Page 13 of Bound to the Dorm Elf
“Graduate is…?”
“Finish. Earn a degree. It’s like… proving you’ve mastered the training.”
I incline my head. “And your specialty is… ‘soft ball’?”
That earns me a laugh. “No, that’s a sport. I’m a sociology major.”
I let the unfamiliar word roll around my tongue. “So-ci-o-lo-gy.”
“Study of societies. People. How they interact.”
I lean back, considering that. “And you… chose this instead of learning combat?”
Her mouth twists. “Combat’s not really a career path here. At least not for most people.”
“That explains much,” I murmur.
She points at me with the pillow. “Don’t start.”
I spread my hands. “I am simply… absorbing reconnaissance.”
Her eyes narrow. “Reconnaissance?”
“Information gathering before an engagement.”
“Yeah, you reallydosound like a guy about to invade.”
I ignore the jab. “Explain ‘traffic.’ I have heard the word twice now.”
She sighs and stands, crossing to the window. “See those?” She points toward the distant street, where metal beasts roll past each other in neat, regimented lines. “Those are cars. People drive them to get places. Traffic is just… the flow of them. Sometimes it’s fast, sometimes it’s slow, and sometimes it’s a nightmare.”
“Ah. The iron carriages from last night.”
She glances at me. “Yeah. You walked in front of one.”
I grunt. “They move faster than they appear.”
“Theyalwaysmove faster than they appear.”
I return my attention to the humans outside. The glamour I wove clings to me still, shaping my skin to match theirs, hiding the runes, the red of my eyes. It’s a simple illusion, but it grates on me. My instincts rebel against concealment. I am not prey. I have never been prey.
Yet…
One look at the way these humans step out into the street without armor, how the wind alone seems to push at their balance, and I understand the necessity. I could break them by accident. And iftheysaw me as I truly am, panic would follow.
For now, the glamour stays.
But it feels like wearing someone else’s armor—functional, but ill-fitting.
Skylar turns back to me. “We’ll work on blending in. You can’t just go stomping around looking like you’re ready to pick a fight with everybody.”
I meet her gaze. “That is my natural state.”
“Yeah, I figured,” she says, shaking her head. “We’ll fix it.”
I don’t bother arguing. She doesn’t need to know yet that some parts of me are not meant to be fixed.
Skylar insists we “need supplies.” I point out that I already have a sword and my wits, which have been enough for twenty-nine years. She responds with something about ramen noodles, toothpaste, and toilet paper. I don’t know what two of those are, but she sounds convinced, so I grudgingly follow.
