As I examine my cuts, Matteo drops down from a vine, and the moment he lands I shove him with both hands, sending him back a step.

“You could have killed me,” I growl. “Basurto said tag, not yank the person you catch down to their death. What the hell is your problem? And don’t try to tell me it’s because of Stefano, because you know I wouldn’t kill someone in my own Family to get back at you for a punch!” I’m taking a chance, but I hope my indignation over Family rings true to him. I need to undermine whoever is trying to pit us against each other.

“Hey, now!” Basurto yells from the middle of the courtyard as she starts to march toward us. “This is not how we use our energy in my class.”

Matteo stares me down, breathing hard from the climb, daring me to hit him. “Save it for someone who cares. Your words don’t mean anything to me.” His voice is calm but his eyes are anything but.

Basurto steps between us. “I see you two have a flair for the dramatic today. I saw your little maneuver up in the trees, Matteo. It was bad form, I’ll grant you that. But if he really wanted to kill you, November, he could have shaken you off his boot before you could reach for a vine. But go ahead and continue. Fight it out. Throw yourselves on the ground like children if you need to.”

Matteo and I stare at each other for a long moment before I eventually look away. He did have the opportunity to kill me, I realize, and he chose to let me get my grip. But that doesn’t prove that he doesn’t want me dead—only that he wasn’t willing to kill me in front of everyone.

“No takers? Well, I’m going to get back to this beautiful day, then,” Basurto says.

The entire class watches us, with Brendan and Charles looking particularly interested in the exchange. I’m left feeling oddly exposed.

Chapter Nineteen

STILL WORKED UP over my exchange with Matteo and my worry about my family, I take a seat in Conner’s office. I focus on the flames crackling in the fireplace, the only thing in the whole room that has movement and doesn’t feel stale.

“Is there anything you would like to tell me, November?” Conner asks from the couch across from mine. Ten things that I don’t want him to know flash through my thoughts.

“Not particularly,” I say.

His eyes focus on me in a way that tells me he doesn’t accept my answer. “Why don’t we talk about your friendship with Ashai?” he says slowly.

I hate these vague leading questions. I much prefer Blackwood’s direct ones. “Where’s Headmaster Blackwood?”

“Not here,” Conner says, and offers no clarification.