Page 112 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
I glance at her, slowing down my pace to meet hers, but she continues to look ahead. I glance at my feet, keeping my head down with every step.
She doesn’t leave my side.
There are many things Ms. Ferner might want to say to me. We used to see each other every day, but now there’s a distance between us. A gap where familiarity used to live.
Ms. Ferner has nearly slowed to a complete stop, and Azaire meets my gaze. I nod, gesturing toward the academy, and he walks with the rest of the class. They all quickly disappear between the walls.
Neither of us says a thing for a while. We walk at a snail’s pace to the building, until Ms. Ferner tries to fill the gap between us.
“You were quick today,” she says.
I was.
I healed Azaire before the poison even made him puke—far more than any of my classmates can say.
It’s hardly a compliment, but that’s how Ms. Ferner gives them.
“Thanks.”
Her tone turns sharp. “I saw him touch you.”
I take a breath, my torso stiffening.That’swhat this is about, and she clearly doesn’t want to waste time.
“How?” Ms. Ferner asks.
I shake my head, the truth catching in my throat. There’s no point in lying. She’d recognize it immediately. “I don’t know.”
Ms. Ferner glances over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Did you do something to him?”
“Dosomething to him?” I repeat her question with incredulity. “Wh-what could I possibly do to be able to touch him?”
The question stirs through my mind. What did Idoto him. Can I not have this one thing? This one relief from my life? Do I have to be controlling or manipulating because of my magic?
Can I not touch a person and be touched in return?
“I don’t know,” Ms. Ferner says sternly. “That’s why I’m asking you.”
My voice is more broken than I intend as I say, “I did nothing to him.”
Ms. Ferner stares at me, silent. My panic picks up, my breathing following closely behind. I’m staring at the academy, so close and somehow still too far, as she says, “I have to alert the academy.”
I stop in my tracks, turning in her direction.
Tell the academy? She must know what that will mean for Azaire—what they’ll do to him.
“Don’t,” I whisper. “Please, don’t.”
“Ms. Estridon—”
“He’s already one of their guineapigs. Youknowthat. You’ll only make it worse.”
Ms. Ferner doesn’t answer me; she only stares. I take a step closer, not sure what I’m going to do but knowing I need to be prepared.
“We’ve spent a lot of time together,” I remind her. “On some level, you care for me. I feel it. And I care for him. You can’t—” My breath shakes. “Please don’t do this to him.”
For a moment, Ms. Ferner looks truly saddened, but I can feel, deep down, that my words haven’t changed her mind.
I take another step closer.
