Page 39 of Shattered & Returned

And I hadn’t even taken a step toward him.

Shit.

Ravencrux’s attention had already painted a target on my back, and now Sebastian was parading me before the entire school like some prized catch. All in one damned day.

I remembered too clearly the story of that girl who’d lost an arm over a lovers’ quarrel. I wasn’t encroaching on anyone’s territory, but logic wouldn’t matter, not when nearly every female here fantasized about either the forbidden professor or golden-boy Sebastian.

“Bloom!” Sebastian’s voice rang out again, rich with amusement. He nudged the blonde beside him until she vacated the gilded chair, then patted the seat with a grin. “I saved this for you.” As if this weren’t social suicide. As if he weren’t dangling me before a den of vipers.

Sindy dug her fingers into my arm, vibrating with excitement. “Go! Can I come with you?” Her whisper trembledwith awe—already forgetting her own warnings from minutes ago about being used as pawns.

“No!” I said.

Her face fell, shoulders hunching as she turned away. I caught her wrist.

“Not ‘no’ to you,” I hissed, low enough that only she could hear. “No to him. Does he think we’re his playthings? Pets to summon?” I let go of her wrist. “We sit together. Somewhere else.”

I wasn’t some social-climbing sycophant, and more importantly, I understood that answering Sebastian’s summons publicly would place me at his mercy—a dangerous position given my house’s opposition to his. Even if we ended up being allies, I refused to let him dictate our dynamic. I’d already surrendered too much ground to Ravencrux today; I wouldn’t emerge from this day completely conquered.

If I had any dignity left, I’d fight to keep it.

“This isn’t the kind of attention we want,”I murmured to Sindy, my lips barely moving. The heat of hundreds of hostile stares prickled against my skin.“Look at them and at us. We’re not powerful players here. How long before someone decides to come after us, making an example of us? Are you ready to defend against that?”

Her eyes widened as my words sank in. That coveted invitation might as well have been a target painted on our foreheads.

Mom had sacrificed too much to make sure I could live through my adulthood—however misguided her methods. The least I could do was survive another day. Then another.

My pulse hammered against my ribs, the familiar itch for my inhaler burning in my palm, but I clenched my fist instead.

I offered Sebastian a polite smile and half-hearted wave before turning my back on Sebastian’s table, his offered chair,and the dangerous game he wanted to play. The murmurs around us swelled. Better to be talked about than owned. I weaved through the tables toward an empty corner, Sindy following me.

Look away. Nothing to see here.

Sindy slumped into the chair opposite me with a sigh that could have wilted flowers.

Gradually, the weight of attention lifted. A cacophony of chatter rose again, silverware clinking, as students navigated their lunch.

Then—ping.

A perfect beet salad glistened before me, followed by steaming coq au vin, its rich aroma mingling with the decadent promise of chocolate cake. My stomach growled despite the adrenaline still souring my tongue.

“We’re being treated like royalty,”I remarked, poking at the lavish spread before us. “If I survive long enough to enjoy it.”

“That’s morbid,” Sindy said between bites.

I sighed.“I don’t even know half the rules here.”

Sindy’s eyes fluttered shut as she savored a bite of coq au vin.“This is incredible. Did the kitchen switch to French cuisine just for you?”She grinned.“You’re French, right? But your English is flawless.”

Funny, considering I’d never left France before now.

“My mother was English,”I said.

A sharp pain twisted in my chest. For the first time in years, I hadn’t visited her grave or spoken to her among the garden roses. She was an ocean away now, but not forgotten. Never forgotten.

I speared a slice of beetroot, the earthy sweetness sharp on my tongue. Cooking had always been my language of care. Even as a child, I’d been the one to prepare our meals, instinctivelyknowing which herbs complemented which flavors. Mom had called it myquiet magic.

A basket of baguette slid across the table toward me. My head snapped up.

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