Chapter 12: Practice

“Well, that went well,” I blurted, kicking the air to vent my anger.

“What went well?" Myla said. I jerked slightly– I had forgotten that I’m no longer staying alone anymore.

She was lying on her bed, reading a fashion magazine. She didn't look up. "Let me guess. You tried getting the nursing role? I didn’t know you were one of their fans."

"I’m not one of his fans," I hissed. "I hate him so much."

"Vesper?" Myla turned a page. "Join the club. He’s a prick. But he’s a rich, powerful prick. What did you do?"

"I applied. Halloway rejected me. Then Vesper walked in and I... I snapped. I told him off."

Myla lowered the magazine. A slow smile spread across her face. "You told Vesper off? To his face?"

"Yes."

"Bold," Myla mused. She sat up, her eyes gleaming with sudden interest. "Stupid, but bold."

"It doesn't matter," I said, sinking onto my bed, the weight of my father’s threat crushing me again. "I needed that job. I needed to get close to him. Now I have nothing."

"Why?" Myla asked sharply. "Why do you need to get close to Vesper? You’re not his type, and you clearly hate him."

I froze. I couldn't tell her the truth. "I... I just wanted the position. I wanted to prove to someone that I could handle it."

Myla studied me. Her eyes were dark and calculating, like a shark circling prey. She stood up and walked over to my bed, looking down at me.

"You’re a terrible liar, Sylvania," she said softly. "But I don't care why you want access to him. I just care that you hate him."

"What are you talking about?"

"I want that job for you," Myla said. "Mrs. Halloway is old school. She cares about grades, discipline, and references. Specifically, faculty references."

"I don't have any yet."

"No," Myla agreed. "But I have access to the administration server. My dad donated the new computer lab. I have... privileges."

My eyes widened. "You mean hacking?"

"I prefer 'creative editing'," Myla corrected. She sat next to me. "Here’s the deal. I can get you that job. I can forge a transcript that makes you look like Florence Nightingale reincarnated. I can delete the application of whichever girl she was planning to eventually hire tomorrow."

"Why would you do that for me?" I asked, suspicious.

Myla’s expression hardened. "Because from what I’ve gathered, Vesper knows things. He talks. Especially when he’s high on those painkillers Halloway gives him. I need to know what he’s saying. Specifically about... a certain party last semester."

A party?

She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You get the job. You spy on him. You report back to me every time he opens his mouth. If you hear my name, or Julian's name, or anything about 'The Gilded Night,' you tell me immediately."

"You want me to spy for you?"

"I’m offering you a lifeline," Myla said. "Take it or leave it."

I looked at her. I was trapped between a rock and a hard place. My father on one side, Myla on the other. But Myla was offering me the key to the cage.

"Do it," I whispered.

Myla smiled—a predatory, satisfied grin. "Smart girl."

She walked back to her desk and opened her laptop. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. "It’ll take me ten minutes to update your file and send a 'recommendation' from the Dean directly to Halloway’s inbox. By tomorrow morning, you’ll be the new assistant."

She hit the enter key with a flourish and spun around.

"Oh, and Sylvania?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't cross me," she said, her voice cheerful but her eyes dead cold. "Or I'll make sure Vesper finds out exactly who you really are."

I stared at her, unsure of how to feel about the whole situation. What’s it with everyone in this place? Aleera looks to be the only normal one. My phone buzzed in my pocket, jolting me. I pulled it out, dread pooling in my stomach.

It was a text from Elliard.

‘Tick tock. The clock is running. We give you a week to make significant progress, or you’d not like what you’d see next.

I looked up at Myla, who was humming to herself as she hacked into the school database.

"I'm in," I said, my voice shaking. "Whatever it takes."

The smell of rubbing alcohol and Wintergreen ointment had become my new perfume. For three days, I had been the silent shadow in the infirmary, organizing files, sterilizing instruments, and trying to become invisible while simultaneously watching everything.

It was working, and it wasn’t.

I had access to Vesper. He was in the infirmary every day after practice, usually for ice on his throwing shoulder or to pick up anti-inflammatories. But getting close to him was like trying to pet a wolf that had its leg caught in a trap.

"You're doing it wrong," Vesper snapped, yanking his arm away.

I froze, the roll of athletic tape in my hand. We were alone in the treatment room. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, amplifying the headache that had been throbbing behind my eyes since I woke up.

"I’m wrapping it exactly how Mrs. Halloway showed me," I said, keeping my voice steady. "If you stop moving, it won't bunch up."

Vesper stared at me. His eyes were dark, stormy, and filled with a confusing mixture of hatred and hunger. Every time he looked at me, it felt like he was seeing someone else—a ghost overlaid on my features.

"You shouldn't be here," he muttered, his voice rough. "You don't belong here."

"I work here, Vesper."

"That's not what I mean." He leaned forward, the sudden proximity making the air between us crackle with a strange, static electricity. It was undeniable, this pull. It terrified me. "You remind me of her. It’s... irritating."

"Who?" I dared to ask.

"Hera," he whispered, the name slipping out like a curse. Then his eyes hardened, the vulnerability snapping shut like a steel trap. "Just finish the tape. And stop shaking."

I wasn't shaking until he said that. I finished the wrap in silence, my heart hammering against my ribs. Hera. A name to investigate. Was she an ex? A dead relative? Myla hadn’t mentioned a Hera, but maybe she knew who she was.