Page 7 of Psycho Gods

A small orb in the corner was the only source of light.

Oversize wingback chairs faced the chalkboard, and a long table with an enchanted tablet built into its surface spanned the front of the room. Shelves lined the walls, filled with binders overflowing with information on the ungodly, the realm, and war strategies.

Binders were open on our laps.

Dick stood unnaturally still in front of the chalkboard as he lectured.

I slumped low in my leather chair.

This was our twenty-something-eth strategy meeting in the past week, and I was tired of being talked at; any adrenaline from surviving the Legionnaire Games had dissipated, and my attention span was ten minutes. Max.

Dick’s lips were moving, but I only heard every third word.

He flashed a tray of gas canisters, put them in a drawer, then ranted about not using anything in the drawers because you would face criminal consequences.

He went on and on about prohibited weapons.

If they were prohibited, then why would they have them on hand? What idiot would actually pay attention to this deranged presentation?

I picked at the leather cushion beneath my thigh and concentrated on mimicking a rock: hear nothing, see nothing, sit still all day, and sometimes fall over and crush people to death.

Goals.

Next to me, John raised his eyebrow, dark eyes questioning, and I sank lower with boredom. He nodded in understanding as he absent-mindedly played with one of my curls.

Beside him, Luka leaned forward and looked back and forth between the two of us with his brow furrowed. His fingers were wrapped around John’s wrist in a vise.

I’d noticed lately that the three of us were always connected.

One twin looked down at me with intense dark eyes, while the other flashed dimples, and a tendril of warmth flowered in my stomach.

Pain streaked down my spine.

I winced.

John wrapped my curl tighter around his finger, and Luka’s olive knuckles turned white as he gripped his twin fiercely.

I sank back with a sigh.

On my other side, Sadie was sleeping in a seated position with her eyes wide open. Equal parts envious and creeped out, I poked at her side.

She slowly turned her head in my direction—red eyes wide and unseeing as she stared at me for a long minute—then she slowly turned her head back forward.

I made a mental note to unfriend her immediately.

“Don’t you dare wake her up,” Cobra mouthed next to her.

I rolled my eyes.

Blah, blah, blah. I’d rather be at Elite Academy, drowning in the black sea, than sit through another of Dick’s sanctimonious explanations on battle strategy.

But here I was.

Time plodded forward.

When I was three seconds away from a self-induced coma, Dick said, “Please close your binders.”

Thank the sun god.