Page 25 of Ruthless Ends
A pointed fingernail painted midnight black.
With a razorblade lining the side.
My mother’s.
My gaze darts to the note. There’s a bloody fingerprint smeared across the top of the page, and it sings with the hum of magic as I run my finger over it.
I don’t recognize the handwriting—all caps and jagged lines.
CHAPTEREIGHT
Radmore isnothing like York academy. Sleek, modern architecture replaces the gothic style I’ve grown accustomed to. Moonlight reflects off the dizzyingly tall buildings covered in so many windows they look like mirrors. The student body here is more than twice our size, so I guess they need the extra space.
The teleportation spell doesn’t take as much out of me as I’d been preparing for, though I do end up near the entrance gates rather than Adrienne’s dorm by accident. It’s always tricky with places you’ve never been before, going off an address rather than a concrete image in your head.
Towering, snowcapped mountains loom behind the school. Objectively, they’re beautiful, but the sight of them does little more than summon memories I don’t want to remember.
Snow and gravel crunch underfoot as I trek up the path. The campus is relatively quiet, only a smattering of people out and about. It must be the middle of a class block.
I don’t let myself picture what it would be like to finish my last semester here with my friends. To lounge on this quad, gaze at the view of mountains from those high floors while I study, my biggest worry of the week being what outfit I’d wear out on the weekend or exactly what grade point average I’d need to scrape by and keep my assigned partnership without tryingtoohard because that’s what senior year’s for.
What it was supposed to be for.
As I follow the wide sidewalks through the buildings, it occurs to me I have no idea where I’m going or what Adrienne’s dorm even looks like. I check the note on my phone again.
Astor Hall.
I squint at the buildings, my frown deepening with each golden sign I pass that’s not it.
“You lost?”
It takes me a moment to recognize him. And it isn’t because his hair is longer or because he’s lost weight. It’s his demeanor. He leaves several feet of space between us, his hands in his pockets and his face lacking his trademark carefree grin. Instead, he’s looking at me like he’s not sure if I’m really there.
“You’re just going to stand there?” I mean for it to sound light, teasing, but my voice comes out thin.
Finally, Daniel breaks out of whatever trance had been holding him back, crosses the distance between us, and throws his arms around my shoulders. I hug him back tightly and bury my face against his shoulder.
“You asshole,” he murmurs.
“I know.”
“You really had to steal my thunder, huh? Had to one-up my almost dying by going full out?”
I jab him in the stomach, and he lets me go with a breathy laugh. His eyes search my face, the amusement fading.
“How are you? We heard a lot of rumors. And you look terrible.”
I can’t even pretend to take offense to that because I know I do. “So do you.”
He tilts his head, acknowledging this.
“Is it true your rise-from-the-dead return to the Auclair estate was riding a werewolf?”
I let out a choked laugh.
“It’s not even the weirdest rumor, believe it or not.”
I shake my head. Who comes up with this stuff? “I’m looking for Adrienne’s dorm. Astor Hall?”