A sack of flour overturned in his backward stumble. A bottle full of cooking oil shattered to the floor as his body smacked against the shelf, eliciting a pained groan as the wood bruised his skin. Achard’s immediate reaction was one of feral intensity. He kicked Nox in the side and sent her flying to the ground. Her head bounced against the stones on the floor. Her ears popped against the pain of impact.

She scanned again for a matron—for anyone—but they were on their own.

Splayed in a half-crouched position, she grasped toward the destroyed bottle of oil. She was willing to spear the boy with its jagged edges if he touched them. Her hand clapped on the ground through the flour as she wriggled her fingers toward the bottle’s neck, feeling a cutting sting as a glass shard bit into her palm. A small cloud of the powder muddied her vision, but her fingers found the neck of the bottle and she scrambled to her feet, brandishing the weapon in one hand. A paste of flour, blood, and oil had smeared itself against her.

“Why!” Amaris asked uselessly from over her shoulder. She could scarcely see what was happening through the cloud of flour.

There would be no response. They hadn’t come to discuss the rationale of hateful idiots.

The boy slammed a fist into Nox’s sternum, knocking the wind from her the moment she stood in defense. Nox absorbed the blow and bared her teeth, feeling her eyes glaze with fury as she tried to catch her breath. She poised herself to slash at him again when a shriek from Amaris turned her around. In the time it took to draw Nox’s attention, Achard closed the gap between them, grabbing her from behind. White flashed as the other boys hoisted Amaris to her feet, one successfully knotting his grubby fists through her starlit hair.

Nox felt the internal rage boil over her edges, an inner heat not born of flame but of poison and acid. She slammed the heel of her foot down into Achard’s instep, thrusting her elbow up into his chest. As she turned on him, winding up to kick him between the legs, watching him cower beneath her, she heard Amaris behind her once more.

It was not a shriek or any cry of fear. She snapped with fury. “Get off me! Let me go!”

Perhaps out of shock that she’d spoken, grimy fingers unraveled from her hair, and their grip on the girl’s arms seemed to slacken.

Amaris’s eyes were as wide and white as saucers. Her voice, normally soft and gentle, rose to shrill desperation. She commanded, “Leave! Now!”

The commotion stopped with jarring immediacy. Feet stilled. Clutching hands fully released their grasp. A smothering, bewildering silence pressed down on the kitchen.