Page 65 of Shadows in Bloom

I force a hard swallow, and shove my glasses back into place. “Thought I saw something,” I whisper.

“Did you cut through the woods?”

“I-I got tied up. Was running late. I didn’t think I’d make it in time for first bell.”

Her brow knits, eyes narrowing with some unreadable emotion, and I try not to squirm.

“Oh,” is all she eventually says.

A long awkward moment passes.

“You really—” Her words cut out when something past my shoulder grabs her attention, widening her eyes, and parting her mouth in shock.

And everything in me goes utterly still.

I don’t have to look to see what she’s looking at. Or, rather…who.

Even Trinity’s hardening expression and narrowed eyes are nothing but an unnecessary confirmation of what I already know I’ll find if I look back.

Don’t do it.

Don’t give her the satisfaction.

“So, not alone,.” Trinity mutters, turning an accusing look on me.

Frowning, I shake my head rapidly. What is she…

And before I can help it, I find myself twisting to look over my shoulder, my pulse quickening into a hammer against my neck.

Because there, crossing the field of tallgrass and wild white baby’s breath—the very same field I’d just crossed—backdropped by a dark, dense tree line, and a sharp, jagged incline, and a gothic cathedral stained against a sunless sky is Ophelia St. Maud.

Posh. Aristocratic. Snobbish.

All words that come to mind in the presence of that upturned nose, that harsh, perpetually disdainful expression, and purposeful, almost angry walk.

With her inky black hair braided loosely into a crown atop her head, loose tendrils curling around her face and neck—intentionally done, I imagine, unlike mine—and the rebellious, yet pristine way she wears her uniform, it’s impossible not to stop and gawk at her.

Why was she in the woods?

Turning back to face Trinity’s scathing expression, I infuse as much sincerity as I can when I tell her, “I did not walk with her. I had no idea she was behind me.”

“You’d swear before God?”

“Yes,” I reply instantly, not taking my eyes off her cerulean blues.

Why was she even in there? It’s not even on her way anymore…

In the corner of my eye, Ophelia strides past us, not so much as sparing a glance this way.

But I know she’s aware of me, just as she always is. Just as I’m always aware of her, try as I might not to be, and despite all my efforts to cast her out of my head.

Trinity gives me one last considering once-over, before finally nodding. “Okay, I believe you. I just…I worry.”

Throat clenching, I nod. Me too.

“They should’ve taken her,” she goes on, and I feel my heart skip a beat as realization has a gnawing pit forming in my stomach.

They.

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