7
Adair
“Please proceed to the Dining Hall... Please proceed...”
Adair awoke with a jerk, completely and utterly disoriented. The Academy’s intercom blared through the hallway, the whining pre-recorded message sounding flat. How long had he been asleep? The walk back to his room had been caught in snippets in his mind, his body going through the actions. But him? His soul? Barely raised its head at anything that was happening around him.
Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes, listening to the message, his gut tightening with every word. His father hadn’t come back. Scrambling up, he was across the room and flying through his dresser, sifting through clothes in every direction. He grabbed his usual go-to, the black shirt and pants with his button-down jacket. Throwing a hopeless look in the mirror, he stopped. Bruises flowered along his jaw and underneath his eye, his skin paler than usually, his ebony hair stood up in every direction. His eyes—hollow. His empty gaze of indifference reflected at him, but locked down underneath the surface, he was screaming. Ripping his gaze away, he was out of the room before he could register what was happening. His classmates were already flooding the concrete hallways, the curiosity rippling around them in a contagious energy. Classes had been cancelled for the rest of the afternoon, and now this?
Rounding the corner, he glanced out the bay windows. The sun dipped below the horizon, the last rays bleeding into the sky, creating a marvelous display. Beautiful and terrible, he thought as his gaze drifted back to the throng in front of him, that the world displayed most magnificently before the darkness swept in. He pushed faster, his plan forming swiftly. He hadn’t seen his mother since everything that had happened, and he assumed she had already left with Nei. She hated goodbyes, and so did he, which meant no one was looking for the deserter’s son. Which left him at an advantage.
His feet carried him, twisting and turning, the walls blurring. All the classrooms Adair passed were sealed and forgotten about. As if everyone could taste the change before them. Frowning, he slowed his steps, slipping inside the washroom too fast for anyone to notice. Not that anyone was paying attention to him. A ghost amongst the living.
“Shut up.” He stopped as his voice rang out. The washroom was empty, the dimly lit room making it seem like it was already late into the night. He growled, whispering to the voices curling into his mind, “Shut up.” He was already moving as the taunts and accusations of their cruel voices ebbed. But they were never fully gone. Making his way to the end stall, he quickly closed himself inside, securing the lock. Panting, he lowered the lid of the toilet, and standing on top, his hands roaming, searching for the lever. The Academy was an amazing place to grow up in, to see it be built from practically nothing. The one advantage to being a Stratton and living here his whole life was that he knew the secrets hidden amongst them where they were easily overlooked. The lever was small and flush into the stone, but when pressed down hard, the concrete shuddered to life. Bricks dissolved, crumbling into dust as he waited. Soon enough, a small tunnel was revealed, the damp air swirling around him. Grinning wolfishly, he didn’t look back as he climbed into the cramped space. As soon as he passed the threshold, the air shimmered behind him—the movement of the wall becoming whole once more.
The Academy was filled with secret passages designed for his parents and the Faes to have meetings away from prying eyes when they had first formed the school. It wasn’t always praised; it took years for people to be brave enough to utilize what the Faes were offering. He had found out, as he did with most things when it came to his parents, he had to use his wit and patience. They had documents hidden away, maps of the school, which he conveniently found when he was pursuing different books of the cultures of Kiero, which his mother took an interest in.
Adair crawled faster, leaning into the curves and twists of the tunnel, the dust making his nose burn. It had been years since he had used one of the secret passages, trying to keep his habits of disregarding the rules in check. The concrete was freezing underneath his palms, each movement sending shots of pain from his cracked and bruised fingernails.
He should have seen a healer, but in a way, he liked the reminder of what he had faced, each hot flash, each strained movement, reminding him that he was stronger. That at the start of each day he would carry on, bearing his pain like a shield and not a poison that would cripple him. He would not become his father. The light in the tunnel become a dull grey wash as the concrete suddenly sloped down, and he knew he was getting close. Gritting his teeth, he shifted his weight so his legs were extended, his black boots shining in the limited light. Taking a deep breath, he pushed with his hands, gravity taking over. As he dropped, sliding down the makeshift chute, the still air now roaring around him, he clenched his teeth until his jaw ached dully. He had always hated this part. But just as soon as it had started, he slammed to a stop, his ribs cracking from the impact. Dots danced in front of his vision, taunting him to succumb into unconsciousness.
Groaning,
