Page 8 of A Fate Everlasting

“I’m not sure I share the vision, Headmistress.” I folded the scheduling card in half, passing it back to her. She didn’t take it.

“You have catching up to do. I appreciate the circumstances that have brought you here, which are most unfortunate, but you must adapt. If you wish to continue with your studies of things like maths and English, we can arrange for you to attendthe college in town for additional lessons, but I’m afraid we do not offer those courses here.”

“I’ve never heard of a college that doesn’t teach math or English.”

“Maths,” Verrine corrected. “This is no ordinary college, Arabella. Evermore is a place built to transform its students. No one leaves untouched. You’re a smart girl, and I thought you might have gathered that by now.” Verrine’s dark eyes narrowed, and something in my chest broiled.

Godwin acted like he and Verrineknewmy parents. How could someone like this have been their friend? Maybe the years had changed her. Running a school this uptight and religious must have gradually sanded down her personality into the unfortunate character standing before me.

“The learning curve here will be steep,” Verrine said, turning toward the door. “I sense that Evermore will be your making, or your undoing.” She smiled, but there was nothing kind about it. “You will meet the students in your house, and the others, soon enough. Settle in and unpack. Supper is always served at seven.”

The rain lashed against the stained glass in a ceaseless rhythm, tapping out a warning only I could hear. Everything smelled old, like damp stone, forgotten books, and suppressed personalities. I didn’t want to unpack. I didn’t want to feel like I belonged here. Two years. Two years of this place until I could graduate and claim my inheritance. What kind of college banned math and English? What the did she mean by that thing, the Crucible,measuringme?

This is what my parents wanted, this iswherethey wanted me. Had I done something wrong in those final days with them? Maybe I’d been too shallow, too disinterested in their work. Dad had said once that I took my freedom for granted, but that was years ago. I was a good daughter. I tried. But if they chose thisplace, if they knew what it really was… maybe I didn’t know them at all.

My fingers curled into the pillow. Deep inside me, the Thread stirred. Not just to whisper this time, but to laugh.

Welcome home, Arabella.

4

Secrets rotted here, I could feel them seeping through the walls. Outside, a relentless peal of thunder cracked, needling against the migraine blooming behind my eyes.

The nature of my parents’ work was always secretive, and questions were neither encouraged nor permitted. Dad’s work was historical and philosophical. Mom’s world was further still, locked in a lab somewhere in Pasadena. She came home late, exhausted, the scent of chemicals clinging to her clothes and dark circles under her eyes like bruises.

I’d never thought of it as religious. And yet, here I was, in a college where religion, or something close to it, seemed to bleed intoeverything.

I’d always assumed the Bibles scattered throughout our house were just part of Dad’s research. A curiosity, in the same way someone might collect rare books or paintings. That’s how he’d described them. But what if they weren’t, and I never really knew my parents at all?

Time bled away. I sat stiffly on the bed, knees drawn to my chest, watching as the candlelight twisted shadows against the stone walls. I didn’t know what to do. Ihatedit here already. Butif this place was supposed to reveal something to me, or something inside of me that my parents believed—what if they were wrong? And why didn’t they leave me any explanation?

Footsteps sounded in the hall. The door swung open before I could wipe the dampness from beneath my eyes.

“Oh! Who are you?” The girl standing in the doorframe was striking, tall, and poised. Her features were severe, as though carved from glass. Her dark hair fell in perfect ribbons that framed her face.

She didn’t wait for an answer, stepping inside gracefully, her pleated skirt barely shifting with the movement. The uniformmighthave been charming in another life, like something you’d find in a vintage thrift shop bobbled with wear.

The maroon crest on her chest matched the strange symbol on the gates, those words below it.Ante Post.I could see it more clearly now, gleaming beneath the low light, pinned neatly over her heart. Latin, I guessed.

“Arabella,” I said, careful to keep my voice even. “And you?”

“Ruby.” Her lips parted into a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her gentle eyes. “You might want to get off Rosaline’s bed. The free one is over there.” She gestured toward the darkened corner of the room. The smallest bed. The sheets looked thin and scratchy.

I hesitated. “The bed by the window’s already taken?”

“Rosaline is fiercely territorial about her space. She smashed my ex’s slate when she tried to claim it last term.” Ruby shuddered. “But you’ll have to forgive her. Rosaline fought harder than anyone to be here.”

“Right. Whatever that means.”

Ruby smirked as though I’d said something amusing. Like she knew something I didn’t. I grabbed my suitcase and wheeled it toward the cramped space, dropping it with a thud against the wooden floor.

“You’re new, then?” she mused, studying me. “Strange to start mid-term.”

I unzipped my suitcase and shrugged. “It wasn’t my choice.”

“Where are you from?”

“California.”

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