The Order: Hit and Run by Emma Cole Page 0,31

Debating if it's worth knocking on doors for an escort to the cafeteria or finding something here, I settle for exploring the kitchenette.

Noodles in a styrofoam cup takes care of the food situation, but while I was hunting, I found a cupboard full of odd implements. Now I'm wondering if the kitchenettes I thought to be over the top for a college actually have a dual purpose— and the classes are making more sense as well.

While the water heats in the microwave, I line up the contents from the lower corner cupboard on the counter. A beep signals the water is done, but I'm engrossed in the mortar and pestles, empty glass vials, beakers, measuring implements, and other various items that look like they're straight out of a science lab. Or a sorcerer's workshop. I attempt to shake off the outlandish thought, but something is definitely not within the realm of logical explanation. Unless that logic comes with weird glowing tattoos, a dead girl, and a husband in a coma with one of those tattoos. Not to mention the crazy, scary men in robes that run the school.

Realizing it's too quiet in the suite, I put everything back in its place as best I remember and reheat my water. As soon as it's done, I fill the cup, leaving it to sit, and go to find the guys. Knocks go unanswered, and none of the doors are unlocked. There's only one conclusion— they're not here.

***

Jaeger

"Is the girl showing any signs of ascension yet?" Dean Atwater's chin rests on his steepled fingers, blue eyes inquisitive, but his relaxed manner is deceiving— the man is a deviant. Even for one of the Order his pursuits are licentious. With his respectably styled blond hair just going gray at the temples and pale skin still mostly line free, he appears to be in his mid-thirties, but from what I've gathered he's closer to three times that.

Drake glances at me, silently asking if I want to answer, but I shake my head. We all need to get used to the new dynamic. In a twist none of us saw coming, Drake had taken Damien's place right there at the crash site. All of our marks had flared, but while Damien's had faded quickly, the rest crescendoed in a flash of blue light before one by one settling back into their tattooed appearance, Drake's being the last to go dim. The clearing of the dean's throat brings me back to the matter at hand, causing me to raise my brows expectantly at Drake.

Expression devoid of anything but a pleasant boredom, Drake answers the question. "Not that we've noticed. So far she prefers to stay in her room. She wasn't pleased to find we were her roommates, nor is she particularly interested in being in our presence."

That last bit would have been better being left off. Dean Atwater's brows beetle together in warning. "The Malbec girl may have taken the deal, she'd have been an idiot not to with what we offered, but in case you gentlemen didn't understand the first time— keeping her here is on you. The agreement has made it prudent for her to do well with her academics, the rest— pushing her to ascend prematurely, is on you. The board would have already dealt with your little anomaly if it weren't for who she is."

Holding a finger up and possibly signing my own death warrant, I interject. "We've attempted several different manners of approach. It's early yet, and Cora has voiced her opinions on making sure she does well. In time her grief will fade, and we'll be her best option. At this point she's still insisting on wearing her wedding rings and using her married name. Constant reminders of events and the part we played in it all aren't endearing us to her."

Silence reigns throughout the room. Feeling like a complete shit for pushing our failure off onto Cora, I ignore the almost tangible sensation of recrimination coming from the others. The dean hums speculatively in his throat, eyes focusing inward as he considers my explanation for Cora's dislike. Determined to look anywhere but at the guys, I study the room.

Not much has changed since I was here last. The dark paneling and built-in bookcases line the walls, interspersed with framed awards, accolades, and pictures of the dean with various important figures. Running out of things to look at, my gaze drifts to the beige carpeting. It's a bland neutral color, high-end,