Chapter 8
Nova
I wake up before the sun.
My body still feels heavy but it’s a different kind of heavy now, less wet sand and more like I actually slept for the first time in days. The room is dim, just the faintest gray light coming through a small window near the ceiling, and it takes me a second to remember where I am.
Ameena’s house. The bedroom. The bed that isn’t mine.
Then I look down at the floor and something in my chest goes soft.
They’re all here.
Every single one of them, spread across the bedroom floor like they just dropped where they stood.
Locke is closest to the bed, on his back with one arm thrown over his face.
Vaelor is next to him, taking up an absurd amount of space even in sleep.
Rane is curled on his side near the wall with a blanket that’s too small for him, and Kyron is propped against the door frame like he fell asleep on watch and gravity won.
Beckett’s in the corner with his laptop still open on his chest, screen dark.
Trey is between Vaelor and the foot of the bed, one arm stretched out like he was reaching for something in his sleep.
Six men on the floor of a stranger’s tiny bedroom because they wouldn’t leave me alone in it.
I smile before I can stop myself. It’s sweet and a little ridiculous and so completely predictable that it almost makes me laugh.
Getting out of bed without stepping on someone takes more coordination than my body wants to give me right now.
I ease my legs over the side, find a gap between Locke’s shoulder and Vaelor’s knee, and put my feet down carefully.
My legs shake when I stand but they hold.
I step over Trey’s arm, squeeze past Kyron without breathing, and make it into the hallway.
The bathroom is small and cold and I use it fast because I don’t want anyone waking up and panicking that I’m gone. I wash my hands and look up at the mirror without meaning to.
I look rough. Pale, even for me. My hair is a mess and there are shadows under my eyes and I’m wearing clothes the academy gave me.
The mark catches the light. Gold and red, sitting on my wrist like it’s always been there. I stare at it for a second, then make myself look away and walk out.
The main room is warm. There’s a fire already going in the hearth and the smell of coffee is strong enough to make my eyes water. Ameena is at the counter with her back to me, doing something with a kettle.
“Good morning,” she says without turning around.
“Good morning.” My voice is still rough. “I wanted to say thank you. For letting us stay. You didn’t have to do any of this.”
She turns and I get my first real look at her. She’s small, maybe my height, with silver-streaked hair pulled back and the kind of face that’s seen a lot without losing its warmth.
“You’re Zoe’s people,” she says simply, like that explains everything. She reaches into the cabinet for a second mug. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
She pours and slides the mug across the counter. I wrap both hands around it and the heat soaks into my fingers and for a second I just stand there breathing it in.
“Zoe’s your niece,” I say.
“My sister’s girl. She’s been coming here since she was small.” Ameena leans against the counter with her own mug. “You two are friends?”
“She’s the first real friend I’ve made in a long time.”
Ameena nods at that like it tells her more than I meant it to.
“How’s her cluster doing? She doesn’t tell me much. Thinks I’ll worry.”
“They’re good. They’re solid.” I take a sip of coffee. It’s strong and a little bitter and exactly what I need. “Eli’s good for her. They all are.”
“Good. She deserves that.” Ameena’s mouth curves. She looks toward the hallway, toward the closed bedroom door with six men behind it. “Yours doesn’t seem too bad either.”
I feel the heat hit my face immediately. “Oh, they’re not — I mean, it’s new, and I don’t really — it’s complicated.”
“Mmhm.” She’s smiling into her coffee. “Don’t worry about it, dear. They’re already gone for you. Especially the two big ones.”
I open my mouth and nothing useful comes out. I take a drink of coffee instead because it’s easier. I try not to make a face, because right now I miss the way Vaelor’s been making my coffee with cream and sugar.
We sit in silence for a moment and it’s comfortable in a way that makes me think she does this a lot — gives people space to catch up to what she’s already seen.
“Can I ask you something?” she says. “About your mark?”
I look down at my wrist. The gold and red pulse faintly in the morning light.
“I don’t really know much about it,” I say. “It’s new. Yesterday new.”
“Do you know what it gave you?”
I look up at her. “What it gave me?”
“The shift.” She says it like she’s asking about a birthday present. “Do you know what yours is?”
I’m staring at her because she’s talking about this like it’s something I should know, and I’m trying not to look like a complete idiot.
“I don’t — what do you mean, the shift?”
Ameena sets her mug down. She doesn’t look surprised that I don’t know. She looks like she’s trying to figure out how far back to start.
“When the second mark comes in, it brings something with it,” she says.
“A form. An animal, I suppose, though that’s not quite the right word for some of them.
It’s different for every House, every person.
The mark tells you what you are.” She glances toward the hallway.
“And you’re in a cluster, so shifting is pretty much guaranteed for you.
Not everyone’s so lucky. It’s getting rarer these days — most people outside a cluster never shift at all. ”
I’m holding my coffee so tight my knuckles are white.
“Zoe’s a swan,” Ameena says, and the way she says it — with this quiet pride mixed with something that aches — makes it real in a way that nothing else could.
“Dream House. They tend toward birds, gentle things. Her swan is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.
” She pauses. “I’m not one myself. Never got the mark.
Not everyone does, even in the Houses. But Zoe —” She smiles.
“I could watch her shift all day and never get tired of it.”
“A swan,” I repeat, because I’m still catching up.
“Each House has its own types. Dream has their swans and doves. Shadow has panthers, Ravens. They’re more about control. Memory has bears, even whales.” She waves her hand like she’s listing something she’s heard a hundred times. “It’s all tied to the mark.”
I look down at my wrist. The gold and red isn’t gentle. It isn’t soft curves or clean lines. It’s layered and moving and it looks like fire pressed into my skin.
“Do you know what yours is?” Ameena asks again, gently.
“No,” I say. “I don’t even know what House I belong to.”
Ameena looks at my mark for a long moment. I can see her thinking, weighing something she’s not sure she should say.
“I don’t recognize it,” she says finally. “But that doesn’t mean much coming from me. I only know what Zoe’s told me and what I’ve seen with my own eyes.” She picks her mug back up. “Your men might know more.”
My men. I let that one slide because correcting it feels like more energy than I have right now.
I drink my coffee and look out the window at the trees going gold in the early light. My body has a mark that apparently means I’m something. An animal or a form or whatever Ameena called it.
I’m something that doesn’t match any House she’s ever heard of.
Like that’s totally normal.
The bedroom door opens down the hall and I hear movement, someone getting up, the low sound of voices starting. The house is about to fill up and the quiet will be gone and they promised to tell me everything.
I take another sip of coffee and press my thumb against the mark under the counter where Ameena can’t see.
It hums back. Warm and steady and completely unfamiliar.