Page 120 of A Dusk Of Stars

Was it half a year of crappy teaching?

Was it the coffee?

Or was it simply seducing me and getting me to spend gods know how many hours sleeping with him and obsessing over him?

That’s how spectacularly I’m failing to stop myself from thinking about it.

Even now, with the moon stone inside me, there are sobs threatening to rise from the depths of my stomach and carry me away on a tidal wave of anger, sadness, desperation, hatred and the purest, most blinding pain I’ve ever felt.

“It’s all improv, Novak,” his words keep ringing in my head. “You need to get people to think they’re on the verge of getting what they desire most in this world. And how will you know what they desire most in this world until you start talking to them?”

To think I admitted to changing my name.

Even worse, to think I almost told him about my father.

I have to grit my teeth and turn to look out the window when I realize I’m about to start actually crying.

My phone pings. It’s an email from Serra. “I just told him, but I’m sorry, Anna, he’s not buying the lie about it being a bad fit.”

My mind goes blank.

Practically the very next moment, my phone starts vibrating.

It’s him, calling.

I swallow around a lump in my throat. That’s fine, it’ll stop.

It doesn’t stop. The phone keeps vibrating and soon, I realize I’ll have to make a decision. If I want to try to stick with the lie, I’ll have to make it all much less suspicious.

I grit my teeth, but I reject the current call and type, “I’m in class.”

He’s already typing. “What’s this about me no longer being your mentor?”

Come on, just do it, I tell myself. “It’s not a good fit anymore.”

“Now you’re just parroting Naehorn’s words back. I want an actual answer, Anna.”

I can hear the tone. I take a second to think.

“Sooner rather than later,” another text comes as I keep trying to decide.

Maybe it would be smarter to reply to this one as well, but it’s just so painful, even seeing his name at the top of the screen.

And well, I’m in class, right? I did tell him that. So I put my phone down and go back to watching the other students.

A couple of minutes go by in silence.

Then my head snaps to my right when the gym door flies open and in he comes, his eyes searching for mine first, landing on them for a second and sending bitterness flooding to my mouth before he turns to the professor, everyone’s eyes on him.

“Excuse the interruption, Professor Ahearn,” he says in a tense, commanding voice, “but I’ll need Miss Novak to come with me.”

“Of course,” I hear her say.

But I can’t even look at him. Without a conscious decision, I say, “I’m sorry, Professor Bane. I thought you'd been informed, but I’m no longer required to come to special classes.”

For a second, he just stands there, staring at me with his eyes narrowing. “I see,” he finally says. “Well, carry on then.”

He walks out the door, slamming it behind him.

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