Avery
Hours crawl by like they’re trying to torture me as Alessandra and I sit in the living room of our suite, the space too big without Callie’s sharp presence.
She’s claimed one end of the couch, her waves cascading over a throw pillow, while I’ve curled up on the opposite end with a book I’m not actually reading.
“I don’t understand why she didn’t talk to me,” she says as she examines her manicured nails, but there’s a tremor in her voice that betrays her casual pose. “We tell each other everything. At least, we used to.”
I make a small noise of acknowledgment, turning a page I haven’t read.
“She was spending so much time with Logan.” Alessandra sighs, but there’s a hint of satisfaction underneath the worry. “I really thought they might be getting somewhere. But...”
She trails off, pressing her palm flat against her chest in that gesture she’s been making since Callie vanished.
“But what?” I prompt, because she clearly needs to talk about this, and listening’s what I do. It’s what I’ve always done.
“She was so secretive about what they’ve been doing together, but when I asked what they talked about, she said it wasn’t important and changed the subject. And she’s looked so tired lately. I asked if she was feeling okay, and she snapped at me. Callie never snaps at me.”
The worry in her voice is genuine, stripped of its usual performance. I recognize it because I’ve felt it myself—the creeping sense that something’s wrong with someone you love, but you can’t figure out what.
Also, she’s speaking about Callie in past tense, just like I’ve been doing with Oliver.
“She was anxious about the Descent, right?” I ask, referring to the trial all third-years take at the end of the year, where we face our biggest fear alongside our emberlinked partner. “It’s a bit far out to worry about it, but Callie always thinks ahead.”
“Maybe.” Alessandra glances at Callie’s closed door, then back at me. “I kept telling myself that once things settled down with Logan, she’d be back to normal. You know how she gets about him.”
I do know. Everyone knows.
She studies me for a moment, her warm brown eyes going soft in a way that makes me want to look away. “How are you holding up?” she asks. “You barely touched your dinner.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“You need to eat. I know things are hard with Oliver missing, but you need to take care of yourself.”
“I’m fine.” The lie comes out smooth and practiced. “Just tired.”
Alessandra doesn’t push. I’ve always appreciated that about her. For all her scheming and social manipulation, she knows when to step back.
“Well, I should try to get some sleep. Lord knows I need it.” She rises from the couch, stretching with the grace of someone who’s taken dance lessons since childhood. “These dark circles are becoming a permanent fixture on my face.”
She does look exhausted. It’s the kind of bone-deep tired that not even expensive concealer can hide.
We say goodnight, the door clicks shut, and finally, I’m alone.
The clock on the wall ticks. Each minute feels like an eternity.
I try reading my book, but the words blur together. I try to review notes for Flame & Dominion, but my brain refuses to focus. So, I end up just sitting here, watching the ticking hands, which feel like they’re moving slower and slower.
At a quarter to two, I stand up, grab my jacket, and check my reflection in the small mirror on the wall.
I look pale and nervous, like someone about to do something monumentally stupid.
Meaning: I look exactly how I feel.
Holding my breath, I ease open the door to our suite, wincing at the soft creak of the hinges. The hallway beyond is dark, lit only by the glow of spelled torches turned down to their nighttime setting.
I slip out and pull the door closed behind me.
The common room of Hydra Hall is mostly empty at this hour, but a few people are clustered around the Shatterglass Basin, talking in hushed voices. The obsidian pool glows with its mirror-like fire, casting shifting shadows across the walls.
I keep my head down and move to the main exit, hoping to slip past unnoticed.
“Avery?”
I freeze and turn to find Tyler Brennan sprawled across one of the armchairs near the Basin, his long legs hanging over the armrest like furniture is just a suggestion. His sandy hair is more disheveled than usual, and there’s a half-empty glass of amber liquid balanced on the chair’s arm.
His emberlinked partner died in the hellhound attack, I remind myself. Deacon Park.
Pain twists in my stomach at the sight of him.
Tyler Brennan has always been the guy who floats through life without a care, the one who shows up late to everything and gets away with it.
But sitting here in the dark with that glass in his hand, staring at flame-visions he probably doesn’t want to see, he looks...
smaller. Like grief has given him a grim layer of dirt that won’t wash off.
He sits up slightly, squinting at me in the dim light. “Where are you headed? It’s like...” He glances at the clock and blinks. “Wow. It’s really late, yeah?”
My mind races. Tyler’s not sharp. Tyler doesn’t overthink things.
But Tyler also lost half of himself the same way I did.
“The Worship Center.” The lie tumbles out before I can think it through. “I couldn’t sleep, and I thought praying might help.” I drop my gaze to the floor, letting my grief bleed through before looking back up at him. “For Oliver.”
His expression shifts into real understanding, the kind that only comes from shared pain.
“Yeah,” he says, quieter now, without his usual easy confidence. “I get that. I’ve been...” He gestures at the glass, at the Basin with its unsettling visions, and at the late hour. “You know.”
I do know. That’s the worst part.
“I’m sorry about Deacon,” I say.
His mouth presses into a thin line, and for a moment, I think he might crack. But then he runs a hand through his hair and forces an echo of his usual easy smile.
“It’s weird, right? Everyone keeps saying they’re sorry, and I keep saying thanks, and none of it means anything.” He pauses. “You probably get that, too.”
“I do.”
The silence between us feels heavier than it would have a month ago.
Tyler was always Oliver’s friend—not mine.
He was the popular one who took me to the Halloween Ball because Oliver asked him to, who coordinated costumes and tried to make me laugh while I was hiding my heartache about seeing Oliver with Jade.
Now we’re both just... broken.
“The Worship Center’s nice at night,” he says. “I went there a few times after...” He doesn’t finish the sentence. “Anyway, be careful out there, okay?”
“I will.” I’m already backing toward the door, guilt churning in my stomach. Because Tyler’s being kind, trying to connect with me, and I’m lying to his face. “Thanks.”
“It’s all good.” He reaches for his glass, then pauses. “Hey, Avery?”
I stop with my hand on the door.
“If you ever want to just... sit and not talk about it?” He shrugs one shoulder. “I’m around.”
The offer is genuine, and that’s what gets me. Tyler Brennan, who’s never taken anything seriously in his life, is offering me comfort.
“I appreciate that,” I manage around the lump in my throat. “Really.”
Then I’m through the door and out into the covered walkway, guilt and grief warring in my chest.
The night air is cold and damp, carrying the salt smell of the sea. I pull my jacket tighter and hurry to the Worship Center, just in case someone’s watching.
Slowing my pace as I approach, I glance around to check for anyone… or for Helen’s meddling orbs. Neither of them are out here.
As always, the main doors of the Worship Center are unlocked. Hecate doesn’t keep hours.
I slip inside and pause in the central chamber, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. Three hallways branch off from here, each leading to a different aspect of the goddess. The Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone.
I don’t go down any of them.
Instead, I count to thirty, listening for footsteps, voices, or any other sign that I was followed. When I hear nothing but silence, I turn and slip out through a side door.
It leads to the garden, then out to a narrow path winding to the cliffs… which lead to the Drowned Tower.