Page 4

“Do you plan on killing me after I do?” I ask, only half joking. I’ve pissed her off enough by simply existing that I wouldn’t put it past her.

She scoffs, the sound catching in the back of her throat, clearly not amused. “I wouldn’t waste my time on a Stone⁠—”

“Yes, wouldn’t want to sully yourself, hmm?” I sign while her glare deepens. That look is nothing new, and, frankly, compared to Mr. Peters’s, it’s not that intimidating. Besides, I vowed to find Addy before I died, and I’ll be damned if I survived the horrors of Mr. Peters to let this annoying lady or the Goddess Trial get the best of me.

I drag my finger over the screen, and magic shocks me, a static electric tingle on my finger as I finish the E. I jolt at the rush of warmth wrapping around my wrist. Another mage bargain settles underneath my skin, right beside my first, invisible to the rest of the world, but a shackle nonetheless.

I won’t be leaving Diremount until I pass the Goddess Trial or die.

The woman yanks the tablet back and waves her hand toward the doors to the auditorium, dismissing me. “Next!”

“Lovely to meet you too,” I mutter to myself, stepping aside and staring at my finger and wrist. There are no marks, but I swear I’ve been branded. Unlike Mr. Peters’s binding, which is muted, this one settles into my marrow, not outwardly identifiable, but so visceral I can feel it buzzing beneath the surface.

“Guess we’re stuck now.” A heavy sigh follows those words.

I glance at the owner of the voice, a girl about my age leaving the registration table she was just at. She gives me a wry grin. Her amber eyes have a faint golden glow, and she tips her head, coiled curls spilling over her shoulder. She sniffs. “I can smell the Foundation Blood already.” Lines appear on either side of her nose as she scrunches it. Bunny lines, I think they’re called.

Images of Addy doing the same thing flit through my mind, and I almost trip over my own feet. The rush of memories is so surprising, I can’t find my voice to reply to the girl. I don’t remember most of my childhood. There are big, gaping holes, like someone carved out pieces of my mind, but suddenly, I can vividly recall the way Addy used to wrinkle her nose when she thought something was funny or when she was talking about something that bothered her.

This girl is clearly not my twin—she’s a shifter, I’m a mage. Her skin is reddish-brown, mine is light beige, but goddess, I can’t help wishing she were Addy. My chest aches. I grasp the necklace, playing with it as I take a breath to steady myself. My memory might be shit, but my body remembers having my twin at my side, and I would give anything to see her again.

“Are you okay?” the girl asks, studying me with faint lines etched across her forehead. “I heard that lady being an asshole to you.”

“Uh, yeah.” I clear my throat. “Sorry, I thought I recognized someone. So many paranormals in one place.” The memories of Addy threaten to flee, and I grab on to them with all my might, hoarding them like a starved animal. I’d give anything to remember my life.

“There are a lot of people,” she murmurs, gaze dropping to my thigh holsters and weapons. She doesn’t have any. I don’t know if that’s because she truly doesn’t need them, or if she's woefully unprepared.

Respect ripples over her features, and her eyes lift. “Well, at least you’re ready for this.”

“Move it!” some guy grumbles, pushing by us, hurrying to get in line to wait like the rest of us.

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t waste her time responding to him. “I’m Evereth Calloway, by the way, but you can call me Ever,” she says as we start toward the line that’s forming at the doors to the auditorium. The two of us are forced closer as more students pile into the corridor. Our shoulders bump.

I step back. She may remind me of Addy, but she’s not my twin. I don’t know her, and while she hasn’t done anything wrong, years of living with Mr. Peters has suspicion swimming in my gut. I don’t know what she wants, but I should keep my distance. The only person I can trust in a place like this is myself.

“Sorry,” she says, nose wrinkling again. “So, where are you from?”

I don’t know if it’s the reminder of my twin or something else, but I find myself softening despite the wariness swimming in my gut. “Ohio.” A second passes, and I quickly fill it with the question I should have asked when I answered her. “What about you?”

Who knew small talk would be the death of me?

“I’m from Virginia.” She grins, something that comes easily to her apparently. “What’s your name?”

Before I can answer, the sound of a deep baritone voice makes her head swivel away from me. A group of guys stand together near the door where students are being led into an auditorium. They’re obviously not Ferals with the way they lord over the rest of us, as if personally determining our worth. They’re taller than most of the students in line, each stacked with muscle as well. Strong. Objectively hot. Well-groomed and reeking of money and Foundation blood.

“Shit. That’s Rowan. He’s legendary in the shifter community.” Admiration accents her words. She watches him for a moment before turning back to me. “Where were we?”

“Names. I’m Raina.”

“Mind if I just call you Ray?” She drapes her arm over my shoulder. I stiffen, and she pulls away immediately. “So sorry. Wolves love touch, and sometimes I forget not everyone else does.”

“No worries.” It’s not her fault casual intimacy makes my skin crawl. Every touch I’ve felt over the last twelve years has been laced with pain. I pointedly look at the group of guys again to keep her distracted. “Okay, tell me about those three?”

She leans closer to whisper conspiratorially with me as the line slowly moves toward them. “Second-year Foundations. Like Foundation, Foundation. Descendants from the original ruling council families. All of them are incredibly powerful, not to mention, they’re bonded—well, those three and another guy are bonded, but trust me, you want to be on their good side.”

We edge closer and I study them. The guys scan the line of students with set jaws and hard stares. A couple of people cringe away from them, while most of the girls in line fix their hair or shoot them coy looks. The vinculum trade mild looks of amusement. They might be handsome, but they look like every other entitled Foundation I’ve ever encountered.

At least I’ll feel right at home. I turn to Ever as the line moves. “So, long story short, they’re a big deal and everyone kisses their asses?”