The first few breaths were hard. His fist tightened, and he trembled, concentrating just to remain seated. Part of him, the dark voice whispering at the back of his mind, was assessing the people around him, seeing them as prey.

The huntsmen's presence helped. Tris had a knife or two in her sleeve, and wouldn't hesitate to throw it at him if he messed up. That alone was enough to reel in the frustrated beast.

Bash opened his satchel and pulled out a blood bag. Then he stilled, realizing he was just opening the first out of twelve he stored in the refrigerated bag.

Damn.

He took a sip, and his shoulders dropped, his breathing deepened.

He could do this.

After a three-month break, suffering through Crane's lesson might have resulted in a headache if not for his new abilities. Instead, Bash found that his mind was soaking in every word and coming up with a thousand questions. And, unbelievably, forgetting about the thirst.

Dammit. He was going to have to thank Catherine fucking Stormhale and let her say a big fat "I told you so."

"Still good?" Tris asked him with a sunny smile as she put away her notebook.

Bash noted that he’d never bothered pulling his out. He remembered Crane’s each and every word. Each graphic and date and number.

Somehow, his brain wasn't even exploding.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"I have Literature. You?"

"Break until Spells tonight. I'll just go back to…" Levi's. He was about to say Levi's. His refuge. He could ask Chloe for news about her ancestor, and read another book, maybe train with someone. But after a moment, Bash decided against it. "The dorm."

He had an empty room he barely recognized, unpacked suitcases to sort out, and a life to rebuild.

Bash organized his stuff, dusting the top of his laptop before starting it up and signing in to the Institute's archives, a website he'd barely explored since the start of his studies. He'd only logged on to submit assignments to the professors who accepted electronic documents. The older immortals had a thing for paper.

He navigated awkwardly until he found Crane's archives, then searched keywords related to his assignment and groaned. Dammit. There were thousands of pages. At least his reading speed had increased.

Bash flew through seven of the hundred and ninety-three documents containing the term “environment” before realizing that notes weren't the worst idea. He had a much better memory now, but the more he tried to store in his mind, the more jumbled and confusing everything became. He wrote down chapters and pages, and put the information right out of his consciousness, storing it in the list of things he could ignore. He was functioning like a computer, storing data on an external drive to avoid lag. A creepy notion, but now that he'd admitted it to himself, he found his task considerably easier.

Lifting his head to the window, Bash noticed that night had fallen. He looked at the time. Nine. After a moment of consideration, Bash set an alarm clock for eleven-thirty before returning to his task. It wouldn't do to miss his sentinel shift with Catherine.

Catherine Stormhale. She was always at the edge of his mind these days. When he thought about blood, he imagined her challenging him. When he didn't think about blood, he remembered that he owed that little bit of sanity to her. Bash saw she could easily become an obsession.

That kiss…

Yeah, he wasn't going there.

Bash's phone startled him, thankfully stopping his train of thought.

A video chat from Emilia.

"Hey, is everything all right?"

She didn't usually call out of the blue.

"Yep, I just wanted you to know that Paul has his first solo assignment."

Holy shit. That was big. Solo assignments were always easy, a quick trip down to the nearest coven to ask about a report of mistreatment. Nothing came of it, usually. But Bash remembered his. He'd been all red throughout the entire ordeal, his heart beating a thousand miles a minute.

As usual, Bash felt a mixture of pride in his brother and resentment that he couldn’t be there when Paul returned.

But that was stupid. He wouldn't have been in Brighton even if he hadn't been bitten.

So, he just let go and smiled. Genuinely smiled at his sister.

"You look good, Sebastian. Anything happened?"

He shrugged. "I feel better, yeah. A little."

Emilia proved far too perceptive again. "It's a girl, isn't it?"

Bash groaned. "I'm twenty-eight, sister. I don't do girls."

"A woman, then. Vamp or huntsman? No, wait. It's a witch, right? Is that how you managed to do magic the other day?"

"There's no girl. No woman. No witch. I don't have time for—"

"Don't bother lying, I'll meet her this summer. Anyway, Paul's mission is tonight. Call him after ten, all right? And don't worry. I'll shadow him to make sure he doesn't get into any actual trouble."

Bash had to laugh. That was an unspoken tradition. Whenever a kid went on a first solo, one or two seasoned warriors followed discreetly. Bash's parents had trailed him at sixteen, then Bash and Jack trailed Emilia five years ago. She'd never needed them, but they would have been there if she had.

"I'm glad you're there for him."

"As you were there for me. I have to review my mission. Catch you later, Sebastian."

"Next weekend," he promised.

And for once, he might actually stay the entire weekend.

Might. He wasn't about to push himself and put his siblings in harm’s way. But if he did improve over the next ten days, he could always try. As long as Luke was there to stop him in case he lost it.

Trust

Catherine was completely motionless, hand on the thick paper. She'd read the words five times, but they still stubbornly said the exact same thing. Words written by Drusilla’s strange hand, in an early Latin alphabet.

There were only five of them.

Come home before summer break.

Simple and to the point. An order that she shouldn't have questioned.

Cat felt like her knees were going to give out.

An order to come home in less than three weeks.

The letter shouldn't have come as a surprise. It didn't. But the very idea made her feel sick. Weak. She couldn't imagine a worse fate than having to return to her golden cage and dance to her family's tune for the next few years. Not after Oldcrest. Not after tasting freedom and friendship.

Cat might have enjoyed her time here, but she didn't think she'd quite understood how much until now, when it was being taken from her.

Her fist tightened over the paper. She should be relieved. Drusilla wanting her out of the way meant that the Stormhales weren't part of this mess. That's what she'd thought at first.

But why before summer?

Many students remained in Oldcrest during the other breaks, but in July and August, barely anyone lived there, save for the permanent residents.

Anyone who wished to attack Oldcrest would benefit from doing it then. Did that mean her family was involved?

At the very least, they knew that something was going on and wanted to ensure Catherine wasn't there. She bit her lip.

Her duty to her family was written on her skin. Quite literally. She still had marks for every time she'd disobeyed. Scars. Her right knee had been broken once. Her wrist, a few times. Each of her fingers too.

Those punishments had been for minor offenses. If she defied Drusilla now, she knew the price would be far steeper.

It wasn't worth it. It just wasn't.

She was going home, and that was it.

Catherine bit her lip.

Then she rushed out of the dorms and ran right to Night Hill.

"Billevern."

The troll guarding the gates grunted at her. He didn't like her much, but he seemed to feel the same way about most people.

"Can I go through?"

Others had to state their purpose when they wanted admittance to the hill, but Cat technically lived there.

He wordlessly pressed a button, and the brand-new gates barring the way tilted open.

"Thank you."

Cat thought about heading to Levi but decided against it. Instead, she stopped by the second house on the hill, right under hers.

"Anika? Anyone here?"

It was ten in the evening; she knew most of Anika's lessons were during the day, and her night shift started in two hours, same as Cat's. The woman appeared a few minutes later, wearing a kimono and fluffy sleepers.

"Hey! Nice of you to pop by. Fancy a drink?"

"It's not just a courtesy visit," she admitted. "I'm here because I have to tell someone. I think my family might be against us. Against Oldcrest."

Anika's brows lifted, and her jaw fell open.

"All right. Come in. I definitely need a drink for that conversation."

Cat walked in, following the professor through the beautiful gold and azure home modeled after Versailles.

No wonder. Anika's family was related to French royalty—the Bourbons and Beauforts were close cousins. Cat knew that most of her family still lived in the Loire Valley in a castle warded almost as well as the Institute.

Almost.

"How are they, by the way? Your family," Anika asked offhandedly, leading the way through the grandiose rooms.

Cat shrugged. "My brother texts occasionally. He's…well, he's Seth."

Anyone who'd ever met Seth would have understood.

Anika laughed. "No one was ever more aptly named. God of storm, chaos, disorder…"

Cat wished she could say something in defense of her elder brother, but the description fit—and given the fact that he had a was-scepter made for himself, he embraced the comparison.

"Well, he's causing chaos in Russia at the moment. Or was, last week."

"Good, good," Anika said.

They'd reached a large kitchen with copper pans and very sharp knives on display.

"And your sister?"

"We video chat," Cat said. "Not as often; she's still in Rome, and my family is keeping her busy. How about your siblings?"