“Welcome, everyone. I’m Victoria Morgan, the Legendborn Scion of the Line of Tristan, third-ranked.” She pauses for applause, and the Pages in the room actually give it to her. Instead of clapping, I notice her blue bracelet. It’s identical to Sarah’s. And if Sarah sponsored Whitty, Sarah is Legendborn.

“Tonight begins the annual initiation process for our hallowed Order.” Her cheery gaze pauses on me for a brief moment, like she’s trying to place me. Her eyes widen when she spots Nick’s sigil. “Pages, tonight you will take the Oath of Fealty. If the Oath finds you worthy, you will officially become a member of the Southern Chapter and be granted Sight, the ability to see aether. If you are not worthy, you will be mesmered and cast out. In the meantime, not a word until the ceremony, yes? Follow me.” Instead of turning the way she came, Victoria strides through the crowd toward the back of the room.

“Tor?” Craig speaks up.

“Yes, Page McMahon?” She answers without looking, already opening the sliding balcony door to let the night air in.

He glances at the rest of us, then back to her. “How many Squire spots are open this year?”

“Oh! So sorry!” Victoria pivots on a heel, pleasure bright on her face. “As I’m sure you’ve all noticed, Nick Davis has returned.” Murmurs, eager nods from the crowd. “Thanks to Nick, tonight our chapter makes history in more ways than one. This year will be remembered as the year he claims his Scion title, the year Pages compete for a record three Squire positions, and”—to my surprise, she openly gestures in my direction, a pleased smile on her face—“the year our chapter welcomes its most diverse Page class.”

Victoria leads her own applause, and half of the room joins her.

Heat curls around my neck and ears. Diverse. Like an award she’d given herself. A gold star. Diverse.

We follow Victoria across the balcony and tramp single file down wooden stairs to reach the Lodge’s backyard. Here the humid, dark evening swallows us whole, save for the light from a few tall torches around the yard’s perimeter. She tells us to line up in the grass and wait, then disappears down a path around the side of the building.

I’m grateful for the poor lighting because Victoria’s words are still churning in my stomach, and I can’t control my face.

Its most diverse Page class? Ever? And as if that’s why Nick chose me?

Norris. McKinnon. Tor. Three comments, three assumptions, three people who’ve singled me out because of how I look and what they’ve decided I represent. In forty-eight hours.

I close my eyes against a rush of emotions: anger, hot and burning against my cheeks. Disgust at the self-congratulatory expression on her face. Then the deep fatigue my father calls “death by a thousand cuts.”