Page 132 of Marked By His Hunger
But it didn’t harden either.
“I see,” she said. “You are not the first student whose home life left much to be desired.”
Something in my chest tightened.
Not pity.
Recognition.
“Tell me,” she continued, stepping closer, “did your mother ever speak to you of your heritage?”
Heritage.
The word didn’t feel simple here.
Not like ancestry charts or last names or where your grandparents came from.
It felt alive.
Like it carried weight.
Like it carried consequence.
“No,” I said slowly, trying to steady my voice. “I was young when my parents died. I know my maternal grandmother was from Sicily, and my grandfather was born in the same town, but?—”
“But that tells you nothing of what you are,” Professor Kenna finished.
My stomach twisted.
Yeah.
That tracked.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“It’s true,” I admitted. “I didn’t know any of this was real before I got here. I mean, I could always see the dead, but for so long the world I lived in treated me like I was crazy.”
My fingers curled slightly in the thin blanket covering my lap.
“Doctors. Medications. Labels. I didn’t learn anything about Witches or magic or… any of it until I was older. Even then,” I said and shook my head. “I thought I’d pretty much just lost my mind until the letter came.”
Until something finally told me I wasn’t broken.
I lifted my gaze to hers.
“And then I got here and realized I’ve been living in the wrong reality my entire life.”
Professor Kenna watched me in silence for a long moment.
Not unkind.
But not soft either.
Assessing.
Measuring.
“And do you believe you will keep your place here if you act without discipline?” she asked evenly. “If you entangle yourself recklessly with a Monster, Miss Notte?”
