Gillian walks in right as they finish talking, so I don’t get a chance to text Nick for answers. Between the sour taste in my mouth from my “breakup” with Patricia and my worry about Nick, the rest of the evening goes miserably.

Sel and Gillian demo the longsword, and face off to a draw. Again, Sel doesn’t speak to anyone and leaves as soon as they’re done.

Owen and Gillian introduce us to hard, custom-designed polypropylene practice swords. For me, it’s an utter disaster—even against the heavy wooden dummies we start with for the first hour.

On the second hour, they pair us up and that’s much, much worse.

Gillian drops her head into her hands every time Whitty disarms me. “It’s an extension of your arm, Matthews!” When I raise a hand to ask Whitty for a break three times in ten minutes, out of breath and hands clutching my knees, Gillian groans. “You have no stamina, Matthews! What if your Scion needed you? Do you think you can call time with a gwyllgi on your heels?” I want to scream at her that I have no idea what a gwyllgi is, but instead I stagger to standing, my heart thudding in my chest like a hammer, and start again.

When it’s over, I call Nick’s cell twice, but he doesn’t pick up.

Alice is studying when I get home. She notices my workout gear right away, and I’m ready with a lie: “Scavenger hunts and obstacle courses and team-building crap. Nothing dangerous, just ridiculous initiation stuff.” It takes everything in me to stay awake as we catch up. I tell her an abridged version of the “date” with Nick at the bar, and she gives me news about classmates from back home.

Nick texts right as I drift off in bed:

Hey, my dad sent a plane for me. Said I needed to join him at Northern and show face at the other chapters. Things are getting worse up here, just like there. Gates opening where we haven’t seen them before. I’ll be back for Thursday’s trial. Gillian’s good—trust her. You can do this, B.

Monday with the daggers is far worse than Sunday with the longsword.

I lose every match with Greer. They have years of training on their side and use their long arms and legs to every advantage.

After, they help me walk to William’s with a sore tailbone and a smattering of bruises from one side of my rib cage to the other, and from sternum to belly button.

According to Gillian’s calculations, if the blades were real, I’d have been gutted thirty times.

When I get home, I force myself to walk normally in front of Alice.

On Tuesday, there is no demo, but Sel shows up anyway. To watch, it seems.