Page 58 of Savage Hope

Bryony is acutely aware of the fact too, as she shakes my shoulder, drawing my attention toward her. “Are you free tonight?” she asks, and I roll my eyes, still aware that the guy is watching my every move.

“You're well aware that my after-school hours are always empty,” I say, a mixture of a grumble and relief. If you had asked me back at Florentine’s what I'd be doing if I had the opportunity to leave my room, I would tell you I would be everywhere. I would be free. But there's something comforting about my own space in a world I still don't understand, and I silently hate myself for not making a change.

“Good.” Her shoulders lift as she beams at me, leaving an inkling of uncertainty tightening in my gut.

“Why?”

She shakes her head, offering no explanation, and my gaze flicks to Wylder, who presses his lips together in a thin line. I almost think he might know what she’s not saying, but to my surprise, he offers me a wink before sauntering off.

I’m locked in place, watching him retreat, and it takes Bryony curling her fingers around my upper arm and tugging me to my seat to get me to move. I grumble under my breath when she plants her palms on my desk, looking deep into my eyes.

“Just be dressed to impress,” she states, leaving me even more confused.

“Who am I impressing?” I push as she drops into her seat beside me. I expect her to leave me hanging, but instead, she does something even worse by answering.

“The coven.”

I've been panickingon high alert all day, and all because of one word, five letters spoken by the girl I thought was my most genuine friend, yet she leaves me high and dry, strangled and stressed as the same word repeats over and over again in my head.

Coven.

Coven.

Coven.

She gave no inclination of what impressing them would look like, and as I stand in front of my armoire, feeling even more out of my depth than I have been since I got here, I begin to question her motives. Does she not realize that I spent so much of my life—the only part I can even remember—being forced to wear a uniform that itched?

I don't have a sense of style. I just wore what I was given, and even though clothes have been provided for me here, there's a sense of freedom with it that I've yet to latch onto. I don't know how to express myself. I just know how to feel comfortable in my own skin. But as much as I grumbled about what I should wear, she refused to give me any more details, swearing that she'd already said more than she should have.

I then had the pleasure of spending the rest of the day wondering whether it's better to know or not at this stage. Withmy blood pressure so high, I'm confident I would have been better not knowing. Especially since classes ended a few hours ago, and I haven’t heard anything from her.

I’ve messaged her a few times, trying to make dinner plans, but I’ve had no reply. So it seems I'm going to dress to impress myself and eat alone.

Eyeing the clothes, I settle on a pair of black jeans with cargo pockets on the sides and a cute cropped t-shirt with puffed shoulders to go with my combat boots. I brush my fingers through my silver hair, letting it fall in waves around my face before I reach for my cell phone again. My fingers dance over the screen, growing more confident with the device as I tap out another message that I know will go unanswered.

Polaris: Help a girl out, Bryony. If not, can we grab food? I feel sick, but maybe dinner will help.

I press my lips together, staring at the screen like an answer will jump out at me. But just like the previous messages, this one remains unread.

Taking a deep breath, I head for the door, tucking my cell phone into my pocket along with my most prized possession: my coin. I feel a sudden burst of confidence. I can go to the dining hall and come home alone—safe and sound and all by myself.

I’ll be fine.

The coven is clearly going to do something when I get back. Maybe make me wait until it’s dark out. They're not going to jump me as I walk through the grounds on campus.

I hope…

Heading downstairs, I consider stopping on the first floor to use the bathroom, but a sense of eeriness suddenly surroundsme. The quietness feels unfamiliar, leaving me nervous and acutely aware that I’m alone in my own dorm, panicking.

Opting to find some form of life, be it anybody on campus at all, I decide to hurry down the final flight of stairs, only to grind to a halt at the bottom.

There are no sofas, coffee tables, or frames on the walls…

Nothing.

The lounge is gone. Every inch of furniture in the space is absent, and I gulp as I take in the seven figures dressed in deep purple robes that cover their bodies and faces, hidden beneath oversized hoods. A golden, thick rope wraps around each of their waists and all I can do is blink at them.

What in the heck is going on?

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