Page 33 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

The campus courtyard, which is usually a place of chatter and activity, has become a stage. I feel every gaze burning into me. They're all asking different questions, or passing varying degrees of judgment. I'm usually ignored whenever I move around on campus. I'd have done anything to invite the indifference of the public at that moment.

I clench my fists and my nails bite into my palms. I'd been meaning to trim them, but with the full moon coming up, they're stronger and tougher than ever.

"Elara Voss," the lead enforcer repeats. His voice is flat and devoid of emotion. I am having the absolute worst time and he's calling my name like it's just another Tuesday for him. "You are under investigation for ideological subversion. Come with us."

It isn't a request.

A laugh almost escapes me, one that is sharp, bitter, and uncontrolled.

Subversion.

That word.

So neatly designed to strip away any defense or nuance. It didn't matter that my work was meant to bridge divides between communities and build something meaningful. It didn't matter that my intentions were clear, or that my hands were clean.

Noble intentions don't matter when the Council decides you are a threat. Nothing does, apparently.

I should argue. Demand an explanation. But I know better. The moment I open my mouth, my words will be twisted into confessions and my demand for any due process will be seen as defiance. I do not want to give them the opportunity to use force. Not yet anyway. I know some of them are just itching to use it though. The bastards.

I force myself to breathe evenly. To stand straight.

And then I see him.

Adrian.

He stands by the library steps. The columns hide most of his frame but I can tell it's him. His sharp features are unreadable and he isn't moving. From what I can tell, he's damn near holding his breath.

He merely observes the whole thing.

There is something in his expression—something that flickers too fast for me to name. Whether it is hesitation or guilt, I do not have the luxury of figuring out.

He should step forward. Say something. Anything.

But he doesn't.

A cold certainty settles in my bones.

He isn't going to stop this.

The realization carves through me like a blade, deep and clean. Of all the betrayals—whoever sold me out, the Council's ruthless response—I hadn't been prepared for this.

The enforcers tighten their formation, shifting just slightly, and the moment between Adrian and me is severed.

I turn my chin up, forcing steel into my spine.

If he won't fight for me, I will face this alone.

One of the enforcers grips my arm. Surprisingly, it isn't harsh but firm. It's a warning.

The crowd does nothing except continue to judge and speculate.

I let them take me.

The walk through the courtyard is excruciating. Not because of the enforcers' grip, not because of fear—though it claws at the edges of my mind—but because of the silence.

The crowd parts for us, the students, the professors, all the people who were once my colleagues, my peers. Some cast furtive glances my way, their eyes filled with something resembling pity. I throw it back at them. I don't need it. Others keep their heads down, unwilling to look at me at all.

I recognize faces. People I've worked and laughed with. People who had, just days ago, praised my work.

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