Avery
The pain is getting better, and that’s what terrifies me most.
I stare at the ceiling of my room, which I’ve nearly memorized by this point.
My body still aches, but it’s a dull throb instead of the sharp, ripping sensation that had me curled up on the bathroom floor after the Halloween Ball.
Now, the emptiness in my chest where the emberlink used to burn feels less like a fresh wound and more like a scar.
Everything I’m experiencing points to one horrible, impossible conclusion: Oliver’s dead.
Which means either the Council’s wrong about him being alive out on the sea, or they’re lying. It doesn’t really matter, because in both scenarios, Oliver’s still dead. I know it deep in my soul, even if they refuse to admit it.
A knock on the door makes me flinch.
“Avery?” Alessandra says my name in question. “I brought food. Will you eat with me in the living room?”
Food. Right. A thing people need to survive.
“Give me a minute.”
I force myself to sit up, and the room spins before settling. The weakness is another sign that the emberlink bond is severed.
Distance doesn’t make you feel this broken. Backlash from death, on the other hand, does.
The living room of our third-year suite is small, but just as opulent as the rest of the castle. A velvet couch faces an armchair across a polished coffee table, a handwoven rug softens the stone floor, and three doors lead to our separate bedrooms.
Alessandra’s already set out food on the dining table. The sandwiches, fruit, and soup are arranged in the effortlessly elegant way she does everything.
“You look like you haven’t slept in a week,” she says, which is rich coming from someone who has dark circles under her eyes and her usually perfect waves pulled back in a messy ponytail.
“Given that it’s been nine days, I suppose that’s a compliment.” I rub my eyes and sink into the chair across from her.
“Eat.” She pushes a sandwich toward me. “You’ve barely touched anything since Halloween.”
She’s not wrong. Food has tasted like cardboard ever since.
I take a bite anyway, because Alessandra’s watching me with that concerned expression that makes me feel guilty for worrying her—especially because she has her own problems. Callie’s been acting strange for weeks, disappearing at odd hours and coming back pale and exhausted.
I should ask about that. I should be a better friend.
But it’s hard to care about anything when the person you love is dead and everyone keeps telling you he’s not.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt to try.
“Where’s Callie?” I glance at her bedroom door.
Alessandra’s expression flickers. “I was about to get her.”
She crosses to Callie’s door and knocks. Once. Twice. Three times.
There’s no answer.
“Callie?” she says, that honeyed Southern lilt sharpening at the edges. “I brought dinner.”
Silence.
“This morning, she said she’d be in the common room all day,” I say slowly.
Alessandra turns to look at me. “She told me she was staying in the suite.”
“Maybe she changed her plans?”
“Maybe.” Alessandra knocks again, harder. “If you’re in there, just say something.”
Again, there’s nothing.
She presses her palm flat against the door and closes her eyes, likely reaching for her emberlink bond, trying to sense Callie’s presence the way I used to sense Oliver’s.
When she opens her eyes, there’s fear in them. Real fear, not the polished concern she usually projects.
“I can barely feel her. But she has to be in Hydra Hall, right? Because of the lockdown?” She shakes her head, turns to the door that leads out of the suite, and continues when all I give her is a shrug. “I’m going to find her. Are you coming?”
No. I want to crawl back into my bed and stare at the ceiling and pretend the world isn’t ending. I want to ignore that the people in charge are lying, and that Oliver is likely dead.
But Alessandra’s looking at me with those scared eyes, and if Callie’s missing too, I can’t let her go through this alone.
“Okay.” I force what I hope is determination into my voice. “Let’s go find her.”
* * *
Hydra Hall is quieter than usual.
The lockdown should be making it so the common areas are packed with bored third-years looking for entertainment. But as we move through the halls, checking study rooms and lounges, we find mostly empty spaces and the occasional person who hasn’t seen Callie since this morning.
With each failed search, Alessandra’s perfect posture starts to crack. Her graceful movements become jerky and rushed, and she starts demanding answers instead of asking politely.
After the tenth person shakes their head, Alessandra stops in the middle of the hallway, her hand pressed to her chest like she’s trying not to break.
“We need to tell someone she’s not here.” She starts walking again, faster now. “Tobias is in charge of Hydra Hall during the investigation. We’ll go to him.”
She spins and starts walking before I can answer, giving me no choice but to follow.
We find Tobias Cane in a study room on the second floor, reviewing paperwork.
His dark hair is more disheveled than it was last night, the silver streaks catching the light as he leans over his desk, and my stomach does that hollow flip it did while we were talking during the Forge Party from Hell that Alessandra and Callie forced me to attend.
He found me standing alone near the volcanic rock formations, a drink in my hand that I hadn’t touched, watching everyone celebrate the “good news” that Oliver and Thad were alive. He stood close enough that I could smell sage and parchment on him.
“You’re not celebrating,” he said quietly, leaning against the wall beside me.
I gestured at his own untouched drink. “Aren’t Council members supposed to be above fraternizing with students at illegal parties?”
He gave me a small smile. “Probably. And aren’t worried emberlinked partners supposed to be resting in their rooms?”
The word worried grated against my nerves. Because that’s what everyone kept saying. Worried. Concerned. Hopeful. Words that implied Oliver was coming back, that didn’t match the emptiness in my chest.
“The bond feels wrong,” I whispered, the thought escaping before I could stop it. “It’s different than I expected it to feel if he was just far away.”
Sadness crossed those pale eyes, and I couldn’t believe I’d thought they were unsettling the first time I saw him. Because his eyes didn’t just look at me. They saw me, really saw me, as if my soul was visible and he was the only one paying attention.
Although, I suppose being seen like that makes a lot of people feel unsettled.
“I know what it’s like to feel broken inside and have everyone tell you it’ll be fine.” He paused, like the words cost him something. “It doesn’t help. I know it doesn’t help.”
My breath caught, because the rumors about Tobias were everywhere. People were saying a vampire attack had nearly killed him a few years ago, that centuries of dark memories had been forced into his mind, and that he’d never been the same since.
Now here he was, a man who carried centuries of borrowed darkness in his head, the first person on this island who hadn’t tried to convince me that everything was going to be fine.
He was quiet for a moment, as if weighing his next words carefully.
“The official explanation is that emberlink bonds can behave unpredictably in unique circumstances,” he finally said. “They’re blaming magical interference from the sea.”
It sounded more like an apology than an answer.
“Do you think he’s coming back?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, and then he added, “I’m sorry. That’s not what you needed to hear.”
“No.” I stared down at my untouched drink. “But it’s more than anyone else has given me these past eight days.”
His pale eyes lost focus, drifting past me to a place I couldn't follow, and the color left his face so fast it was like watching a candle sputter out.
His fingers twitched at his side, and for a few horrible seconds, he wasn't there at all.
He was standing right next to me, close enough to touch, but wherever his mind had gone, I couldn't reach him.
"Tobias?" I said, and my hand found his arm before I thought about it.
His breathing slowed, and his shoulders loosened, and he stared at my hand like he was memorizing the weight of it.
I pulled back before I could think better of it, heat flooding my cheeks.
“People don’t usually thank me for disappointing them.” He glanced down at his drink, then looked back up to me, as if whatever I said next would matter more to him than I could understand.
“You didn’t disappoint me. You were honest.” I kept my gaze locked on his, and from the way he blinked at me, you’d think no one had ever looked at him for this long. “Everyone else keeps telling me what they think I want to hear. You told me what you actually believe.”
The party noise swelled around us, but it felt distant and muffled, like we were standing in a bubble that only fit two.
“You said the bond feels wrong.” His tone was deliberate, like each word was being placed instead of spoken.
I nodded, that empty space in my chest hurting at the reminder.
“Have you told anyone else?”
“Who would I tell?” The thought came out more bitter than I intended. “His sister’s barely holding it together. His friends keep looking at me like I’m supposed to have answers. And the Council...” I gestured vaguely at him. “No offense.”
“None taken.” His mouth quirked, but his eyes stayed serious, and in the lingering few moments of silence, I thought that was going to be it. “But for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re imagining the wrongness you’re feeling.”
Before I could press further, the hellhounds attacked, and he was gone.
Now, his pale eyes lift to meet ours, but there’s a faraway quality to them—like part of him is somewhere else entirely.
Then his gaze settles on me, the faraway look fades.
“Avery. Alessandra,” he says, soft and unhurried, like he’s measuring each word before letting it go. “Is everything okay?”