Page 54 of A Fate Everlasting

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.

Something crossed his face. I didn’t know if it was fear or awe. My heart kicked. I hadn’t felt it beat this strong in days. He was too close. And yet, I didn’t move. I didn’t want to. “You’re scaring me,” I whispered, throat raw.

He didn’t let go. His fingers flexed slightly like he meant to. But he didn’t. “Good,” he said, voice low. “You should be scared. You should be fucking terrified.”

24

This world was built on balance, but the scales had begun to tip. It was late afternoon, and the red number on my slate pulsed like an open wound. No matter how many times I blinked or how many silent prayers I whispered to the Thread, it did not shift, move, or care. It was clear that the heavens did not barter with the desperate.

I wasn’t scheduled to graduate immediately, which was a relief. But I was still going to be marked as a Daemon, if I survived the Rift. With a score asunexceptionalas mine, it looked unlikely. My fingers curled tightly around the device, nails biting into my palm.

A sharp cry shattered the hush of the dormitory, followed by the blue glow of Ruby’s slate. “No! Nononono!” She keened, ponytail askew, mascara tracking down her cheeks.

“What’s going on?” My voice was thick, uneven, still weighted with sleep.

“They still haven’t fixed it.” She thrust the scoreboard screenshot under my nose. “Everyone’s scores tanked while you were in Elsewhere. If this is because you stole theArcana?—”

“What do you mean?” My voice splintered, barely a whisper.

Ruby’s slate trembled in her hands. “I mean,” she spat. “Whatever you did is dragging us all down with you.” I read through the names. The scores were all low, very low. Then I saw it. Hugo Fox. His name flickered, half-transparent, the digits beside it trying to resolve and failing.

“Ruby, I’m sorry!”

“Tell me now. Did you do this?” Her voice shook. “Are we all being punished because you stole those stupid cards?”

“No—no,” I managed. “Of course not.” I hadn’t even considered it. I hadn’t thought of anyone but myself.HadI done this? Had I pulled everyone down with me when I stole the Arcana? My necklace burned against my skin, singing me.

Ruby’s mouth twisted. “We were supposed to be Angels, Arabella.” Her voice broke. “We were supposed to have a future.” I didn’t know what to say. I had lost my future, too, but she didn’t care about that.

“I’m sorry.” I sat there, feeling hollowed out, watching Hugo’s name flicker. Thinking about him caused a burning pit in my stomach. Ruby scowled, grabbing her gym bag as she marched to the door.

I stood. “Ruby, wait!”

“We’re late for conditioning. I don’t have time for this.” She shouldered into me. “Good luck. Everyone hates your guts. If the Rift doesn’t kill you,they will.”

I moved to follow, but she’d slammed the door so hard the stained-glass window rattled in its frame.

The scent of sweat and burning incense hung in the air of the sparring hall, and vaulted ceilings nearly swallowed theflickering torchlight whole. I stood alone near the perimeter, arms folded. Professor Althrian, a thick-necked Nephalim with coal-black eyes, bellowed today’s rules.

He reminded us that conditioning was a class designed to prepare us for our roles in the After or Elsewhere. It was a way to keep our muscles strong and our mind sharp. Now, so close to the Rift and so close to graduation for the Upper Sixth, it was an opportunity to boost our ether scores. A single win this late could gift ±50 points.Exactlywhat I needed. But I’d never sparred in my life. Back home, I’d barely passed PE.

Wooden spar platforms rose in tiers at the center of the room. Win a bout and your ether would spike, lose and it would hemorrhage. Succeeding at conditioning and sparring clearly meant more to Evermore than history lessons or exams. I watched the scoreboard, students scores advancing by well over fifty points if they won.

Marcus high-fived a girl from Lower Sixth, sweat gleaming down his temples. She’d beaten him, and he’d taken it well.

“Next pair, please,” Professor Althrian barked, noting something down on his slate. My hand shot up. Four wins.Four wins.That’s all it would take to push me near Angel territory, to make sure I was marked for the After when the Rift came to claim me.

“Don’tchoke,”Ruby snarled as I passed her, and the Seraphim girls around her burst into laughter. Lilibeth chewed her bottom lip as she gave me a nervous nod.

I made my way to the center of the ring, javelin in hand as sweat beaded my brow. I recognized the guy opposite, vaguely. He was in Lower Sixth, in the House of Thrones. He was massive, twice my sizeat least.

A strike launched at my ribs. I pivoted left, narrowly avoiding the iron-tipped javelin as it sliced through the air. The crowd below us roared. They wanted blood. They blamed me for their scores, and I was the one they wanted to see sparredstraight through. Whether or not I was truly to blame didn’t matter. They had decided I was.

Another strike came, faster this time. I moved to block all too slow.Crack.Pain lashed through my shin, a white-hot snap that shot up my leg. My slate beeped against my waistband, my score dropping.

I drank air in shallow gasps. “That’s not—”Fair.Another feint came, and I braced too late. The blunt tip crashed into my shoulder and I skidded off the platform. I clung to the edge, fingers sweat-slicked and slipping. My opponent stepped closer, the javelin pointed at me. I dug my nails in as my hands grew slicker,slicker…

And dropped. The impact of the fall was just great enough to bruise, to slam through me and steal the air from my lungs. Pain bloomed like blood in water, but I forced myself up. They wouldn’t see me crawl. This would hurt like hell tomorrow. “Up,” Professor Althrian barked. “Again, Davenant.”

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