Chapter 19
Nineteen
A laire didn’t bother knocking. She shoved the already open oak door to Professor Ross’s office hard enough to make it slam against the wall.
He looked up from his desk, parchments clutched in hand. If her dramatic entrance surprised him, he didn’t show it.
“Alaire. I was?—”
“Did you know?” The words exploded out of her, the question burning since she’d bonded with Solflara. “When you found me withering in that cell, when you made your speech about resilience, strength, power in all its forms—something uniquely valuable—did you already know who I was?”
The accusation hung in the air.
Professor Ross set down his papers with deliberate care. “Sit down. We should discuss?—”
“I’ll stand.” She stepped closer to his desk, hands clenched into fists. “Answer the question. Did you know I was a Vallorian?”
“No.” The answer came instantly, but his eyes didn’t quite meet hers.
“But you suspected something,” she pressed, noting the tension in his shoulders and pallor of his skin. She’d known from the start he was hiding something, but this went deeper than she’d imagined.
He was quiet for a long moment, fingers drumming against the desk. “There were… indicators. Patterns that suggested you might be more than you appeared.”
“Patterns?” She leaned in, braid swinging over her shoulder, fists braced on the desk. “Explain.”
“The circumstances of your childhood were unusual,” he said carefully, as if afraid she’d detonate. “A house fire that claimed an entire family but left one survivor with complete memory loss? The Consortium keeps files on anomalies like that.”
The files she’d found in his desk.
“Ah, yes, the files,” she said flatly. “So you’ve been tracking me since I was ten?”
“No.” He shook his head. “We lost track of you when you left the orphanage. No records anywhere. It wasn’t until your arrest that your file was flagged again.”
Alaire scoffed. “There wouldn’t be a paper trail for an orphaned street rat with nothing to her name.” Her eyes burned, but she shoved the feeling down, down, down. “So what was I, then—a convenient anomaly that fell into your lap?”
“You were an opportunity.” He rose, moving around the desk. “Someone who deserved a chance at something better?—”
“Better than rotting in Grimstone for the rest of my life?” Her voice rose, anger straining at the seams. “At least be honest about what you were offering me—freedom with strings attached.”
Something flickered across his face—pain, maybe guilt. Good .
I didn’t need your pity. I needed the truth.” She flung her arms wide. “I bonded with a phoenix, Professor. A creature that only chooses descendants of the original bloodlines. That doesn’t happen by accident.”
“No. It doesn’t.” His sandy mustache twitched.
“So, what aren’t you telling me? What did these patterns mean? You didn’t just stumble across my name on a prison roster and think, ‘Oh, this human with a criminal history, rejection of authority, penchant for stealing, and inability to follow rules would be the perfect candidate for us.’”
Professor Ross leaned against the desk, suddenly looking older. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, his hair—usually neat—was mussed, and even his tweed ensemble was rumpled.
“There are things I can’t tell you, Alaire. Not because I don’t trust you, but because they’re meant to protect you.”
“Protect who? Me? You? Because keeping this from me is only hurting me. Without that kind of information, I’m walking blind to threats in this academy.”
“Both.” Regret threaded his tone. “Some truths change everything, and once they’re revealed, they can never be taken back.”
Frustration burned in her chest. He was giving her fragments—truths wrapped in riddles.
She turned toward the door, jaw clenched. She’d had enough of his half-answers.
“Alaire,” he called before she reached the threshold. “Be careful who you trust with your questions. Not everyone here has your best interests at heart.”
She spun, nailing him with a glare. “And you do?”
He met her eyes without flinching. “More than you know.”