Ophelia #2
Every table has a glass screen built into its centre, the ordering system for meals. I scroll through the menu and place my order, Octavia does the same.
Minutes later, a member of staff delivers our trays, mine, an acaí bowl crowned with berries and a cappuccino made with coconut milk, hers, another bowl, piled with different fruit and granola, alongside a black coffee.
Black as sin, without sugar or milk. She insists anything else is sacrilege.
I take one sip of the cappuccino and nearly grimace. It’s dreadful, but I need it badly enough that it will have to do.
I have a proper machine in my dorm, imported from Florence, and it makes the kind of coffee worth living for.
Perhaps I am a touch obsessive about it, Octavia calls it an addiction, but at least it isn’t drugs, so she can hardly complain.
She studies my breakfast, then lifts her gaze to me, one brow arched. “Go on. Eat,” she says.
I roll my eyes but don’t argue. “You might consider doing the same,” I murmur.
She only lifts her cup, taking a slow sip of coffee. When she sets it down again, her plate remains untouched. Her eyes stay on me instead, assessing, as though weighing something unspoken. Neither of us is certain what we’ll find.
I take another spoonful of the acaí bowl, let the sweetness linger, and level my gaze at my sister.
“What day is it?”
Octavia snorts, rolling her eyes. “You’ve got a phone. It tells you the date. You’ve lost two years of memory, not woken up in the bloody eighteenth century.”
“I’m aware,” I snap, though without much heat. “But when I woke this morning, I was rather more concerned with blood pouring from my forehead than checking the calendar.”
“Alright, point taken.” She lifts a hand in mock surrender. “It’s the thirtieth of August.”
I nod slowly, turning it over. Two days before term begins. Which means— “We’re starting our third year.” It comes out sounding more like a question than a statement.
“That’s correct.”
“Start talking. I need to understand. I know we were at Velmark Academy yesterday, the five of us, but why? What possessed us to go to that party of all places?”
Her jaw clenches. “Because Adelaide insisted. Don’t ask me why. She dragged us into something that wasn’t ours, and I’ll never forgive her for it.”
“Dragged us?” The words feel heavy.
“It doesn’t matter. You’ve bigger things to worry about. Just know this, she isn’t who we thought she was, not if she could betray us that easily.”
I stare at her. “So Adelaide is the reason I’ve lost two years of memory and woke up covered in blood.
Brilliant.” My voice is dry, bordering on sarcasm, but I let it drop.
My sister is right, the reason we went doesn’t matter nearly as much as what happened afterwards.
“What else went wrong, aside from actually stepping onto enemy soil?”
She exhales hard, rolling her eyes at my phrasing. “I can’t answer that. We got separated, every one of us. Piper stepped outside for air, Eleanor vanished soon after, Adelaide disappeared without a word, and I—” She cuts herself off abruptly.
“You what?”
“Nothing,” she replies, far too quickly.
I arch a brow at her.
“I only went to the bathroom, and when I came back you weren’t there. I assumed you were lost somewhere in the crowd.”
I don’t believe her. She’s holding something back, though it probably has little to do with how I ended up like this.
“Fine. I’ll make it simple.” Her tone hardens. “We walked in like lambs to slaughter, straight into Adelaide’s little scheme. We split up, and that was the mistake. We were meant to leave afterwards, meet at the house near London, and return to Elaris this morning. Together.”
Her voice hardens further. “When I tried to leave, I searched for you everywhere. None of you answered my calls. I took a cab to the house, it was empty. I didn’t even try to sleep, too worried about you.
So I caught the ferry back here, and that’s how I found you in your dorm, bleeding.
How you got from the party to here, I’ve no idea. ”
My throat tightens. “What about Piper? Eleanor? Adelaide—”
“Don’t say her name.”
I roll my eyes this time. “She’s still our friend.”
“Debatable.” Octavia’s reply is brisk. “But if you really must know, she’s here. I saw her this morning. Piper too. They’re both fine, certainly not in the state I found you in.”
Relief flickers before dread takes its place. “And Eleanor?”
Octavia’s mouth tightens. “I don’t know. I tried calling, her phone’s off. No posts on her socials either.”
Concern constricts my chest. “We need to find her.”
“I already spoke to her family.” Her voice drops lower. “They said she’s with them, that she’s safe. But she won’t be back for some time.”
“What do you mean, some time?”
Octavia’s gaze flicks away. “You know Eleanor. Disappearing is her speciality.”
I do know. She vanishes without warning, without explanation. But when Octavia says family, unease coils in my stomach. I never trusted them, though I could never put words to why. Still, they are her blood. And I can only hope she’s safe.
“Maybe we should check for ourselves,” I say quietly. “Just to be sure.”
“And how exactly do you propose we do that? Involve Father? That would go well.”
My shoulders sink. She’s right.
“What else do you know?”
Octavia hesitates, I catch tension flickering in her eyes.
“It isn’t public knowledge,” she says after a long silence. Her voice is low. “But a boy was found dead at that party. Killed.”
The words cut through me. My vision pitches, black creeping at the edges as a sharp pain detonates behind my eyes.
I grip the table to steady myself, but the world tilts regardless, threatening to give way beneath me.