CHAPTER 30 FAE
FAE
The campus looks exactly the same. That’s what unsettles me the most. The grass is still cut too short.
The stone buildings still glow pale beneath the thin spring sun.
Students drift between lectures with headphones in and coffee in hand, laughter spilling out of them like last night never happened.
Like they weren’t kneeling in a crypt or forced to bleed beneath crucifixes.
I adjust my bag higher on my shoulder as I look around.
I see it everywhere now; bandages beneath sleeves, fresh white dressings peeking out when cuffs shift.
Some are wrapped carefully, others seeping faint pink through the gauze.
Each of us is carved in the same place yet marked differently.
The male spies are cut with Ravens, the female spies with swallows. Everyone else carries a skull.
It’s another way to segregate my kind. Another way to remind people we’re different.
The fucked-up part is that the Ravens’ segregation makes them even more elite. For the Swallows, it just reminds us we’re the bottom of the barrel. There are only two male spies this year and fifteen Swallows. Fourteen of them weren’t chosen yesterday.
I am the only one left to be given my marching orders to the compound.
As the cold breeze hits, I remember how I woke up this morning tangled in Roman’s arms, his body was warm and solid behind mine.
He kissed the back of my shoulder and pulled me in tight before we showered together.
The water was hot enough to sting as steam curled around us.
He washed my hair like a ritual, his fingers gentle against my scalp.
When I hissed as water ran over the brand, he pressed his forehead to mine.
“They can mark you,” he said. “But they don’t get to define you.”
I don’t know if that’s true, but I want it to be.
After, he redressed the wound with clean gauze and antiseptic and I tried to swallow the pain. When I hissed at the deeper cut, he pulled back and pressed a gentle kiss to it.
“Easy,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
No one has ever said that to me and meant it. I’m still trying to believe he does.
What’s so special about me anyway? It’s not like I can offer him anything. Quinn’s family already has a contract outlining what she can provide him. All I can offer is PTSD and a long list of important men I want to kill.
“Careful, you’ll wrinkle your forehead if you think that hard,” her voice slides over my spine like oil.
I don’t need to look to know who it is. I frown, letting my silence speak for itself as I turn to take them in.
Tweedledee from the merry band of bitches stands with her back straight and her head high, posted by the gym like she’s already been crowned.
To Quinn’s left is Maya, to her right Rebecca, flanking her like bookends.
All three have their sleeves rolled just enough to expose the fresh carvings on their forearms. I don’t know what they see when they look at the skulls, but the red, inflamed scars send a bolt of revulsion through me.
It’s people like this who make the institution tick. The ones who blindly follow because daddy protected them from the monsters. The ones who scream not all men when a victim speaks up. The ones who coddle their abusive sons and call them misunderstood.
They’re the kind who spend their lives being manipulated and still die praising the men who hurt them.
Roman would give her crumbs and she’d lick them up and say she was full.
If someone gives me crumbs, I’ll demand the whole loaf. And if they refuse, I’ll leave them to bleed out and smile as I walk away.
“Have you gone mute?” Rebecca sneers, which is funny, honestly, considering who she is to my brother. A couple of well-timed tears and he’d have her sent straight to the compound.
“Did you ask a question?” I shoot back, knowing they didn’t. Rebecca’s cheeks flush a violent red as she shifts on her feet and looks to the floor.
“God, she’s insufferable,” Maya exhales sharply.
“And yet,” I reply smoothly, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder, “you keep approaching me.”
Quinn doesn’t react immediately. She studies me, her head tilting slightly as if she’s examining a stain that refuses to lift. She’s trying to intimidate me. I’d think it was cute if it wasn’t so annoying.
“It’s fascinating,” she says after a moment, “how quickly desperation turns into arrogance.”
“If that’s what helps you sleep, Quinn.” I smile faintly as her sharp gaze flicks to my forearm.
“Tell me,” she continues, her voice almost conversational, though I can hear the barbs beneath it, “did he explain why he chose you?”
The question throws me off. Rebecca perks up as Maya folds her arms tighter. My eyes narrow on Quinn as I mirror Maya’s stance. Quinn’s lips twitch.
“That’s what I thought.”
She lifts her arm slightly, the skull on her forearm angry and red beneath the light.
“Skulls build empires. We run logistics, weapons, systems. We make sure this machine doesn’t fall. What exactly does a Swallow do, besides suck cock?” she snarls and Rebecca lets out an exaggerated laugh.
“You’re replaceable,” Maya adds. “Fourteen of you were left unclaimed. That should tell you everything.”
I grit my teeth, trying not to react, but I feel it again.
That subtle twist beneath my ribs. Fourteen girls waiting for their marching orders.
Fourteen girls who weren’t good enough because of their position.
The thought that I’ve cheated death, or that I’m not enough for Roman, rises in my throat, and I force it down before it can show on my face.
Steeling my shoulders, I look at them one by one, tilting my head slightly just to taunt them.
“Yet here you are,” I say calmly, “worrying about the one Swallow who was promised.”
“You think this is worry?” Rebecca scoffs as Maya shifts on her feet.
“I think,” I reply evenly, “if Roman wanted two skulls to choose from, he would have picked them.”
Quinn’s jaw tightens, only slightly, but I see it. I’m trained to see it. She might think being a Swallow is just sucking cock, but she’ll never understand how much training it takes to create what we are. She’s a glorified scientist. Me? I’m a man’s worst nightmare wrapped in honey.
“My daddy and his have already discussed the contract,” she says, steeling her shoulders and I scoff. Anger flashes in her eyes at the sound, her hand trembling as her nostrils flare. I half want to walk away to stop this from escalating, but I’ve never been good at backing down.
“You wouldn’t understand,” she snarls, stepping closer and I brace on instinct. “You were just optics. He needed to make a statement. Choosing the damaged girl sends a message.”
My pulse stutters at the word damaged. What does she know? Is she just calling me damaged goods because I’m a Swallow, or is there more to it? I wouldn’t put it past her to have leverage. She’s an only child. I doubt her dad would risk his bloodline by going in blind.
She steps closer until her body is almost on top of mine, her nose scrunching like she smells something foul.
“It makes him look merciful,” Rebecca smiles cruelly, I glance over Quinn’s shoulder at her.
“Roman understands alliances, he understands bloodlines, and he definitely understands what strengthens power,” Quinn sneers. “And you, sweet little fairy, are at the bottom of it all, whilst I am at the top.”
“Are you trying to tell me you’ve been sold by your daddy?” I respond, her nostrils flare like an angry dragon. “Sweet little cunt, that just makes you a prostitute like me.”
I step forward, lowering my voice at her ear.
“At least I get to kill mine after I’m forced to suck their cock. You’ll just be glorified property for the rest of your life.”
I see the slap before I feel it. The crack echoes louder than it should. My head turns with the impact, my hair shifting over my shoulder. A stinging bloom spreads across my cheek, warm and sharp, as I inhale softly through my nose before looking back at her.
I don’t touch my face. I don’t flinch. I just stand there, still, taking her in. Her breath comes in short, sharp pants as her composure fractures.
“Careful,” I say softly, my voice level despite the heat radiating from my skin. “Violence without strategy is just emotion, and whores aren’t allowed to show that.”
Quinn grits her teeth as she straightens, forcing her shoulders back into that queen-in-training posture. She smooths invisible creases from her coat like she didn’t just unravel in public. Her eyes dart around the courtyard, taking in every face.
Me?
I’ve already catalogued who watched, who’s laughing behind their hands, and who looks horrified.
“The difference between us, fairy,” she sneers, my nickname dripping with venom, “you were raised to be used. I was raised to rule.”
I bark a laugh; the sound carries as my shoulders shake. Quinn looks dumbfounded. I’m sure she wanted more. Maybe for me to lose control so she could run to Roman and have him protect her from me, but I won’t bite. I refuse to sink to her level.
What’s sad is that she actually believes women rule. Even here, where we outnumber them two to one, we still get on our knees and beg to be chosen. We don’t rule. We follow. And the delusions her family have fed her are almost as dangerous as they are ill-informed.
“You can laugh all you want, but you’re a phase,” she says, stepping closer, shifting her coffee to her right hand. “I’m his future.”
“If you have to keep saying it,” I whisper, “it probably isn’t true.”
Her eyes flash as her princess mask snaps back into place. She glances over her shoulder at her little group, then back at me.
“Enjoy your delusions. It’s all you’ve got.”
She says it loud enough for anyone watching to hear, then walks away, leaving me standing there as her words replay in my mind as I walk to class.
You are a phase. I am his future.