Page 140 of The Art of Exiley

He pulls Rafe and me up with him, and we fly into the bruised orange of the sunset sky.

On a gravdamndragon.

41

Riding a dragon is the most breathtaking, wondrous, terrifying experience of my lifetime. But I don’t have long to appreciate it. In what feels like mere moments, we land on the institute’s ornithopter pad. Prince Alex immediately heads to the council room as Bioscience masters check Rafe’s vitals. Everyone is too busy to question how and why I’m back on the island.

I duck into the first bathroom I pass to wash the blood off my hands. I scrub them till they’re raw, but there are still brown traces under my nails, so I keep scrubbing.

Everyone’s alive. Everyone’s alive.

I keep repeating it over and over. I left New York this morning with that goal in mind, and it’s been fueling me for this entire endless day.

I look at myself in the mirror. Yep. I look like someone who hoverboarded through a tunnel for hours and then did impromptu surgery on the beach. My adrenaline is still pumping, every heartbeat communicating urgency, but I’m not sure what I should do next.

I could go to my room, find Georgie, get some sleep. But my feet don’t lead me to the Winter wing. Despite successfully managing to avert tragedy, I feel so empty. So lost. And there’s only one person I want to see.

When I reach the door I was instinctively drawn to, I feel foolish. He’s probably not even here now. But I knock anyway.

“Come in.”

Michael straightens, startled when I step into his office. “Ada?” He’s standing at his desk surrounded by a larger-than-usual mountain of files and books.

His hair is a tempest, his jacket and cravat long gone; a light dusting of curling brown hair peeks through the V of his unbuttoned collar.

“Hi,” I say.

“How…? Hi?” He’s not wearing shoes, and his socks don’t match.

He blinks, and then the papers in his hand fall to his desk and he rushes to me, enveloping me in a hug. He smells like tea and chocolate, and even as my pulse quickens from his nearness, I feel calm for the first time in hours. Maybe days.

“I thought you weren’t coming back.”

“I had to,” I say into his chest. “I’m not sure there’s a place for me in the provincial world anymore.”

He pulls away, holding me at arm’s length. “Don’t say that.” His brows knit. “Your world is amazing. You’ve done so much to remind me of that. Don’t forget it yourself.”

Your world.Is he saying he thinks I should have stayed there?

When it comes to Michael, it’s always been this same endless carousel of doubt.

He smirks at me as if I’ve said something funny.

“What?”

“It’s just… that look on your face. The one you always make when you take an intended compliment as an insult.”

“Well, I did warn you that I’m a chronic cynic.”

“You’re not a cynic.” He shakes his head knowingly. “You’re way toohopeful to be a cynic. A cynic would anticipate everyone letting them down instead of expecting them to do better.”

His eyes have turned so serious, and I realize he’s never stopped touching me, his hands warm and firm on my shoulders.

“You can’t take a compliment because you’re too humble to see your own worth—”

I cut him off. “Trust me, Michael, I’ve never been the girl you thought I was. I’m not humble, I’m just a total mess.”

“No,” he insists, squeezing my shoulders. “I won’t let you put yourself down anymore. You have all this insecurity, but underneath there’s this steel resolve of wanting to understand what’s right and true, and you’re so open to questioning what you think you know.” He steps closer. “Meanwhile, I’m the one everyone thinks has it all figured out, when inside I’m actually just a ball of noisy, conflicting ideals that I can’t make sense of. Except when you challenge my beliefs, and suddenly everything that really matters comes into sharper focus.”

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