Page 5 of Checks & Bonds

I gritted my teeth but held my tongue. What could I say? This was tradition, a legacy handed down through generations of Mathers men. But today, of all days, it felt suffocating.

The room grew quiet again as Mr. Collins resumed speaking about some upcoming endeavor that sounded like it involved more dusty books and secret meetings. My thoughts drifted back to Freya and our strained conversations about our engagement.

The weight of responsibility settled heavily on my shoulders as I stole another glance at the raven's portrait. It felt like it was mocking me, daring me to break free from this web of obligations.

But for now, I remained seated, biding my time until I could escape to the ice and leave Ravenwood’s shadow behind me—even if just for a while.

Collins's voice sliced through the air like a well-honed blade. "The Imprinting ceremony is upon us," he announced, pacing the length of the table with an almost theatrical flourish. "As you know, it's a rite of passage for our juniors. If you hear your name, expect to take part."

Collins cleared his throat, the room falling silent in anticipation. "The following juniors are to prepare for the Imprinting ceremony," he began, his voice carrying a weightthat made my stomach churn. "Alexander Pierce, Lucas Graham, Edward Sterling, William Blackwood, Oliver Gray, Jensen Ackerman, Thomas White, and Henry Mathers."

Each name landed like a blow, but hearing my own felt like a punch to the gut. I could sense the eyes of the older members boring into me, their expectations and judgment pressing down like an invisible shroud.

Jensen Ackerman shot me a look from across the table, his expression unreadable but intense. My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to focus on anything other than the suffocating reality of what was coming next.

"And if we refuse?" I asked, my voice more defiant than I'd intended.

Jensen leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. "Yeah, Collins. What if we’ve got better things to do? Like watching paint dry."

A few chuckles rippled through the room, but Collins’ expression remained stern. "This is no laughing matter," he snapped. "You’re engaged to Freya Reynolds, are you not?"

I clenched my teeth so hard it hurt. Freya's name brought a flood of conflicting emotions—anger, jealousy, regret. She'd been seen with another guy, and it gnawed at me more than I'd care to admit. I wasn’t any better myself, but it didn’t make it easier.

"Yes," I managed to say through gritted teeth.

"I would select her before someone else does," Collins said calmly, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Is that an order?" My voice wavered despite my best efforts to sound firm.

"No," Collins replied, his tone almost chillingly casual. "Not yet. But if you don't, I'm sure someone else will."

The implication hung in the air like a storm cloud about to burst. My fists tightened under the table as I stared at Collins, feeling trapped and furious all at once.

Jensen broke the silence with another one of his irreverent remarks. "Well, Henry? Looks like you're on a ticking clock."

I glared at him but said nothing. He wasn't wrong; time was slipping away faster than I could handle.

The raven in the portrait seemed to mock me from its perch, its eyes glinting with dark amusement.

"Remember, each girl must be here willingly," Collins continued, his voice steady and authoritative. "Consent is paramount. However, once the ritual takes place, you will be bonded for as long as you want her. Should you wish to change your mind, your only options are to swap with another Ravenwood or wait until next year. Your choice is critical. Is this clear?"

Nods and murmurs of assent filled the room, but I felt a sinking sensation in my gut. The weight of what Collins was saying pressed down on me like a vise. The thought of dragging Freya into this mess made my skin crawl. I had no intention of choosing anyone.

"And your selection bears a strong reflection of you," Collins continued, his eyes scanning the room with calculated precision. "Choose well."

The tension in the room thickened as his words settled over us. I could feel the pressure from every direction—the older members' expectations, the looming ceremony, and the complicated tangle of my own feelings.

Finally, Collins dismissed us with a wave of his hand. Relief washed over me as I stood up, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the private library.

I made my way toward the door, keeping my head down to avoid any more judgmental stares. Jensen fell into step beside me, his usual smirk replaced by a rare look of seriousness.

"Henry," he said quietly as we walked down the corridor, "what are you gonna do about Freya?"

I shot him a sidelong glance but didn't break my stride. "Why the fuck do you care?" I muttered.

Jensen raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. We reached the end of the corridor where sunlight streamed through tall windows, casting long shadows on the marble floor.

I stopped and took a deep breath, feeling a small measure of freedom outside that oppressive room. "I have practice," I said, more to myself than Jensen.

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