inside the ballet studio and listened. Soft piano music was drifting from upstairs. The floors were made of polished wood, the walls painted a light yellow. A flock of ten-year olds in leotards squeezed past us, giggling. We passed multiple dance rooms, but with each peer inside the glass, I didn’t see Odette. I figured we had to go up, and climbed a wooden staircase that wound upward to the attic.
Kiara glanced backward and said, “This is where the company practices.”
Odette was in another studio behind a glass wall. She was sweating buckets, doing reps at the barre.
She was ready to pass out. I could see her eyes fluttering as she struggled to stay upright.
I stomped toward the entrance to the studio, but an alicorn shifter got in my way. “Excuse me, but you aren’t permitted to be here. This is a private practice.”
My eyes looked upward, and I cringed. It was Igor. He wore a tight turtleneck sweater, and a raised eyebrow. He crossed his arms and looked me up and down, as if judging if I was a ballerina or not.
“I need to talk to Odette,” I said. “It’s urgent.”
“It can wait after practice. She gets off at seven,” Igor responded.
That was hours from now, and I wasn’t about to sit around. “She can take a five-minute break.” I went to go around, but he stepped in my way again.
“Odette has had enough distractions from her so-called friends,” Igor sneered. “I think you’re leading her down the wrong path. If you want what’s best for her, you’ll allow me to guide her practice.”
Rage flared inside of me. After just dealing with Andrik, I’d had enough of interfering males today. “Move.”
I didn’t let him stop me— I shoved past Igor and forced my way into the dance studio. He gave an indigent gasp, but didn’t go to stop me.
My stomach dropped. Odette’s face was ashen and pale as she twirled over and over. A woman on the other side of the studio was barking orders, clapping her hands in time. She had her hair pulled back in a tight blonde bun, her makeup done to immaculate perfection. She shared Odette’s features. I knew her name, because Odette had mentioned it before— Agrippa Oksana.
Fuck this. I strode to the speaker and turned the music off. Odette collapsed— she fell to her knees, gasping for breath.
Agrippa whirled on me. Her cheeks were pink as she exclaimed, “Excuse me? What is the meaning of this?”
I tried to be as respectful as possible. “Mrs. Oksana, I’m Odette’s friend. I came here to talk to her. I just want her to be okay.”
“She’s perfectly fine, as you can see,” Agrippa replied. “We’re preparing for the performance.”
Odette was still panting. She looked anything but okay. I prayed to Milonna to give me patience before I said, “She has an eating disorder. She needs help.”
Agrippa scoffed. She looked me up and down before she said, “I’m sorry, but what you might consider a disorder, we consider discipline. I’ve heard you’re a skater— you should try it sometime. It might help you to... get off the ground.”
Was this bitch really calling me fat? I’d had people tell me I was overweight throughout my skating career, but it was never the truth. And even if it was, why did it matter? I’d had to stand there and listen as a little girl when some asshole coach told my mother I was too big for skating. This lady was no different from him. She might be a ballet instructor, but she didn’t know jack about my body.
“Your daughter is sick!” I belted. “She needs help!”
“Her career is none of your concern,” Agrippa said coolly.
From behind her, Odette looked onward desperately. Her eyes caught mine, and her lip quivered. For as angry as she’d been at me the other day, she was begging for me to save her now.
I balled my hands into fists. “Look, lady. Either you can let Odette go home now, or I’m gonna—”
“Emma, that’s enough.”
A calm voice behind me interrupted the conversation. I turned— shock ran through me as I saw my mother enter the studio. Mom had her hair swept up in a low bun, and the frown on her face was stern as she came near. Her dagger-like gaze fell on Agrippa and smoldered.
“Mom, what are you doing here?” I asked in surprise.
“I’ve picked up coaching beginners as a side gig,” Mom said, her eyes never leaving Agrippa’s. “I want to instill the right