Page 139 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning

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I’m tootiredto place it.

I let the rot eat me. It doesn’t change much—I already feel hollow.

My feet hit the beige floor of the academy, and I turn toward my room. Something grabs my arm, trying to pull me in the other direction.

I fight against their strength, but they don’t cease. Finally, I turn around, prepared to push the person away.

Nobody’s there.

Butsomebodyis. I feel them before me. Holding out a hand, I reach for the ghost, assuming it’s a Nepenthe—the only creature who can use invisibility magic.

There’s nothing there.

But there is.

“What are you doing?” Calista calls.

The hand that clamps around my wrist lets go. I look ahead, waiting.

Unsure of what I’m doing.

“Wendy?”

“I don’t know,” I murmur.

“Well come on.” Calista steps closer.

I shake my head. This isn’t right. I’m not supposed to leave.

There’s something I need to see.

I glance down at the rot eating through my body.

“You need rest,” she says.

My heart aches, telling me to turn and follow her, so I do.

A few steps later, I realize I followed because of her concern. She worries for me and my wound.

But my worry lingers with the ghost, in the opposite direction.

?

Calista takes me to my room and settles me in bed. She even places the cover over my body.

I keep waiting for her to leave; she waiting, too. There’s a wall between us, one she doesn’t want to cross. I don’t blame her. I know why.

“You could go to the infirmary.” She lingers by the door. “Get extra healing.”

“I’m all right.”

I’m not all right. But this pain—this hollowing of my heart—is not from the mended stab wound. It’s an discomfort that aches. It’s a shepherd, and I’m a sheep—I have to follow it.

Calista turns to exit, but she isn’t ready to leave. Her back stays turned to me, her hand on the knob, for several moments.

Finally, she faces me.

“Thank you,” she mutters.

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