Shaking his head, Adair pushed the strange boy out of his mind. He had more important things to focus on. Soaking in his final moments of peace, Adair hungrily watched as the soft hues formed into a beautiful array of fiery brilliance. The sun rose higher in the sky bathing his skin, flushing his cheeks and his vision. Lingering, he could pretend the world was on fire.
Find us, Adair.
His eyes flew open. Breathing hard, he twisted off the ledge, his heart caught in his throat. The whisper felt like someone breathing down his back. His skin prickled at the thought. Swallowing hard, he walked back up to the Academy, thinking about the day of classes ahead.
Don’t you want more?
Stalling, he curled his fingers into his palms, his broken nails sending lacing pain up his arm. Looking behind him, he knew there was no one there. But why did he feel like he was being watched? Adrenaline surged through him, and Adair murmured under his breath, “Don’t be ridiculous, Stratton. Keep moving.” One foot in front of the other. The cool morning air brushed past him, and it took all of Adair’s control not to run up the sloping hill. He ran a hand through his unruly, inky hair, trying not to focus on his trembling fingers.
Accept the darkness inside of you.
Adair came to a full stop, his limbs taut. The world was still, yet he couldn’t shake the oppressive feeling of hopelessness colliding within him. Like he was running right into the pit of fire himself, and his course couldn’t be changed. Which he knew was ridiculous. It had been just a nightmare, bleeding into his reality. He was hurt, tired, and overwhelmed. This was just his imagination dealing with his stress. And he would not let it control him.
Hissing through his teeth, he continued the climb back up to the school, icy whispers chasing his heels the entire way.
“I am sure you are all aware of our visitors by this point, but I’m afraid the world must go on.” The class’s whispers only increased, and growling, Professor Jett clapped his hands together, his booming voice encasing them all. “Enough.” Sparks danced from his palms and the class was instantly quiet, looking at their teacher with wide eyes. Adair felt the corner of his mouth pull up in a lazy smile, and lowering his hands, Professor Jett continued. “Now, who wants to tell me the magical properties of these two items?” Adair wanted to roll his eyes. Really, going to class was a waste of his time. “No one?”
Professor Jett raised a silver eyebrow at them all, and sighing, Adair murmured, “Combined, they make the perfect gas to knock out your enemy and in large doses, an army.”
“I didn’t see a hand, Stratton.”
Locking eyes with the older man, Adair slowly raised his pale hand drawling, “The chemical reaction between the gabnite and the slinte once weathered will create the perfect destructive gas.”
He nodded brusquely. “Yes, thank you, Adair,”
Professor Jett flicked his eyes away quickly and, not missing a beat, pushed on about the different kinds of gems, rocks, and minerals that could be mined to find other lethal combinations. Professor Jett was one of the only teachers who had the nerve to look him in the eye, but only barely. Clenching his jaw, he told himself for the millionth time in his life that it wasn’t his fault he was born into the family he was. That he was different.
Sighing, he shifted his gaze to the opposite wall where a smooth slate of frosted glass hung. Deep within the ice, smoke sprawled and swirled, shifting and ticking, wispy tendrils marking how long was left of the class. And when he would meet his father. His skin crawled, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. He had nothing to fear, it was his dad.
What happened last time he demanded a meeting?
His spine stiffened as he gazed forward, not focusing on anything but still pulled into his memory. Cesan had left a note, crisp and identical to the one he received last night. When Adair had met with him, he had two seconds to process what had happened. The door had clicked. He had looked up to his dad, hopeful and curious. Then his world exploded into white, lacing pain and his father’s anger.
“You are above this, Adair, above them!”
He remembered vaguely the note floating down to the floor, drifting as light as a feather. He had clutched his cheek, desperately trying to stop the wobble in his lips as his father had whispered in a deadly quiet tone, “You do not need friends. You don’t need anyone, Adair, except your family. The more you open your heart, the more people will find a reason to shatter it and bind you to that pain. You are not weak, you are a Stratton, and you will not bow. Not to anyone.”
He had run out of the room, tears spilling fluidly. He hadn’t talked to his father alone since then. No one else knew what their private talks entailed. No one except the school healer, who had covered up Adair’s split, bruised, and bloodied skin without question on various accounts. A deep tolling vibrated throughout the room and Adair jumped back into the present moment. His chair squeaked underneath him. The smoke in the ice showed that it was twelve and class was over. His classmates were oblivious to his unease, and their relief and chatter overtook everything as they relished in their new freedom. Chairs squealed, books and pages ruffling as everyone else started to file out, Professor Jett yelling over them. “Now remember to read chapters twelve through fourteen!
