Page 61 of Into the Isle

She tapped her chin, eyes lighting up. “I can see it now. Randi and Ravin. The unstoppable alliterative duo.”

I tilted my head, my smile widening without even trying. “I don’t even know you.”

“Perfect. Then you don’t know all the skeletons in my closet. Clean slate and all that.”

Surprise splashed across my face.

She snickered, sitting down at a different table. “Just kidding.” She pushed her tray of half-eaten food toward me when she saw me glancing over my shoulder at Astrid’s table, where my tray still sat. “You’re gonna have to let that one go, babe.” With a salute, she nodded firmly. “It was a sacrifice well worth it. Good morrow, fine slop tray.”

I chuckled. What a strange girl. The second one to be nice to me. Dagny is studious, Randi is hyper. I looked down at the tray. “I can’t take your food.”

She gestured at her body, her thin frame. “Look at me. Look at you. I don’t need much. Take it.”

“Randi . . . are you calling me fat?”

Instead of wilting at my smirking comment, she leaned forward, facing my challenge head-on. “What if I am?”

Our eyes locked for a moment, glittering. Then I laughed incredulously and bowed my head, letting her win the stare-off. “I like you.”

I started eating. Randi chatted my ear off, telling me that I’d need to learn the hierarchies of the academy in order to get by.

I told her, “I don’t appreciate bullies like Astrid, Randi. I’m not sure I can put up with it forever.”

“Oh, I know. You don’t look like the type to back down from a fight. You have to choose your battles, babe. Time and place is everything around here.”

I nodded slowly, eating a mouthful of porridge while thinking. I pointed the spoon at Randi before eating some more. “She’s gonna get hers. Just you watch.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Besides,” I said, my face twisting, “what makes her so special? She’s a ‘myrr’ like me!”

“Yeah, but she’s a silvermoor.”

“A what?”

“A privileged bastard, essentially.” She tilted her head, staring up at the high ceiling. “Actually, that’s exactly what a silvermoor is. Did you not catch the other part of Astrid’s last name? Dahlmyrr? She’s the daughter of Tomekeeper Dahlia Alfinn.”

Color drained from my cheeks. She was talking about the headmistress of Mimir Tomes, who had given Dagny a hard time yesterday and walked through that place like a warlady.

“Oh. That explains it.”

Randi’s hands fell into a steeple on the table as she watched me eat. “This is why you need to learn the hierarchy. So you can choose the aforementioned battles wisely, yeah?”

“Yeah. I get it now.”

Her eyes glanced over my shoulder, distracted.

When she did it a second time, quickly lowering her gaze like she was trying to hide something from me, it had the opposite effect.

I craned my neck over my shoulder to watch the entrance of the mess hall. The same mysterious man who’d caught my attention during orientation yesterday strode through the longhouse.

He wore the same black trench coat covering practically his whole body. Slips of blue tattoos jutted out from the cuffs, up his neck. Sunglasses adorned his pale face, and his dark auburn hair was in a bun.

I watched him walk up to the line, grab a tray, and get his food. He sat down at a table I hadn’t even seen earlier—the only one still unoccupied. The man sat by himself, ate alone, and kept his sunglasses on.

I watched him the whole time, drawn to his aura and uniqueness.

“Okay, it’s time to start the pecking order lesson,” I muttered to Randi. “Because I want to know who that is.”

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