The Day of Judgment

Tessa

"—honestly surprised something didn't finish her off last night."

I keep walking.

Tray in hand, eyes forward, the kitchen door twenty feet away. I've done this long enough to know that responding before the third comment is what they want. I make them wait.

"Hey." A hand grabs my sleeve. The tray tilts. I catch it. "I'm talking to you."

I stop.

Mira Ellsworth is standing in the middle of the hall with two girls behind her and that particular look on her face — the one that means she's already decided how this ends and just needs me to play my part.

I've been spacing out all morning. The dream — or whatever it was — keeps cutting in at the edges. Red eyes in a mirror. A shape in the dark. A voice that didn't come from anyone's mouth.

Silver, I'd thought, right before everything went black.

I only know one wolf with eyes like that.

I shake it off.

"I have dishes to return," I say.

"They can wait." Mira smiles. "You look awful, by the way."

"Thanks. Are we done?"

"Your father must have looked at your mother the same way." Her head tilts. "Like something he dragged in. Like something that didn't quite belong." The smile sharpens. "I mean. What kind of woman does that make her? Spreading herself out for a wolf like she was—"

I put the tray down.

Not dropping it. Setting it. Deliberately, on the nearest table, and turning around to face her properly for the first time.

"Keep going," I say.

Mira blinks.

I don't remember my father. I was too small — I have fragments, maybe his voice, maybe I made that up. But my mother's face I have. Just enough of it. Just the shape of it in the back of my memory, soft at the edges the way old things get.

That's mine. That's not hers.

"Keep going," I say again, quiet. "Say it. Out loud. In front of everyone."

The hall has gone very still.

Mira's smile has slipped somewhere it can't quite find its way back from.

"You actually think you matter here." Her voice has an edge now, covering for the uncertainty. "You think because Alaric lets you sleep in our halls and carry our dishes—"

"Mira."

She stops.

I turn.

Eli's leaning against the pillar at the edge of the hall, arms folded, watching the whole thing with those easy green eyes. He pushes off the pillar and walks over — not rushing, not performing — and stops beside me.

"You good?" Low. Just for me.

"Fine."

He looks at Mira. "She's fine. You can go."

"She's a servant—"

"She's a person." Simple. Unbothered. "And you're blocking the hall."

Mira looks between us. Her jaw tightens. One more look at me — this isn't over — and then she leaves, her girls trailing behind her.

The crowd dissolves. I become aware of three things at once — Levana is nowhere, the tray is still on the wrong table, and at the far end of the hall Knox is watching.

He's leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. Landon and Caius on either side of him. His expression is doing nothing — not interested, not engaged — just watching like I'm a mildly irritating thing he hasn't decided to address yet.

He disgusts me.

He sits there like the room arranged itself around him and all he had to do was show up, and everyone treats that like it's true, like his existence is something to organise themselves around. Like his being here is automatically the most important thing happening.

I look away first and I hate myself for it.

Eli finds me two floors below the library at half eight. The storage room. Our usual spot. He slips through the door and before I can open my mouth his hands are on either side of my face and he's kissing me.

I like Eli. I do. I like that he exists in my life — the way he shows up, the way he said she's a person today like it cost him nothing, the way being around him feels easy in a way that most things don't.

The kissing though.

It's not him. It's never been him. It's just — I don't know, something about it, the closeness of it, that I've never been able to get past no matter how much I want to.

I try to stay in the room. My brain gives me red eyes in a mirror instead.

He deepens the kiss. I keep my mouth closed and he makes a soft sound and his fingers slide to my jaw, tilting it, a little firmer than necessary—

I gasp and he takes the gap and I think don't think about it, don't think about how you're literally—

I pull back.

"Hey." He searches my face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just—" I shake my head. "I need to tell you something. Last night — there was this dream, or I think it was a dream, there were these eyes and the mark and—"

The horn sounds.

Long. Low. Resonating through the stone in a way that does something to your chest you can't explain. I haven't heard it in over a year.

Eli's face changes. "That's—"

"A sentencing," I say.

We're already moving.

The courtyard is packed. I push through bodies, Levana appearing at my elbow from nowhere, and then I see the front and I stop.

My uncle is standing between two guards with his hands bound behind him.

He's standing straight. Chin up. Face doing nothing. He looks exactly like himself, which is somehow the worst part.

"Uncle—" My voice comes out wrong. Too small.

"Tessa." Levana grabs my arm.

I pull free.

I'm pushing forward before I decide to, shouldering through, and Eli catches my sleeve and I yank away from that too and I don't stop until the guards step in front of me.

"Uncle Alaric." I can hear how my voice sounds. I can't fix it. "Uncle—"

He looks at me. Don't, his eyes say. Please don't.

"Tessa." Sharp. Quiet. The version of my name that means I knew this was coming and I need you to stop.

A guard snarls in my face.

I don't step back.

"Uncle please—" My throat is doing something complicated. "Just tell me what's happening, just—"

"Tessa." His voice cracks at the edge of it, just slightly, the first crack I've ever heard in it, and that's what does it.

I turn.

Knox is sitting at the front of the courtyard the way he sits everywhere. Like it was made for him. Silver eyes already on me, like he's been watching since I pushed through the crowd.

And then — I don't know what's wrong with me, I don't know if I'm still half inside last night — I hear something.

Go on.

Low. Quiet. Inside my own head but not from my own head.

Humour me.

I blink. Knox's lips haven't moved. His expression hasn't moved. He's just looking at me.

I'm hearing things. I'm officially losing it.

I square my shoulders.

"What is the meaning of this," I say.

The courtyard goes silent. Not quiet — silent. The specific silence of five hundred people holding the same breath.

My uncle starts to speak.

Knox raises one hand. He stops.

Knox stands. Walks toward me and the guards part and he doesn't stop until he's right in front of me — close enough that I have to tilt my head back to hold his gaze.

He looks down at me. Something pulls at the corner of his mouth. Vicious. His eyes catch the light.

He drops his head and breathes in, slow, and I feel it move across my skin.

"Repeat yourself," he says quietly. "If you dare."

My fists curl at my sides.

My uncle is watching me. Levana is watching me. Five hundred students are watching a girl with no wolf and no rank stand at the front of a sentencing and not move.

I raise my chin.

"I dare," I say.

Knox's mouth curves. Slow. Terrible. His eyes don't let go of mine.

"Good," he says.

"Then let's begin."