28. VERENA GRAVENHURST
TWENTY-EIGHT
VERENA GRAVENHURST
My grandfather’s journal weighs heavy in my palm as I make my way through the doors of the academy.
Excitement buzzes through me while I take hurried steps, swerving through the busy hallway towards my lecture, earning a few questioning glances from students passing by.
My raven hair sits in a lopsided, messy bun atop my head, and my attire is equally as dishevelled, with one half of my blouse tucked into my skirt.
I woke up late, having stayed up long into the night searching for the folder.
What was meant to be a quick task ended up taking hours, and when my head finally found my pillow, a pair of annoyingly beautiful cobalt eyes still managed to haunt me, prolonging the sleep I so desperately needed.
It was an effort to get out of bed this morning, even after sleeping past multiple alarms. Honestly, I would have decided not to attend my lecture today at all, had I not found his journal last night.
I’m eager to show it to Reed. Though it isn’t the folder he originally asked for, I’m hoping it will count as some sort of redemption.
Winded, I swing the door to the lecture hall open.
My eyes flicker over the class, and heat rises into my cheeks when I notice I’m a lot later than I thought, and the class has settled, no longer bustling with its usual pre-lecture chatter.
The professor holds his marker just above the whiteboard as if I’d just disrupted his train of thought, and scowls at me.
“Sorry,” I mouth, making my way up the stairs and finding the first empty seat to slide into.
Setting my bag at my feet, I pull my notebook free.
My gaze drifts over the rows of students ahead of me, looking for a familiar head of dirty-blonde hair.
My brows pinch together when I don’t spot him.
He usually tells me when he’ll be missing a lecture, but we haven’t exactly spoken since our argument.
I tell myself it’s nothing, but the unease lingers as I uncap my pen.
Suddenly, someone drops into the seat beside me. I flinch, glancing over. His brown hair is unruly, and a light gray hoodie hangs askew off one shoulder. He looks young, and I don’t recognize him. His posture is rigid, and his eyes are wild, scanning the room.
“Gravenhurst?” he murmurs.
I hesitate, then nod. “Um, yes?” He slides a crumpled piece of paper across my desk.
“You’re late.” Before I can respond, he jumps from his seat and hurries towards the door, descending the steps two at a time. My heart rate picks up, and I wait a long moment for the professor to resume scribbling on the board before I uncrumple the note beneath my desk.
Nothing but a date and a time are scrawled on it.
Basement. 1:30 p.m.
My head whips towards the clock above the door. 1:38 p.m. “Shit,” I mutter beneath my breath, gathering my books and shoving them haphazardly into my satchel. I ignore the professor’s glare as I slip out of the lecture hall.
Anticipation weighs heavy in my chest as I make my way through the basement tunnels, trusting my feet to bring me where I need to go based on luck alone.
Pulling the black robe Reed gifted me after initiation over my clothing, I tuck the journal into the pocket.
I pull the hood up high over my head, the fabric itchy against my skin as I swing the heavy door to the meeting open.
Figures in robes, some with masks, some without, crowd the space.
It’s near silent, save for the soft murmurs wafting through the room.
I thread myself between bodies, heading in the direction everyone is facing, my eyes darting around the room for Reed.
When I make it to the front of the room, my breath catches in my throat. Reed stands on the dais without a mask, leisurely pacing back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back. On the far end of the dais, a man, shirtless, is on his knees between two members, his head hung low.
Someone to the right suddenly bumps into my shoulder, launching me sideways into the member next to me with an umph. They hardly budge, as if I’m nothing but a fly. I peer up at the mountain I’ve just collided with, and a set of emerald eyes stares back at me.
“Right on time,” Jenkins says, with a wickedly smug look on his face. He cradles his bandaged hand against his chest, and I’m shocked he’s even here at all after what happened.
It takes me a second to form words, debating if I should even speak to him at all after his cruelty towards me. “What’s going on?” I swallow the bile snaking up my throat.
“You’re about to find out,” he says, grinning.
“The Hollow Iris Society is built on loyalty and trust.” Reed’s voice rumbles through the room, and the murmurs quiet down.
“This society has existed for decades because no one outside these walls knows it exists. Not classmates, not professors, and especially not lovers.” His gaze drops to the member on his knees before him.
Whispers ripple through the room and are quickly hushed.
“Tonight,” he says, voice eerily calm. “One person decided that their need to confess, to be honest, mattered more than the safety of everyone standing here.” Reed paused, his hands flexing at his sides.
His gaze hesitantly breaks from the man, and his eyes sweep the swarm of members deliberately, as if counting them.
As if searching for someone. I make myself scarce.
“Silence is not optional. It’s mandatory.
” His features harden, but a soft smile cracks at the corner of his lips.
“Take this as a lesson, all of you, that actions reap consequences.”
Reed spins on his heel and drives his fist into the member’s cheekbone.
A loud crack sounds throughout the room.
The member falls to the ground just as Reed’s fist drives into him again.
A loud commotion ripples through the crowd, and I’m shoved backwards.
My heart hammers in my ears, confusion and concern wound so tight within me I might burst. The seconds feel like molasses, sticky and slow, trapping me here.
Speckles of blood burst into the air, coating Reed’s cheeks like freckles, and dousing his knuckles in a deep crimson.
His eyes are wild and furious. He’s maskless and no longer hiding behind the facade of a wolf.
This time, it’s just Reed, and he’s almost as unrecognizable to me as the face of his victim.
I clutch the journal harder, suddenly feeling protective of it.
Sometimes, bad people wear masks to hide their true selves from the good they take advantage of.
Mauve’s voice rings in my ears as I slowly, speechlessly, back away into the small crowd.
Between the gaps of the people, I watch Reed stand up and scour the members, searching.
I turn and slip out the door without him or anyone noticing, gripping the journal like a lifeline.