Page 9 of Hero of Havoc

I make it halfway before I give in, burning the straps holding my heels in place and kicking them off. I’m irritated at the world; I don’t need to add the heels to the list too.

Instead, I opt to walk barefoot on the grass that edges the path as I trudge toward the arena. Hatred is thick on my tongue, and my thoughts are just as scattered as earlier. I can't figure out exactly who I'm angry with. All of them, really, but I need someone to pull it out of me, to channel all of my frustrations until it’s out of my system.

I'm not the one who did anything wrong, but I’m the one who carries the consequences of their actions, and I don't imagine they'll feel any differently for it.

Refusing to let defeat win, I straighten my spine, and all too quickly, the arena comes into view. My steps slow as surprise takes over at the sight of familiar faces heading inside.

It seems I can call a meeting, but instead of feeling impressed by the fact that I have, I'm instantly riddled with more tension.

Despair threatens to drown me as I reach for the door.

I hoped I would have time to plan what it is I wanted to say and achieve in here, but it's impossible with so much stuff racing around in my head.

Footsteps sound from behind me, and I'm quickly enveloped in a familiar scent, one that soothes and pains me all at once as Archer steps into view, leaning around me to grab the door handle. He opens it wide for me to enter, my name on his tongue.

“Ivy,” he breathes, and I ignore him, stepping inside without a backward glance, and to my surprise, it seems he knows well enough to give me some distance.

Entering the same room we used last time, I hover at the doorway for a moment, spotting Silas, along with Francesca, Odesa, and Bonnie, as well as a few professors who are already here.

Professor Carbon gives me a pointed look as she sits across the room, her eyelids heavy with tiredness.

Before doubt steals my breath, I inch a little deeper into the room, offsetting my hated mates, who slip through the open space to my left to find their usual seats.

There’s an open spot waiting for me, but I’m thankful for the reprieve. My pulse was quickening at their proximity, and I don’t need them messing with my center of gravity any more than they already have. I don’t turn to give them any attention, but I feel their presence shift, and in that moment, I make the decision to ignore my usual spot, draping myself in confidence as I stride down the middle of the U-shaped table to perch myself dead center, where Viola would usually sit.

I can sense everyone looking at me, but I don't care. Worry, anger, disgust; it’s all projected in my direction, but none of it matters.

I'm more shocked that everyone keeps their mouth shut, seemingly intent on letting Viola handle my rebelliousness, and as luck would have it, she's the last to step into the room, a foot behind my brother.

Her face is expressionless as she stares at me. Her brown hair is pulled back into a soft ponytail, and she's in the same outfit she wore earlier, which suggests she’s been just as busy as I have and hasn't been able to relax. However, what we've been up to, I assume, is far different.

“Take a seat, Ivy,” she states, and I shrug, swinging my legs carelessly, despite the seriousness of the situation.

“I’m good where I am,” I confirm, and she shakes her head.

“This isn't how meetings are called. There are protocols in place,” she declares calmly as my tongue drags along my bottom lip.

“And do those protocols stipulate how you handle knowing someone's magical ability before they do?” I retort, and for the first time, not a single drop of guilt flashes in anyone's eyes as I call them out for their betrayal. “I’m going to take your silence as a no,” I declare, silently irritated by the fact that there's no remorse in her eyes.

She clears her throat, a sense of agitation that threatens to rival mine thickening the air. “There are many things in this world, Ivy, that⁠—”

“I don't give a fuck about the rest of the world,” I interject.

“Ivy,” Hugo warns, and I shake my head, but before I can utter a single word, the sound of a fist slamming against the table vibrates through the room, and Francesca rises from her seat.

“Is this some hissy fit, or⁠—”

“If you don't have anything constructive to say, shut your mouth before I burn this whole fucking room to the ground,” I snarl, seemingly intent on listening to no one tonight as Francesca sneers, unable to lift her head due to Teddy's magic that still lingers over her, Odesa, and Bonnie.

I half wish it would lift so I can look her in the eyes as I threaten her, but there's something obnoxiously gratifying about her having to keep her head dipped, something that I let linger in the deepest, darkest, petty parts of my brain, and it brings a smile to my lips.

“I’m a Fire Protector,” she hisses, chest heaving with every sharp inhale. “I⁠—”

“It doesn't matter,” Archer interrupts, making my eyes widen and my attention snap to him before I can stop, but I startle the second my gaze latches on to his hands. His burnt hands. My mind wars with my heart as he proceeds, shaking his head with his jaw tight. “Her flame was something else entirely. Or it was back there, in the bathroom, at least,” he reiterates, and it's me who feels the tendrils of guilt flooding me, twisting in my stomach as whispers swirl around the room.

Slowly, he stands, taking his sweet-ass time walking around the table to enter the U, bypassing Viola without a backward glance, until he's before me.

Clearing my throat, I lace my fingers together. “If you want me to heal them⁠—”