I guess being the alpha chick isn’t quite what she thought it would be. The reality is starting to wear thin, like a job she doesn’t particularly enjoy and wasn’t really all that qualified for in the first place.

I can tell by the way she snaps at her supposed new friends, by the way she rolls her eyes dramatically, heaves these big loud sighs, and sometimes even resorts to foot-stomping tantrums when she’s really, really frustrated and wants them all to know it.

Life at the top is dragging her down, and from what I can tell, Honor is really starting to resent her being there, just like I predicted she would.

Yet it’s also clear that neither one of them has any plan to forfeit their positions. Haven has too much to prove, and Honor, well, while I have no idea what level she might’ve reached in her magick skills now that Jude’s taken a break from tutoring her, regardless of what she’s managed to learn, she’s still no match for Haven and there’s no doubt she knows it.

And even though Miles and I don’t really discuss it, even though I pretty much just stick to the same ol’, day in, day out, boring routine—of training in the morning, remaining vigilant at school, and then training again before bed, only to get up and do it all over again—I know I’m not the only one who notices.

Damen sees it too.

I can tell by the way his gaze is always on me—following me wherever I go. He feels anxious, worried about me.

Worried that she’s starting to lose it—that she’ll blow without warning and decide to come after me.

Worried that I’ll fail to alert him when it happens, even though I promised I would.

And he probably has good reason to worry. She’s strung out. Unruly. She’s a complete and total wreck.

Like a bomb only seconds from detonating.

A thread that’sthis close to snapping.

And when it happens, I’ll be the first one she seeks.

Or at least I hope it’s me.

Better me than Jude.

On my way home from school I stop by the store. Despite the fact that Jude asked me to stay away, claiming he can’t bear to have me around until I make a firm decision either way.

Still, I convince myself it’s my duty—that I have a serious obligation to look after him and make sure that he’s safe and okay and all that.

But when I catch myself manifesting a cute new dress and shoes to go with it, just before checking my hair and makeup in the rearview mirror, I know that’s only part of it. The other part is I need to see him.

Need to see if being around him will spark something in me.

Something I can build on.

Something strong and tangible and defined enough to steer me in the right direction.

I stop just outside the door, fussing with my clothes and my hair once again, before taking a deep breath and going in. Half expecting to find Ava behind the counter, since it’s such a warm and beautiful day, I figure the siren song of all that good surf will be pretty hard for Jude to ignore, but thrilled to find him right there behind the register instead. Laughing and joking as though he hasn’t a care in the world, his face relaxed, his aura green and easy, as he goes about the business of ringing up a customer.

Acute customer.

One whose blazing pink aura tells me she’s only partly there for the books that she’s buying and mostly there to see Jude.

I pause, wondering if I should just leave and come back later, when the door closes behind me, the bell clanks hard against it, and Jude looks past his customer to find me standing only a few feet away.

Prompting his eyes to darken, his smile to falter, as his aura grows wavy and dim—pretty much the opposite of how he looked when he was talking toher .

As though the mere sight of me is enough to suck the joy right out of the room.

He shoves her stuff in a bag and sends her on her way so hastily, so abruptly, she can’t help but notice the change. Giving me a quick up and down, chased by an accusatory frown, she mumbles something under her breath and makes her way past, while Jude busies himself behind the counter as though I’m not there.

“She likes you,” I say, watching as he takes an extra long time to handle his copy of the receipt.

“She likes youand she’s cute,” I add, getting no more than a grunt in reply.

“She likes youand she’s cuteand she’s got good energy,” I insist, urging him to look at me as I make my way toward him. “Which makes me wonder, what’s wrong withyou ?”

He stops. Stops with the fumbling, and the busy making, and the pretending I’m not standing right there in front of him when we both know I am.

Stops with all of that and finally looks at me and says, “You.” Stating it so openly, so simply, I’m not sure what to do. “Youare what’s wrong with me.” I gaze down at my feet, unable to look at him, feeling foolish for coming here like this, and barely daring a breath when he adds, “Isn’t that what you wanted to hear?”

I nod, slightly, barely, because he’s right. It is what I wanted to hear. It’s exactly why I came here.

He sinks down onto the stool, shoulders slumping as he buries his face in his hands. Rubbing his eyes, the pads of his fingers digging in deep, before lifting his head and squinting at me when he says, “Ever, what’s this about? Seriously? What’re you doing here—what do you want from me?”

I swallow hard, knowing I owe him an answer, owe him the truth—in both of its forms. Venturing to do just that when I say, “Well, first of all, I wanted to make sure you’re okay. I haven’t seen you in a while and—”