Chapter 34
It’s almost laughable the way everyone stops talking when I walk into the crowded cafeteria a minute later.
Silence fills the room with the barest clink of cutlery against plates and bowls. I clear my throat and lift my chin. I will not be shamed or cowed.
A set of heavy footsteps fills the silence, and I feel a presence behind me.
I don’t even need to look to know who it is.
I recognize his scent.
It’s earthy and grounding. Reminds me of sunshine on a rare clear day.
The thought is disconcerting.
I shouldn’t know his smell. Be able to parse out the notes and subtle qualities. But I don’t examine it further; I’m just grateful I’m not standing here alone anymore. I shift my weight and look up to find Rook standing beside me, staring at everyone staring at us.
“So, do you ever get used to this?” I whisper, and he snorts. The sound is so incongruous that I almost laugh. We must both look like we’re losing our minds.
“Eat your breakfast,” he practically growls to the room. “Don’t you all have better things to do than worry about us?”
He brushes past me and heads over to the food line, ignoring everyone’s scrutiny with an indifference I can’t help but admire. I take his cue and follow, causing the room to break out of stasis as the chatter resumes.
We both move along the counter, separated by a few bodies. When I’ve collected my plate, I look up to find him sitting at a table near the wall on the Aria side of the cafeteria.
As I survey the room, my gaze meets Knox’s. We gauge each other, and I look at the empty seat where I’d normally eat. Knox’s expression is hard to read, but we both know I can’t sit on the Fiama side anymore. Not that I think he still wants me there.
I remind myself that this was the plan. To distance myself.
I tear my eyes away and head toward Rook.
Everyone is still staring as I set my tray down across from him.
He looks up and arches a brow. “Oh, you want to sit with me now?” he asks. “Your friends don’t want you anymore, so I’m finally good enough?”
I flinch, the words a slap delivered to tender flesh. My eyes swim as I quickly snatch my tray back.
“I’m . . . I’m . . . I thought . . .”
“What? We’d be outcasts together?”
He’s absolutely right. What was I thinking? That somehow, we were on the same team now? I’ve done nothing but be horrible to him, and Knox has been even worse.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble.
I turn to leave, but he touches my wrist, fingers gently closing around it. His hand is warm, his skin a little rough, and my entire body grows hot.
“Sit,” he says, his voice low and gruff, like he’s mad about the invitation but is offering it nonetheless.
“It’s okay, I’ll—”
“Sit,” he says, more firmly this time. He releases my wrist, and I watch him wipe a palm on his thigh. I press my mouth together, then sink into the seat across from him again, inhaling sharply as his knee brushes mine.
He jerks away, and I shake out my napkin and lay it over my thighs, trying not to be hurt by how little he wants to touch me.
“Thank you,” I say, and he looks up, peering at me like he’s trying to figure something out.
He grunts in reply and then attacks his food like it’s personally wronged him.
While we eat, I pull out my phone, checking for the millionth time for something from my parents.
If my dad would just yell at me, we could get this done and move on. I know our relationship is over, but I hope to make amends with my mom, at least. I scroll through the series of unanswered texts I’ve sent, realizing the worst part is not knowing.
“Waiting for an important message?” Rook asks in a low voice that has me glancing over. “From lover boy, perhaps? But wait, he’s sitting right there, isn’t he?”
He says it with such disdain that my eyes narrow. “Not sure how that’s any of your business.”
“You made it my business when you started yelling at him near my standing spot.”
I lean in, narrowing my eyes. “Then perhaps you should find a new standing spot.”
“I’ve tried,” he says dryly before tearing into a piece of toast. “Somehow, you keep finding me.”
I’m about to retort when someone asks, “Mind if we join you?”
Domino stands with Journey, her chatty cog friend.
“Sure,” I say as they sit beside Rook and me.
“I guess we’re all the new Aria outcasts?” Domino asks, though she doesn’t seem that upset about it. I guess she’s already spent her first couple of months at Amery on the outside looking in.
“Does seem that way,” I say.
“I’m Journey,” she says to Rook and holds out her hand, but he just stares at it and then continues eating.
I notice Journey’s chestnut hair is sporting a streak of purple, and Domino’s braid has acquired some plum-hued highlights. They’re both settling into this new way of life. “Nice hair,” I say.
Journey smiles and gives her head a little shake. “Thought we should try to fit in.”
“Yours is amazing,” Domino says. “How often do you have to get it done?”
I run a hand through my purple locks. “Thanks, and every few weeks, I guess.”
“You need to give us your stylist’s name,” Journey says. Then she leans forward in a conspiratorial hunch. “Tell me, what’s it like being the scion’s daughter?”
Her eyes sparkle with curiosity. I blink at the abrupt change in topic and decide I don’t feel like pretending today. “Sometimes it really fucking sucks,” I answer, and her expression falls.
“But you’re the main character. Everyone knows who you are!”
I grimace, but Journey doesn’t pick up on my discomfort.
“I promise that isn’t always a good thing. It’s hard to wear the weight of people’s expectations.”
Her forehead creases, and I sense she doesn’t like my answer.
“Well, I think it would be nice to be that important,” she says, picking up her fork and digging into her eggs, but then I understand. “Fame” is a strange thing. Those who have it usually want to escape it, and those who covet it can’t imagine why anyone would want anything else.
“When you’re a cog, no one thinks you’re important,” she says. “Must be nice to matter. That’s all I’m saying.”
I nod along with her because I also see her point, but this conversation is officially making me uncomfortable.
“How are you settling in?” Rook asks Domino as he turns toward her. “Your family must be very proud of you.”
His gaze flicks to mine for the briefest second, and I get the sense he changed the conversation on my behalf. But why would he? He probably thinks the same as Journey.
“They’re pretty happy,” she says with a grin. “We knew it was a long shot, but I’ve always wanted to join the Storm Guard.”
Journey gives him a quizzical look. “What about yours? Do you have a family?”
Rook’s mouth presses together, and I can’t help but lean forward, hoping for the answer. Rook is such a closed book. A mystery worthy of ancient burial sites.
Who is he? Why is he here?
“I have a family,” he says evenly. “There are six of us. I’m the oldest, with two brothers and one sister.”
“Oh,” Journey says, her eyes widening. “I’ve heard about this. Solitudes have a lot . . .” She lowers her voice. “Of babies. Like . . . a lot.”
The implication of her statement is clear—Solitudes can’t control themselves like the animals we all claim they are.
Rook’s jaw ticks, and something passes behind his eyes. With a glare, he stands up, grabs his tray, and walks off without saying a word. We watch as he all but tosses it on the collection counter, dishes and utensils rattling, and then stalks out of the room.
Journey’s eyes spread wide. “What did I say?”
I shake my head and then stand up and leave.
“I should probably go, too,” I say to Domino and Journey.
After depositing my tray with only slightly less fanfare, I beeline for the door.
I have about fifteen minutes before class, and I pull out my phone again to check for something from my parents or maybe Trinity.
Nothing.
I consider calling my mom but decide to give her a few more days. To do what? Calm down? Calm my father down? Stop hating me for everything I’ve done?
What if he was so angry that he hurt her?
My stomach twists with a bottomless pit of worry.
So I dial someone I’m hoping can help.