Page 155 of Architecti
If lost, please return to the contracts office and Professor Corvine.
My fingers go cold, my chest heavy.Why would she leave her notebook?
I head back to the courtyard, but she’s not there either.My stomach turns.I can’t imagine her leaving before she saw the results.My throat goes dry.Ignatius said there was a break-in, what if the Societas got in again today, knowing we would be distracted with the exams.
A group of professors stride past.
“Hey, Professor Morrow, have you seen Professor Corvine?”I say, trying to suppress the quake in my voice.Her brow cinches, one neat little line.Thalia seems off, but I can’t place why.
“No?She was watching your Veilwalker exams last I saw her.”
“You didn’t see her leave?”
“No, sorry, perhaps she’s gone to help with organising the celebrations later.”
There’s a rumble around us.The earth trembles and it’s far louder and more aggressive than usual.My arms fill with goosebumps.
My gut coils in on itself, my tongue sours.Something is wrong.
She didn’t just leave.My contract with Ignatius will have to wait.
“I… I need to go.”
She didn’t say goodbye.She abandoned her notebook.Something isn’t right.Lucy wouldn’t vanish without saying goodbye.Not on exam day, not after everything she’s done to help me.
Bastien appears outside the Great Library entrance.
“Hey?Where did you go, what’s happened?”
“Lucy is missing.”
“Missing how?Where have you checked?She probably went back to Inferos.”He shrugs.
I grab him by the arms, forcing him to look at me.“I’m telling you, she’s missing.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll help you look.”
“I’m going to check her apartment.You check the lecture halls and her office.”
We part outside the Great Library, and he sets off to the southern area of campus while I head north towards the three Houses.
I bump into Lex en route and she helps, heading towards the theatre, pubs and shops, agreeing to meet us at the cloisters.
When I reach the penthouse in House Inferos, my blood turns to ice.
Her door is open.My fingers tremble as I push it open to see the apartment trashed.Her belongings are strewn across the floor.Kitchen draws upturned.Cupboards thrown open.
The frail skeleton moth lays dead on the carpet, one wing torn clean off and discarded a foot away from the rest.
“Oh,” I say and my eyes sting.It’s so stupid, it wasn’t even alive, and I hated them.But it’s this dead moth that unleashes the flood gates.
I pick him up and carry him to the moth room and rest him against the foliage.
“Mortem,” I shout.
He materialises instantly.He trembles, his fur stuck out at all angles, his eyes wide as he mewls at me.He pads across the floor and jumps into my arms.
He’s never done that, never sought affection.
