Page 55 of Flickerstate

But I owe thempartof the truth, at least. As much as I can afford to share.

My eyes drop to our hummingbird carpet. I can’t look at Candace or Bree when I speak. “Maybe I—I should’ve trusted you guys to reopen the channels before I lost my grip on our nav.”

“You should have,” Candace agrees steadily.

“It’s just… I’ve got…trust issues.” I grimace, the cliché sour in my mouth. “Last year I had a—a family emergency. And my best friend since forever—she ghosted me. After that…”

I grind to a stop. My throat’s too tight. I sneak a glance at Candace and Bree, sitting in judgment.

Except they’re not judging.

Bree’s blue eyes overflow with empathy, like she’s completely forgotten that a few hours ago I gave her a fricking nosebleed over—as far as she knows—a guaranteed A-. “I’m so sorry, Norah.”

I squirm. Maybe I don’t know exactly how bad siphoning my teammates was, but I feel like Bree should hold on to her grudge a little longer. I would.

And Candace… She’s looking at me like sheseesme. “Thanks for telling us,” she says quietly.

Chapter Thirteen

On Vik’s advice, I set an early alarm and spend Saturday in a productive fever, doing laundry and buzz-sawing through the weekend’shomework. Once it’s done, I call Jo. I texted her yesterday to let her know my team passed the first trial—omitting scary details about beasts and detentions—but she wanted a full debrief. At 4:57 p.m., I say goodbye, put on the one dress I packed (purple, three-quarter sleeves), and run off.

When I skid into the dining hall, skinny underclassmen are staring at a whiteboard by the nearest window. I walk over. They notice me, trade wide-eyed glances, and scatter.

My new reputation precedes me.

The whiteboard looks like the one in clinic, except someone has inked in the first trial’s winners. We’ll compete against Team Six in the second trial: Zipporah, Amber, and Layla.

While I collect my dinner, more students filter in. I snag a seat and spot Vik. I’m about to wave when Griffin thumps his plateon my table: grilled chicken, hamburger, pork chop, and salmon. Overkill in several senses.

He spots my grimace. “Vik and I lifted earlier, Miss Judgmental. I earned this protein. I wanted to ask—”

“I’m sure your question will be fascinating—”

“My questions always are.”

“—but I’m here for a mentor-transfer dinner. Two-person deal.”

“Vik will want me here.” Griffin cuts his salmon with his fork. “He thinks I’m awesome.”

“He’s never mentioned that to me.”

Griffin pops some salmon into his mouth and swallows. “He’s a chronic understater of his true feelings. And he’s worried that if he sings my praises as I deserve, you’ll call off the wedding and elope with me instead.”

“Your obsession with my marital status alarms me, as I am but a maid of seventeen.”

“Good thing my question’s about something else.” He leans toward me, propping his shoe on the lowest rung of my chair. “When your nav showed up, did beasts manifest?”

I freeze.

Vik walks up to the table, backpack hanging from one shoulder. His eyes flick to Griffin’s shoe on my chair.

“Your blockmate crashed,” I tell him.

He hangs his backpack from the last empty chair and sits. “I see that.”

“I’m not crashing,” Griffin says. “I’m gracing you with my presence. You haven’t answered my question, Norah.”

“Nope,” I say.