray jogging pants, my sports bra, which is still a bit damp after last night’s handwashing, and my Nike trainers. My phone goes into my handy pants pocket—a luxury only brands you can’t find at the dollar store employ.
After brushing my teeth, slapping my tangled hair into a ponytail, and grabbing one of my new AirPods—Mack’s other birthday present—I slide out the door.
When I get to the bottom of the first floor stairwell, I freeze.
Oops. I forgot about the new dorm monitors.
Each mortal dormitory now has a lower Fae guard who ensures shadows aren’t sneaking out at night. After what happened with Evelyn, they’re being extra cautious.
Lucky for me, our nighttime chaperone is an ancient gnome who sleeps—and snores—all night long.
Must be nice, I think as I tiptoe past the lime green club chair she’s sunk into.
The second the brisk morning air meets my sweat-damp skin, I set my music to my favorite new band and burst into a sprint. From Eclipsa’s torture sessions, I know the track around the lake is three and a half miles.
Three and a half freaking miles. That I’m going to run willingly. With no one chasing me.
Why do I hate myself?
But as my shoes pound the springy grass, still wet with dew, and my lungs draw in huge gulps of fragrant air, the nightmare falls away. The pixie punk band The Wailing Shadows helps. Valerian introduced me to them three weeks ago, and I haven’t tired of their playlist yet.
The pixie wails build up to the crescendo, and I align my rhythm with their haunting voices. I focus on my breathing. The smooth, mechanical movements of my limbs.
My mind begins to wander . . .
And runs straight to Valerian. He’s like the awful pop single you swear you hate yet play over and over. I keep waiting for the day my mind gets tired of him, but so far, that hasn’t happened.
Stupid how much I miss seeing him. The last text he sent said he’d be back in a few days, by Friday morning.
Which sucks major orc balls.
I desperately need to train with Valerian so we can smooth out any issues before the first gauntlet. We haven’t physically been around each other. At least, not closely. Not in the way protecting him demands.
What if the tension from not solidifying our bond hinders my focus somehow?
Just the thought of Valerian in tight sweatpants and no shirt—because of course my imagination insists he be half-naked and glinting with sweat—lights the smoldering ember of desire in my belly I can never quite extinguish.
A sudden, terrifyingly powerful ache shivers through my core— tunately, Ruby has no such filters. Leaping onto my shoulder, she thrusts her tiny fist into the air. I watch, equally horrified and spellbound, as she turns an invisible lever that slowly lifts her middle finger toward the Six.
“Sit on this and spin, Evermore scum,” Ruby cackles.
Someone just kill me.
Thank the Shimmer class is dismissed before Inara has time to retaliate. But by the glares both the Six and Prince Hellebore throw me on their way out, I know both will fight for the right to stamp me out of existence.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I wait until everyone files out to gather my things. This day just keeps getting worse and worse.
