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45
Jago stands before me, his handsome face showing absolutely no trace of the ominous tone from just a moment before.
“Now,” he says, switching to a more formal stance and offering his arm. “Shall we?”
I glance between his crooked elbow and him. It’s such an outdated gesture, I’m not sure what to make of it.
“Um…what are you doing?” I ask.
“One of those rules I mentioned,” he says. “Things like comportment, carriage, and manners—they matter here.”
I bite down on my lip and continue to stare.Is this one of those archaic protocols Braxton warned me about? Because there’s no way in hell I’m agreeing to take part in such an outdated, misogynistic social ritual.
To Jago, I just shake my head and continue down the hall. “No offense,” I say. “But I really don’t need a big, strong man to show me how it’s done. I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own.”
Jago laughs and follows along. “Look, I get it,” he says. “On the surface, it’s ridiculous. But there’s a purpose to everything in this place. And it won’t be much longer before it all starts to make sense.”
He gestures toward some of the other students who’ve entered the hall—all of them walking arm in arm. Boy/girl, girl/girl, boy/boy—it’s like I’ve wandered onto the set of a historical film where everyone is in character except me.
“This is absurd.” I frown. “Not to mention outrageous, clownish, totally and completely ludicrous…”
Jago flashes me a patient grin, the kind a teacher might give to a student who just isn’t getting it. “Remember when I told you about the rules that aren’t worth the fight? This is one of them. But don’t get the wrong idea—while linking arms is expected, other displays of romantic affection are strictly prohibited during school hours.”
I blow out a frustrated breath and, with a great show of reluctance, hook my arm with his. Still, I can’t help but say, “What could possibly be the point?”
I gaze up at Jago and, since he’s got a good eight inches on me, I’m practically craning my neck just to meet his gaze. And for the first time, it really hits me—with his nicely sculpted face, eyelashes practically longer than Elodie’s, and gorgeous golden brown skin, Jago isn’t just handsome, he’s actually breathtaking. And when he speaks, his voice is low and deep with just the trace of an accent that sounds vaguely Spanish.
“Think of Arthur as a curator of the past,” Jago says as we continue down the staircase, our arms linked. “He picks what he wants and discards all the rest.”
“He said something similar at lun—” Remembering that my lunch with Arthur is not something granted to everyone, I’m quick to cut myself off.
“I know about your lunch,” Jago says. “Everyone does. But you’re smart not to flaunt it. Gray Wolf is way more competitive than you might think.”
“But what exactly are we competing for?” I ask. “Are we on some sort of grading scale I don’t know about?”
“Look,” he says, “it’s not that long ago that I was new, too. So I’m going to tell you something else no one told me.”
I walk silently alongside him, hoping the reveal isn’t nearly as ominous as the last one.
“One, forget your past. You’ve been given a chance to start over, so try to make the best of it. Also, don’t go asking other people how long they’ve been here or where they come from.”
I can feel my cheeks flush. I’ve pretty much done that with everyone.
“None of it matters anymore. And we’ve all worked hard to move on.”
“Okay,” I say. “Anything else?”
We’ve reached the entry to the Spring Room, and he steers me aside to let others pass.
“And two…” He removes the slab from my grip and presses my thumb between his and the screen. “This is how you turn it on, wake it up, and turn it off. The rest is intuitive; you’ll figure it out. Also, whatever you do, don’t lose it. They’ll find it, of course, but it makes a bad impression.”
“Does it come with a charger?” I ask, thinking that I didn’t see one in the box.
“No need,” Jago says. “As long as you remain on the island, it stays charged.” He removes his hand from mine, but his topaz gaze continues to linger. He dips his head, about to say something more, when he suddenly stops, and I turn to find Braxton standing behind me.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Braxton says, his gaze darting sharply between Jago and me.
“Just trying to help a Green find her way.” Jago grins, flashes his palms. Then, directing a sly wink at me, he ducks inside the Spring Room.
I’m about to follow when Braxton says, “There’s been a change of plans.”
I glance longingly toward the place where breakfast, and the possibility of making new friends, awaits, and heave a loud sigh, not even trying to hide my annoyance. “What’s this about?” I ask.
Offering his arm, Braxton says, “Ever been to Paris?”
