MY BOOTS CLICK against the stone corridor as I speed-walk toward the dining hall. Layla and Ash were in their classes for a good hour longer than I was and so I spent that time stewing in my room. I’ve had an awful knot in my stomach ever since my encounter with Nyx this morning, and I’m crossing everything I have in the hopes that I can make it through the rest of the day without incident.

I push through the enormous arched door with iron rivets that leads to the dining hall. Maroon velvet chairs, long tables laid with white linen tablecloths, and sparkly silver await me. There are centerpieces made from green ivy and clusters of white flowers, and from the ceiling hang cast-iron chandeliers alight with real candles. On a platform at the end of the room is a table of nineteen teachers presiding over the hall and an empty chair where Conner used to sit. The students speak in polite and quiet voices, exactly what you wouldn’t expect from a room full of a hundred teenagers eating dinner.

I walk between the tables, avoiding the probing glances from the other students. No one has said anything to me about Conner’s death, but as I make my way across the room, everyone I pass follows me with their eyes. There were times this happened to me in the cafeteria in Pembrook, once in sixth grade after I scaled the flagpole and strung up a pair of enormous underwear and once in ninth grade when I put all the supplies for a dreaded science practical on the roof of the school. Only, back then I was met with hoots and cheers and pats on the back. But this attention is neither congratulatory nor good-natured, and instead of strutting I find myself wishing I could pull up the hood of my cloak.

I’m halfway to my usual spot, where Ash and Layla are already seated, when Brendan suddenly pushes his chair back. He stands up, still chatting with a group of guys, and takes a wide stance, placing himself and his chair directly in my path. I slow my pace, unsure how to navigate this obvious challenge and aware that everyone is now paying attention. It’s not as though I can turn back and go a different way; it’ll look like I’m scared of him. Nyx, thankfully, is nowhere to be seen.

I stop in front of Brendan. He makes no effort to move, and by the way his chest is puffed out, I’m certain he has no plan to.

My shoulders tense. “Excuse me,” I say with as much civility as I can muster, but he doesn’t even look in my direction. “I know you hear me, Brendan. You’re not that subtle.”