Chapter 6
I’m in the bathroom brushing my teeth when my phone dings the next morning. Picking it up, I scroll to our group chat to see that Silver and Hazel have been discussing the Solitude at length.
silver: y’all.
silver: a third year just confirmed
silver: new guy rolled up here from the fucking Wastes
hazel: Rook
trinity: that’s his name??
hazel: weird, right?
silver: I don’t know . . . it’s kinda hot
silver: did you see his arms?
silver:
trinity: You do not have the hots for a Solitude. And those tattoos! He’d probably eat you after he fucks you
silver: girl . . . why do you make this so easy for me?
trinity: Stop it. You’re sick.
silver: and twisted, baby
hazel: I looked it up. a Solitude hasn’t tried to pledge in like ten years, and he didn’t last more than a day at Amery
hazel: “disappeared under mysterious circumstances”
silver: noo. not before I get to see him shirtless at least
trinity: Do you have history this morning too?
silver: ya
silver: meet you down there?
trinity: Me and Poe are almost ready. See you soon.
I scan the text thread as Trinity finishes in the bathroom, laughing at Silver and thinking about what Hazel said. If the last Solitude only lasted a day, then surely this Rook won’t be here much longer. He’s a danger to us and everyone within these walls.
Once we’re ready, Trinity and I enter the auditorium for our first class of the school year. The massive circular room is already buzzing with chatter as we search for empty seats. Again, we sit divided into our respective Houses.
“Where’s Edward?” I ask.
“He overslept. His roommates got creative last night and tied him to the bed with towels,” Trinity answers.
I stop and look back. “You mean Knox?”
She shrugs. “Apparently, they were just having fun. Someone rescued him eventually.”
I shake my head and spy Knox waving at me, but I pretend not to notice.
“Over here,” I say, pointing in the opposite direction, where Silver and Hazel are moving down the row to some empty seats. I notice several cogs scattered around the room, with a few already seated in Fiama’s section, and I wonder if that’s an indication of where they intend to pledge.
“Oh, looks like someone saved you a seat,” Trinity says. I turn around to find her making eye contact with Knox as he gestures me over. When Trinity sees the look on my face, she winces. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
I sigh. “Then you’re coming with me.”
“Okay, I deserve that.”
I huff and snag her wrist as a row of students quickly scoots out of our way. I offer them a thank-you as we pass.
“Don’t play pranks on Edward,” I scold Knox as we approach.
“We were just having fun,” he answers with a laugh, echoing Trinity. “He’s fine.”
Then he winks before turning to Sal and Jackson. I wave at Verity sitting on Jackson’s far side, regretting that I said anything. It probably means they’ll give Edward an even harder time.
I plop into my seat before Trinity and I start comparing our schedules for this semester.
During first year, we’ll take most of the same classes before declaring our majors in second year.
Even our futures are determined by our chosen House, with the highest-level jobs falling under their respective juris-dictions.
Like most of House Fiama, Trinity’s goal is to join the Patrol and become a high-ranking officer, maybe even chief of a large division.
Thus, her classes include a focus on the social sciences, physical combat, and leadership.
Knox is opting for a general education that includes a bit of everything from history to finance to ethics, preparing him for his role as House scion. I’m expected to do the same, as per my father’s wishes, but obviously, I have other plans.
I’ve wanted to join the Storm Guard for as long as I can remember, not only because I know it’s where I can be most useful, but also because I’ve never had any desire to join the Patrol. Our welcome package said we could register for cadet training in the dean’s office.
The other options open to Society members are positions with The Shield that include communications, border surveillance, and online security.
A few minutes later, a low chorus of excited voices ripples through the crowd. I turn to look back at what has everyone’s attention.
The Solitude stands at the door in the same weird, still way as always. He’s wearing another version of his Amery black and silver: a fitted black T-shirt, black boots, and pants with silver bands running up the sides.
In the top rows, several girls stare before giggling and whispering to each other. Even Trinity is looking at him with wide-eyed wonder. I get it. He doesn’t seem real. Like his edges are a bit smeared because he doesn’t really belong here.
Solitudes killed my cousin. My brother.
Then took Raine’s body, so we couldn’t even say goodbye.
I’ve spent many dark moments imagining all the vile things they must have done to him.
So far, Rook has done nothing to dispel the notion that Solitudes are dangerous and to be avoided at all costs. I get the feeling he could happily kill everyone in this room, dust off his hands, and walk out, all while whistling a tune.
Was he a part of the group that killed Raine? They were never caught. He probably isn’t old enough, but who knows how things work in the Wastes. Nevertheless, his very presence pries out that jagged piece of my brother I keep locked away, unsealing old wounds that will never really heal.
The Solitude takes a heavy step into the auditorium, joined by a chorus of cruel snickers.
The air has shifted from last night. Everyone was in shock, unsure how to react to his arrival, but people are more confident now.
Sure that he doesn’t belong here. Whispers follow him as he makes his deliberate way down the stairs.
His relaxed shoulders and neutral expression suggest he isn’t the least bit affected.
Slowly, his gaze sweeps over us, left and right, almost as if he’s judging us and not the other way around. He continues down the length of the stairs and stops at the front row, where every seat is occupied.
“Get out,” he says to the terrified couple staring up at him.
At first, they don’t move. I think he’s frozen them to the spot.
He leans in and adds quietly, “I said move.”
The girl squeaks, and her boyfriend practically tramples her trying to escape.
“Sorry,” he even mumbles as the Solitude gives him a look that I feel all the way through my chest. When the pair has cleared off, the Solitude—Rook—drops into a chair and slings his arm along the back of the second before kicking a foot up on the railing that circles the teaching area.
Everyone stares while they whisper, some horrified and some thrilled, most a combination of both.
Knox scoffs. “Show-off.” Then he speaks louder. “Is the scat house-trained?” he asks, using an old slur for Solitudes. I wince, recoiling from his side. “What if he shits on the floor? Who’s cleaning that up?”
I watch the back of Rook’s head, but he doesn’t move. That spurs Knox on as he raises his voice. “His roommates better watch out. He might mistake them for his next meal.”
Cannibalism is common lore for Solitudes. It’s the kind of story parents tell their kids to keep them in line, and it’s one of the grislier scenarios I’ve concocted for the fate of Raine’s body.
“Knox, shut up,” I snap. I don’t trust Rook for one moment, but Knox is behaving like a monumental dick.
“How’d he even get in here?” Knox continues, ignoring me, of course. “There’s no way this animal knows how to read. Can he hold a pen with those paws? Or are they hooves?”
I’m still watching Rook as he slowly turns around to peer at Knox.
I hold my breath, and I swear everyone around me does the same.
Then Rook is standing before I have a chance to blink. He leaps up the rows like he’s exempt from the rules of gravity. A few people scream as he reaches Knox. A large fist wraps around his throat as Rook yanks Knox from his chair.
Rook has one foot firmly planted on the seat in front of Knox and the other on the edge of my armrest. He shouldn’t be able to balance like that, but he’s as steady as a tree rooted to the earth. I find myself frozen, wishing I could escape.
“What was that?” Rook asks, his hazel eyes flashing.
Knox chokes as Rook squeezes his throat, and the room erupts into chaos. People are screaming and running away, but I sit glued to my seat as my gaze jumps between Rook and Knox.
“Say that again,” Rook challenges, but Knox just gapes like a fish. Also, he’s turning a bit purple. Would Rook kill him? Given the wild look in his eyes, I wouldn’t be surprised.
Should I do something? I should do something.
Knox gags as he claws at Rook’s hand and wrist, his knees crumpling as he struggles to receive oxygen to his brain.
“Enough,” I say, my voice shaking. “Let him go.”
Rook’s gaze bounces to mine, and I swallow because he’s terrifying. His jaw is hard, and his eyes blaze with menace. His head tips ever so slightly. It reminds me of a nature documentary we watched in school about the large felines that once roamed the sub-Saharan grasslands.
“Please,” I say so softly, I’m not even sure he can hear it.
But Rook’s hand opens, and he tosses a gasping, hacking Knox back into his seat so hard that it tips the entire row. Then Rook cracks his neck and walks back over the seats as everyone in his path leaps to clear the way.
He drops back into his chair in one smooth movement just as the door opens and our professor enters.
She’s tall, her long brown hair swinging as she walks to the podium in the center.
She pauses, scanning us over as though she can sense something just went down, further evidenced by the number of students now scrambling back to their seats.
Knox is clutching his throat and still gasping for breath. I can already see a net of bruises forming on his pale skin.