Page 33 of A Heart of Bluestone

My exhale is a shaky one as I slip through the crack of the door and dash to the other side of the room. The door to the toilets is tucked behind a tapestry that wasn’t here just yesterday, a silly and harmless prank, probably a junior.

I don’t find moving tapestries and furniture all that amusing, but sometimes an original prank rears up from the mundane ones and I might smile a little.

This is not one of those times.

I am quick to drop onto the toilet.

The relief that slumps me is enough to lull my lashes over my eyes. It’s a relaxing thing to finally go after hours of holding it.

My bladder feels the ease, and I feel lighter when I move for the porcelain sink and wash my hands.

I almost forget I’m supposed to be in hiding.

But that familiar fear creeps up my spine once I dry off my hands, and my muscles tense at my shoulders.

Plan: race back to the dorm room as quickly as I can.

I push through the quiet door, freshly oiled hinges an ally, then slip around the tapestry. It crumples behind me, falling back into place.

And I don’t move another step.

My gaze lands on the couch against the wall…

Mikal is gone. No longer sprawled over the cushions.

A sickly wave washes through me.

Now, a dark-haired beauty with skin like olive oil lounges on that very couch.

Serena picks at her glossy, manicured nails. She doesn’t bother to look up at me with her bored gaze, not even turn her face my way. She keeps her cheek to me.

Two armchairs flank the couch.

Landon on one.

Oliver reclines in the other.

And they do look at me, the pair of them.

Landon frowns. The hairs of his brow knit in the middle of his mahogany-hued face, and his thumb flicks over a tear in the arm of the chair.

My brother wears a rare glint of pity in the emerald sheen of his eyes, his mouth flattened into a crooked line.

The audience.

Not the attackers.

I understand it the moment I see them.

Slowly, I turn my cheek to my brother—and I look at the door across the room.

It’s all the way closed now.

And blocked.

Dray is leaning against the door, my only exit, arms folded, ankles crossed, a brooding statue ready to spring to life and cut me down.

My throat thickens with a swallow. A gulp, if I’m completely honest.

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