Chapter 8
I could hear him strumming from across the yard — soft, imperfect chords that still somehow reached me through the night air.
I left my bed and padded to the window, pressing my forehead to the cool glass.
Kieran sat by his own window opposite mine, his guitar balanced on one knee, eyes half-closed as he played like the song was just for me.
When he finished, I clapped softly.
“Yay! That one was the best. Did you write it?”
“This morning.” His grin was quick, proud. “So you like it?”
“I love it. I wish you could make a career out of it.”
He laughed under his breath. “Yeah, right. Music doesn’t pay bills. I’ll probably end up taking a trade.”
“Have you been applying?”
“All the time.” His smile faded. “But people see my name or my face and turn me away. If they didn’t make us do those goddamn APA tests…”
The Aetheric Polarity Assessment — every fifteen-year-old had to take it, to measure how much Light or Dark magic they carried. A number that decided your future before you ever got one.
I hadn’t taken mine yet. The first time they tried, the machine didn’t work and they hadn’t tried since. As far as I knew, I was just a null. Nulls weren’t allowed in regular schools; at least that’s what Father told me. They were kept home, hidden.
“What was your number?” I asked.
“Sixty-eight D.”
He said it like a curse, tossing the guitar aside. “Too dark for them. I’m apparently too dangerous. I’m so sick of the council and their bullshit, you know?”
68D was so high. I wished I could reach out for him, hold him.
“I know. I wish I could help you.”
“You do, baby Quinn. You keep me from going crazy.”
I shook my head, annoyed. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”
“What?” Kieran frowned.
“Baby. I’m only three years younger than you. I’m not a kid.”
Kieran sighed. “Seph – “
My bedroom door slammed open and in rushed Sable. “Quick. Say goodnight. Mum and dad are coming.”
She was dressed in a pretty linen sundress with pink flowers on it that set off the gold in her eyes. Her golden hair was loose and in gentle waves down her back.
She was so beautiful, was Sable.
I ran to my bed and jumped under the covers quickly and Sable locked the window bars. She pocketed the keys quickly then ducked back in the hall.
“Mother, father.” I heard her say, her voice respectful and kind.
“Hello angel. Is she sleeping?”
“Um, maybe. She looked tired. So probably sleeping now. I was just saying goodnight.”
“You are such a sweet girl to your sister, Sable darling.” Mother simpered.
I burrowed deeper into the covers.
I knew what happened next.
The door opened and in stepped father.
Gideon.
He was a tall and imposing man. He always had been. His shoulders were broad and strong. His golden hair perfectly styled and his eyes were cold as ice.
In his hand he held a needle.
“Persephone.” He ordered.
I opened my eyes and sat up.
He advanced on me quietly.
“Do we have to do this again?” I asked, trying to hide the shake in my voice.
“Are you arguing with me, Persephone?” he inquired calmly.
I swallowed. “No sir.”
“Then present your arm.”
Up my arm, hundreds of small pricks over the years had left a series of bumpy scars.
My hands trembled as I pushed back the sleeve.
The scars looked worse under the lamplight—tiny, pale knots of skin tracing up the inside of my arm like a map of everything I’d survived.
He pressed the needle against the newest spot. Cold liquid slid under my skin.
The burn hit a second later.
I bit my lip until I tasted blood.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “You know this is for your own protection.”
Protection.
That’s what they always called it.
The injections. The locks. The rules.
Behind him, Mother smiled faintly, her hands folded like she was witnessing something holy.
Sable lingered in the doorway, her face pale, her perfect mouth tight.
I wanted to scream. To ask why they couldn’t see what they were doing to me.
But I just sat there, obedient and silent, like I always did.
When they finally left, the door locked with a quiet click.
I pulled my knees to my chest and looked at the window bars.
Kieran’s light was still on. He was sitting by the glass again, waiting.
He lifted his hand.
I couldn’t bring myself to wave back.