Ch. 140

Ch. 140
"You're telling me," he finally manages, "that your Reaperball coach—the man who makes freshmen cry during warm-ups—is actually a dragon? A real, fire-breathing, city-destroying dragon?" His voice climbs an octave on the last word, disbelief warring with the evidence of his own eyes back in the vault.
"A Crimson Grand Drake," I clarify, oddly protective of Coach's proper classification. "The last one, actually."
Perris stares at me like I've grown a second head. "And he's been masquerading as a P.E. teacher? At Widdershins?" He shakes his head. "Why would a dragon—sorry, a 'Grand Drake'—pretend to be a human physical education instructor? That's like finding out the cafeteria lady is actually the Empress in disguise."
I snort at the comparison, though it's not entirely off base. The absurdity of it strikes me anew—the most powerful predator in the magical hierarchy spending his days teaching spoiled Academy students how to pass a ball. If I hadn't lived through the revelation myself, I'd probably be just as skeptical.
"I don't even know where to begin with that," Perris mutters, running both hands through his hair now, making it worse. He stops suddenly, something new occurring to him. His gaze sharpens as he looks at me. "Why was a dragon looking for you?"
The question hits like a physical blow, though I've been expecting it. My throat tightens visibly, and I have to force myself to meet his eyes. We've reached the heart of it now—the complication that's rewritten my entire existence at Widdershins. The truth that Bellamy warned me to keep hidden, that Coach himself struggled to accept.
"Because I'm his mate," I admit, the words falling between us like stones into still water.
"His mate?" he repeats, the words strangled. "As in...?"
"As in we're, like, together," I say, shrugging. “Sort of.”
Perris's reaction is instantaneous and visceral. He'd placed his arm loosely around my shoulders at some point during our conversation—a casual gesture I hadn't even registered until he yanks it away as if burned. He scoots backward on our tree island, putting visible distance between us, his eyes wide with shock and something that might be fear.
I burst into laughter at the sight of Perris Lanore scooting away from me like I've just announced I have a highly contagious and particularly gruesome magical disease—one that’s forty-feet tall and brimming with teeth. The sound is rough and slightly hysterical, bubbling up from some reserve of emotion I didn't know I had left.
"You can calm down," I finally manage, wiping moisture from the corner of my eye. "It's complicated."
"I'm starting to realize that," Perris mutters, though he makes no move to return to his previous position. His shoulders remain tense, and he keeps darting glances at me as if expecting me to suddenly sprout scales and breathe fire. "So, do you hang out with a lot of the faculty?"
The question is so unexpected, and his delivery so primly disapproving, that it nearly sets me off again. I press my lips together, fighting the inappropriate urge to giggle. "I'm really hoping that two is my limit," I say once I've regained control. "But, yeah, Coach is only here for me, and Professor Bellamy's been helping me with some... stuff."
Perris raises an eyebrow, some of his usual haughty demeanor returning despite his bedraggled appearance. "The kind of stuff that requires breaking into a top-secret vault beneath the school in the middle of the night? Cause, I won't lie, Carlisle, I'm starting to feel a little convenient."
The accusation in his tone sobers me instantly. He thinks I used him somehow, that this was all part of some plan. I shake my head emphatically, my hand lifting as if to touch his arm before thinking better of it. "No, Perris, it's not like that. I meant it when I said I wanted to get into the vault to look for a cure to help someone."
"Who?" he asks, his moss-green eyes narrowing with suspicion.
I meet his gaze directly. "Coach Caldere."
Perris blinks, visibly thrown by this. His brow furrows as he processes the information, trying to fit this new piece into the increasingly complex puzzle I've presented him with. "What's wrong with Coach Caldere? Besides the obvious."
The flippant comment stings more than it should, given how precarious Coach's situation actually is. I think of the wound on his flank, the way the black corruption spread with each exertion, accelerated by Walderon's ice breath. My hands clench into fists, nails digging into my palms.
"When he showed up, Professor Bellamy went on the offensive," I explain, the words coming out clipped and harder than I intend. "Coach got hurt. I've been looking for ways to help him ever since."
Understanding dawns on Perris's face, followed immediately by confusion. "But I thought you were working with Bellamy," he says slowly. "Why not just ask him to clean up his mess?"
It's a perfectly logical question—one I've asked myself countless times over the past weeks. Why trust the man who hurt Coach in the first place? Why not confront him directly, demand he fix what he broke? Because I’d been pulled in too many directions, caught up in too many webs that being honest hadn’t felt like an option.
Maybe that’s on me, but it’s been well established now that I wasn’t the only one keeping secrets. Mistakes were made all-around—I just won’t be able to live with myself if Coach ends up paying the ultimate price for them.
I drop my head into my hands, suddenly exhausted beyond words. My hair falls forward, hiding my expression from Perris as I mumble, "It's complicated."
"Yeah. Sounds like it," Perris says, his tone brittle.
He stands abruptly, the movement rocking our tree island slightly. I look up to see him dusting off his pants in a futile gesture that does nothing to improve their ruined state. "I need to take a leak," he announces with blunt inelegance.
I nod, not meeting his eyes, knowing that's only partly true. He needs space—needs to process everything I've told him, to decide what he believes and how he feels about it all. I can't blame him. If someone had dropped all this on me at once, I'd probably need more than a moment alone in a swamp bush to come to terms with it.
He’s only now realizing what I’d had a day to come to terms with: we left the world as we knew it behind the moment we stepped foot into this stupid fucking vault.