Page 29 of Broken Star

I curse as the car rockets forward, tires screeching against the pavement. “What the Hell, Riven?”

“My driving is impeccable, but I like you better when you’re strapped in,” he says in amusement, although his eyes stay locked on the road, refusing to look at me.

I glare at him, but buckle in anyway, bracing myself as he weaves effortlessly through the city traffic as the approaching storm fades behind us, swallowed by the ominous stretch of darkness ahead.

Zoey

Two days have passedsince my unsettling conversation with Katerina.

I’ve spent the entirety of them reworking my strategy for passing Night Court Survival 101, since it’sreallynot going as well as I hoped when I first got here.

Jake’s dead, courtesy of Aerix.

Henry continues to put me on edge with his oily stare, watching me when he thinks I’m not looking.

Aurora keeps to her books and acts like we’ve never spoken.

Isla, Elijah, and I continue to play chess between lunch and dinner each night. Isla wins every time, but I’ve been improving at a rapid pace. I’ve even started consistently beating Elijah.

Of my two suite mates, Sophia remains sweet, but she’s gradually becoming more guarded. Victoria has remained steadfast in her quest to hate me with every fiber of her being.

Then, there’s Aerix. The prince of darkness himself.

I’m currently sitting on his massive, canopied bed, sinking into the impossibly soft sheets, nibbling on a cookie that melts on my tongue.

He stands by the fireplace, the flames dancing across his black wings.

Those wings.

He’s been keeping them retracted less and less often when we’re alone. And every time they’re unfurled, my eyes can’t help but trace their shape—sleek, powerful, and otherworldly.

He refuses to talk about Jake’s death. Refuses to acknowledge the blood on his hands, or the letter he left behind—a promise carved in ink and violence, warning that anyone else who dares to hurt me will meet the same fate.

And yet, he watches me now. Not with anger, not with regret, but with something quieter. Something unreadable.

“How’s the cookie?” His voice is soft, but there’s an undercurrent of authority that he probably can’t help.

One that sends a slow, curling heat through me.

“It’s good.” I raise it in a half-toast, fighting to keep my voice light. “Very chocolatey today.”

He arches an eyebrow and gives me a half-smile. “High praise, coming from someone with such fine taste.”

I can’t help but laugh.

Aerix has been doing that to me more and more often—making me laugh.

“I know how much you enjoyed my cooking that morning in the bunker,” I say, and as I finish off the treat, those beautiful wings of his shift, feathers rustling as if responding to something unseen.

I should look away. I should pretend I don’t notice the way he watches me, the way his eyes drink in every shift of my body, every breath, and every moment of hesitation.

But I don’t.

Instead, I meet his stare, challenging it.

His lips curve slightly. Not quite a smirk, and not quite a smile. Just something dangerous and knowing.

“You keep looking at them,” he says, and my stomach tightens.

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