Page 103 of The Teras Trials

“Come back tomorrow and ask her,” I say, and make sure to lock the door when Abraham leaves.

All three of my remaining colleagues are in their rooms. Victoria is recovering from three broken ribs. Leo’s face has had to be stitched back together. Red, raw lines run across his face. A chunk of the right cheek could not be recovered; they have replaced it with leather.

Fred is arguably the worst. She lost her leg. She lost her brother.

I push against the wood of her door, and it groans open, announcing me to her. She is awake but looks terrible. Dark circles rim her eyes. When she spots me, she pushes weakly against the mattress to sit up.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she whispers sharply, then puts her head in her hands. “Sorry. Sorry. I just—can’t get the image of him out of my head.”

Abraham abandoned Fred’s desk chair by the bed and I plop into it, feeling all the gravity of the world in my body. Fred looks away from me but she’s tense, wound tight and waiting.

“I—”

She goes rigid, and I cut myself off. I remember Bellamy and Victoria the first day on campus and the way they offered up their sympathies. Sorry feels rotten and clinical all at once. It’s an awkward word, and after the fifth time, it’s horrible to hear. It feels like reliving the death over and over again.

So I say it plainly. “They brought his body back.”

“His body,” she repeats, still staring at the wall. “What remains of it?”

“Most of the torso. Legs. Both of his arms.”

“Mm,” she whispers. Exhales. “And our acceptance letters? When do we get those?”

“Tomorrow. But they won’t. . . have your leg ready. I told the Artificer—I wasn’t sure if you wanted me committing you to debt, so I told him—”

“Cassius,” she cuts me off. I fall silent. Finally, Fred looks my way. “What happened out there?”

I don’t know what to say. She was unconscious by the time the hybrid emerged. I don’t know if anyone’s told her. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. We were about to die. Next thing I know I’m back in London.” She turns her body to me and winces with the movement. “Tell me. You have to tell me.”

I think about reaching out and touching her hands, but I don’t know her all that well. And she is being too cordial to me, after what happened. After my involvement.

“A hybrid emerged from the woods. It killed the manticore and meant to kill us. But something in me—I don’t know. I spoke Latin. I told it to halt. And it listened.”

Her lips come together very tightly. “What did it want?”

“Vengeance.”

All the tension seems to go out of her. She glances away. “That I can understand.”

We lapse into a silence that feels heavy and meaningful. I see her in the corner of my eye glancing my way. All the sins in the world are on my shoulders and I am meant to start unburdening myself.

A lump grows in my throat and I swallow hard.

Without looking at her I whisper, “Fred. For what I committed us to, for the manticore, I am sorry.”

There’s no reply, so I glance up. She is looking at me blankly. The apology went right through her. She says, “Your decision cost my brother his life,” with such careful control of her voice she might as well be discussing the weather.

I want to go to my knees. I want her to tell me I am forgiven. But I can’t do that, for two reasons.

The first: I don’t deserve it. Simple. I did exactly what she accuses me of: my decision killed Silas Lin.

The second: There is no going back. And absolution of this will not absolve me of everything else. Of Bellamy. Of the suicide. Of my brother.

The only way to survive is to be ruthless.

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