Thornhaven Academy.
My stomach twists. "Don’t I have a choice?"
Logan’s lips tighten; his grim expression is my only answer.
I’m sure the man can’t be so openly negative toward the people who have helped him save , but it doesn’t stop the urge I have to kick at the glass panels keeping captive in this treatnt room.
"Why would they enroll anywhere?" Switching the subject, I probe as best as I can. It isn’t like Logan can’t say anything; there will be lines of communication that are open and unaffected by his magical contract.
"Control," he says simply. "You’re a magic-user without any official magical instruction. I’m sure it will be weird to attend classes with people much younger than you, but there are always a few of you around. You’d be surprised how many people fly under the radar with their level of magical amplitude."
Going to go out on a limb and guess that they aren’t usually Catalysts, though.
Logan must be able to read my thoughts on my face, because his lip quirks. "Maybe they’ll give you private lessons. It would be less embarrassing, I’m sure."
The thought of being forced into magical school makes my skin crawl. I push myself up from the bed, needing to move. The IV line catches, limiting my range.
Without a word, Logan unplugs the IV pole from its socket in the wall so I can wheel it along to follow my restless steps as I pace. The room isn’t large, but my body’s too filled with anxiety to let sit around much longer.
"Am I safe here?"
Logan’s jaw tightens. He chooses each word with careful precision, each syllable clearly enunciated. "This is your safest option at the mont."
The calculated response only solidifies my uneasy feelings toward this place. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to contain the trembling that threatens to overtake .
"I feel like a pawn instead of a person." The words co out barely above a whisper. "Just another piece to move around on a board I can’t see."
Logan’s silence fills the room. The steady beep of monitors marks the passing seconds until he finally speaks.
"I’m sorry." The raw pain in his voice matches the ache in my chest. "I couldn’t find you on my own."
Logan steps forward and wraps his arms around . I lean into his embrace, breathing in his familiar scent.
"You know what’s funny? A few weeks ago, I thought being questioned for murder was rock bottom." A bitter laugh escapes my throat. "Now I almost miss those simpler days."
His arms tighten around . "It won’t always feel this way. Once we get you out of here, I’ll make sure you’re comfortable."
The promise in his voice sounds genuine, but it’s hard to believe him. Not because I doubt his intent, but because I can’t trust this power he’s allied with. I pull back, needing to change the subject before my thoughts spiral further down that dark path.
"About Thornhaven. You guys all act like I’m completely ignorant about magic, but I’ve worked with it for years. Anti-magic security isn’t exactly finger painting."
Logan’s expression shifts to sothing more guarded. "Understanding simple theories used in wardstones isn’t the sa as learning how to use it." His tone suggests he’s quoting soone else. "Or so I’ve been told." Yep, definitely quoting.
"Those ’simple theories’ kept a lot of people safe."
He holds up his hands imdiately. "I don’t know the precise details. That’s not part of my wheelhouse."
But what he’s saying doesn’t really sound wrong, either. I’m just being prickly.
A soft whoosh startles us both as the glass door slides open. I jump, my heart leaping into my throat. The man from earlier steps inside—the one who argued with Logan about containing . His presence is oppressive, like it’s sohow pushing down on the magic inside of .
Logan’s body goes rigid beside . His fingers dig into my hip, and the tension radiating from him sets my nerves on edge. His reaction is hardly surprising, considering that they don’t seem to get along.
The man’s expensive suit looks out of place against the clinical backdrop. His ash-blond hair catches the fluorescent lights, creating an ethereal halo effect, despite giving off serial killer vibes. There’s nothing angelic about his gray eyes as they sweep over .
"Ms. d’Armand." His voice is high and snobby, like I rember, carrying the crisp authority of soone used to being obeyed. "I trust you’re feeling more stable now?"
The way he emphasizes ’stable’ makes my skin crawl. Like I’m so volatile substance that needs to be contained.
Though, considering...
Okay. I get it. I might not like it, but I get it.
"I haven’t blown anything up, if that’s what you’re asking." My words aren’t respectful at all, but it’s kind of hard to be when you know your whatever-the-hell-we-are is not on friendly terms with the man.
So I’ve called him my mate a few tis... but we haven’t exactly made things official-official. And with this whole being able to explode thing, it’s kind of important to determine how he feels about being mated to a literal bomb...
My runaway thoughts co to a screeching halt as the stranger continues to stare at , as if he knows what I’m thinking.
His thin lips curve into what might pass for a smile on a statue. "Charming. Though perhaps not the most diplomatic response, given your current situation."
Logan’s grip tightens further. Through gritted teeth, he says, "She’s still recovering, but doing well."
"Hmm." His response sounds rather dismissive.
My fingers curl into fists at my sides, but I’m proud of myself for keeping my heart rate normal despite my irritation. "Who are you?"
"Forgive my manners." He doesn’t sound sorry at all. "I am Chancellor Richard Vale of the Security Council. And you, my dear, are quite the conundrum."
Chancellor. Why is everyone a Chancellor? This seems like an important detail.
More importantly, he seems to hold the kind of power that can make my life miserable. I need to tone down my sassy responses if I want a comfortable life; soone who can shove Logan into a wall shouldn’t be underestimated.
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