Page 158 of Ulune's Daughter

He sends me back a victory sign, an eggplant, and a donut. Like I don’t know what he’s going to want as a reward for all his hard work.

Grinning, I pocket my phone, shrug on my parka, and walk toward the center of campus. Kellan’s been holding morning office hours all through reading period and exam week so students can stop in and ask her questions—or just vent about the stress of exams. I asked if I could pick her up and take her to lunch today since I’m finished, not that I can tell her that. But all the sports teams are on hiatus from the start of reading period until January. Everyone knows that. So, I have an excuse for not working and spending the rest of the day with my girlfriend.

I rub my chest absently as I walk along the snowy paths. It feels like a rash. Maybe Kellan nicked me with those claws of hers when she was riding me last night. I’m not complaining. Not even a little. But nicks from her claws are hella itchy.

A student wrapped in a black puffer coat, a beanie pulled down over his ears, nearly collides with me as he rushes along the path in the other direction, back toward Spellman Quad. Although Bevington’s grounds department is psychotic about keeping the campus paths clear, snow’s been falling on and off all morning and there’s a thin, white coat on the path. Too slippery to be trying high speed maneuvers.

I stick one hand out for balance, melt the snow under our feet with a flick of my fingers, and put the other hand out to steady the guy before he shoulder-checks me. He stumbles to a stop.

“Sorry,” he says, holding up his hands. “Sorry.”

“Yan?”

I honestly wouldn’t have recognized him if not for the tattoo across his palms. “Go Swim,” it says. Idiot, but that’s Yan. A hundred and fifty percent committed.

Except now he doesn’t look like he should be committed anywhere other than a hospital. I haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks. He quit the swim team just after the Hallow. He must have lost twenty pounds since then. His face is skeletal, eyes sunk in black circles. His lips are crusted with broken skin, flecked with scabs at the corners where he’s been chewing. His hands shake as he holds them up.

“Yan, are you okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, yeah, fine. Rhodes? Man, sorry, I didn’t even see you there. How’s it’s going? How’s the team?”

“Fucked up without you. What happened? Coach said you told him your grades were slipping and you had to focus. Why didn’t you talk to me? I must’ve left you a dozen messages. I’ll help you find a tutor if your grades are a problem. You didn’t have to quit the team.”

He hangs his head and shakes it slowly back and forth. “I’m no good to the team. Not like this. I’m losing every race.”

I put my hand on his shoulder and squeeze. Swimmers are leaner than some other athletes, but big shoulders are part of our job description. I can’t even feel Yan’s muscle through his coat. All I feel is bone.

“Everyone goes through rough patches. We’re a team. We support each other. You look like shit. Are you okay? Do you need the healers?”

Yan shakes his head. “I just-I just need to get through the semester. I have one more exam tomorrow and then I’m going home for the break. I’ll figure shit out during Yule. I need to be away from here.”

“Sure. I know how it is. Bevvy’s intense. Use the break to relax. Decompress. Call me if you want to talk. I’m here for you, man.”

He nods but doesn’t meet my eyes. “See you in January.”

“Yeah, see you in January.”

He hurries away. I take my phone out again and calendar a call to him every three days until Winter Study starts. I don’t know what’s going on with him, but he needs support. We’ve never been close friends; Yan’s definitely part of the “don’t ask, don’t tell” contingent on the team. But I’m his team captain. Just because he’s quit the team doesn’t mean I’d turn my back on him.

Rubbing at my chest, I tuck my phone away and continue to Old Chapel.

Kellan’s in the hallway outside her office, talking to a shorter woman with salt-and-pepper hair. From Luca’s descriptions—usually seething because she’s turned him down again—I can guess the woman’s Jane Serpa, the Necromancy professor. Fortunately, I’ve never had a class with her nor seen her at a swim meet, so there’s no reason for her to know I’m a student.

Kellan greets me with a grin. She’s looking radiant again today: her black hair loose around her shoulders, blue eyes made all the brighter by a rust-red sweater over her usual black pants and boots. She says goodbye to Jane and beckons me into her office. She locks and wards the door behind me before grabbing her backpack off her desk.

“Any reason you’re locking the door?” I ask.

Most professors ward their offices, but very few lock them. Bevington has a strict honor code and I always figured unlocked doors were part of it.

Kellan grimaces. “My research assistant caught my ex trying to break into our lab at the museum. I’d like to believe Rowan wouldn’t sink so low as to break into my office but?—”

I growl and rub my chest, which burns hotter. The idea of that utter asshole who’s trying to claim credit for Kellan’s discovery breaking into her private spaces flushes my whole body with fury.

“Someone needs to have a word with him.”

Kellan lifts her eyebrows at me. “Someone will. The Academic Standards committee, to whom we reported the attempted break-in.Notmy boyfriend the assistant swim coach who might lose his job taking matters into his own hands.”

The reminder of my lies punctures the bubble of my righteous anger. Deflating, I rub my chest.

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