Page 18 of Shadowed Fate

Chapter 9

Brigid

I dump the contents of the bag I was allowed to bring onto the bed, the meager pile a stark contrast to the opulent room surrounding me. My phone clatters against the polished wood, followed by the soft thump of t-shirts and jeans, and I wonder if it even works here, whereverhereis. But I don’t check. Not yet. My sketchbook and pencil bag land last.

”Well, this is depressing," I mutter, eyeing my pitiful belongings. Lochan's stern voice echoes in my head, 'Pack light, you won't need much.' Yeah, no kidding.

I run my fingers over the sketchbook's cover. At least I have this outlet.

The shower beckons, my muscles ache and I just want to stand under some hot water after the day's chaos. I pull off my clothes, dropping my uniform on the floor beside the bed. As I step inside, my mouth drops open. "Holy shit," I whisper, taking in the gleaming gold fixtures, basket of fluffy white towels, and marble countertops.

The shower is a revelation. Hot water cascades over me from a rainfall showerhead that would cost more than my entire wardrobe. Bottles of expensive-looking toiletries line a built-in shelf, their subtle scents mingling in the steam.

"Grimstone Academy doesn't mess around," I say to myself, lathering up with something that smells like sandalwood and secrets. "Wonder what else they're hiding behind these fancy walls?" As the hot water cascades over me, I close my eyes and try to process everything that's happened. The shadows, the attack, arriving here.

I dry off and wrap myself in the softest towel I've ever felt, a A shiver trails along my back. The luxury feels like a gilded cage, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm not really a guest here, no matter how nice the amenities.

I pull on my jeans, bra, and oversized black t-shirt, the familiar clothes almost like a security blanket. As I run a comb through my damp hair, I look at my reflection in the mirror. Same pale face, same guarded gray eyes.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I ask my reflection. Unsurprisingly, she doesn't answer.

A rap on the door startles me out of my thoughts. I pad over, hesitating before turning the handle. Rory's warm smile greets me, his shaggy blond hair falling over his forehead.

"Ready for supper?" he asks, a crooked grin spreading across his face.

I raise an eyebrow. "Have you been standing out here this whole time?"

He chuckles, a deep sound that reverberates in the hallway. "Maybe. Or maybe I just have impeccable timing."

"Right," I mutter, following him down the corridor. "Because that's not creepy at all."

The dining hall takes my breath away yet again.

The room is massive. Polished mahogany tables stretch across the room, each set with shining silver and porcelain dinnerware. Chandeliers drip crystals from the vaulted ceiling, their light reflected in the countless candelabras dotting the tables. Autumnal arrangements of unusual but beautiful flowers adorn every surface.

"Wow," I whisper, taking in the opulence. "Is this Hogwarts or the Ritz?"

Rory laughs. "Wait till you see the food. That’s the best part.”

As if on cue, waiters in crisp black and white uniforms glide between the tables, carrying silver platters of food that are a feast for the eyes, each dish carefully arranged with vibrant colors and intricate designs. I briefly wonder if they’re magical too, but then I’m distracted by the sight of what they’re serving.

There are plates of steaming vegetables, braided breads, and glistening fruits that look like they were plucked straight from a fairy tale garden. The aroma of roasted meat and exotic spices fills the air, making my stomach growl embarrassingly loud.

"Hungry?" Rory teases.

As we enter, every head turns our way. The chatter dies, replaced by a heavy silence that presses against my skin. I falter, my steps slowing, and I feel my cheeks heating up.

"Hey," Rory says softly, his hand finding the small of my back. "You're okay. They're just curious."

I force myself to keep moving, my face giving away nothing.

Rory leads me to a table where Lochan, Callen, and another man are already seated.

As I sit, I feel eyes boring into me.

Glancing over, I spot a stunning blonde girl glaring daggers at me from a nearby table. Her perfect features twist with contempt. She reminds me of Stacy—if Stacy were a supermodel.

Rory follows my gaze. “Don’t worry about Laria. She’s territorial.” His voice is pointedly loud, and he grins when the girl’s eyes narrow. “Right, Laria?”

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