A door creaks and my eyes pop open at the sound.

“Shit,” I breathe.

Matteo walks out of what I can only guess is the bathroom. His eyes narrow when he sees me. He probably thinks I followed him, but saying I didn’t is only going to make it look like I did.

“You look like her,” he says like he’s disgusted, but keeps his voice low enough that the guard in front of the dining hall can’t hear him.

My heart thuds. I can’t imagine who from his life I might look like. The only person I’ve ever been compared to is my mom, who Dad claims I look exactly like. But how on earth would Matteo know that?

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” I keep my voice steady and neutral, imitating Layla, and I repeat her words in my thoughts: He’s just testing me.

Matteo scans my face, searching for something. A denial, maybe? “You’re an idiot for coming here,” he says. “And even more of one for having followed me into this hallway.”

My hands clench. “I didn’t—”

But I don’t get my rebuttal out, because a fist the size of a grapefruit is suddenly headed for my face. The impact with my cheekbone rattles my entire skull and I slam back into the wall, sliding to the floor.

My hands immediately fly to my face, the left side of which is already swelling. I can hear the guard’s boots pound against the stone as he rushes over. My nose isn’t bleeding yet, which at least makes me think it isn’t broken, but the pain is unreal and tears involuntarily flow down my left cheek.

I peer up at Matteo with my unswollen eye. The guard is restraining him now, holding his arms behind his back, and a crowd is already forming in the hallway, spilling out from the dining hall. The guard pulls Matteo away from me and he doesn’t resist.

Layla helps me up by my arm. I can see her questioning with her eyes if I’m okay, but she doesn’t say a word. I grab at the wall behind me. My head pounds like someone’s playing the drums on it. I want to scream at Matteo, but there’s a lump in my throat and I’m afraid if I open my mouth I’ll angry-cry.

The crowd parts to let Headmaster Blackwood through. She looks from me to Matteo, like she’s trying to cherry-pick information from our body language.

“Down,” Blackwood says, and the guard forces Matteo to his knees. She turns to me. “Well, go ahead.”

No “Are you okay?” No “I can see that you’ve been knocked out by a guy twice your size—maybe we should get you to a doctor.”

I stare at her in horror. “Go ahead?” I ask.

“An eye for an eye, just like I told you,” Blackwood says, looking at me expectantly. “Only, I didn’t expect it to be quite so literal or quite so soon.”