RIOT HOUSE (Crooked Sinners #1) - Callie Hart Page 0,153

to you, but it seems as though he was paralyzed during the attack.”

I stare straight through her.

“Now, it was a shock to me too that this happened so long ago. Usually, we’re immediately apprised if something happens to a student’s family members, but for some reason the military decided not to inform us of this uh, incident, until this afternoon. It seems that your father’s injuries were complicated due to a stroke he suffered two days after being admitted to the hospital. He’s still alive, breathing on his own, but I'm afraid he’s unresponsive to external stimuli. The doctors are working with him daily, but they’re saying that he’s entered some kind of fugue state. He’s fully awake, but…this might be hard to hear, so I apologize, but…he seems to be trapped inside his own mind. Are you okay, Elodie? Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

I make eye contact, gripping the strap of my bag, wringing the material in my hands. “Yes, I hear you. I understand.”

“It’s only natural that you’d want to go and be with him, Elodie. I can see just how traumatized you are by this news. But he’s currently being cared for at an army facility, and they've said that because you're a minor, there's no way you can go back to Tel Aviv by yourself. Your father signed guardianship over us here at the school while you're studying with us, so I'm afraid you're going to have to stay here until Colonel Stillwater recovers well enough to leave the hospital. I know that's probably the last thing you want to hear, but I'm asking for your help with this. I sincerely hope you won't cause trouble because you can't—”

“It's okay. I understand. I'll abide by the rules. I'm not going to cause any trouble.”

Harcourt looks relieved. She likely thought I was going to burn the whole fucking school down in my attempt to get to my poor, catatonic, paralyzed father. If only she knew the truth. “Well, thank you, Elodie. I don't know if you're religious at all, but I like to lean on Jesus during times like this. If you pray to him for your father's recovery, then who knows? Maybe he'll be his normal self again before you know it.”

“I believe in science, Dean Harcourt. I'd rather know what the doctors are saying, please. Specifically, how soon he'll be back on his feet?”

The dean’s mouth hangs slack, revealing front teeth smudged with her mulberry-colored lipstick. “I'm afraid...that is to say, the doctors think that it's unlikely your father will recover fully, Elodie. It's unlikely he'll ever walk again. And if he'll come out of this fugue state remains to be seen. That's why I mentioned prayer. It is a powerful healing tool, you see. I'm afraid that without it—”

She rambles on, but I've already stopped listening.

How many times did she say that she was afraid?

I'm afraid I have some bad news.

I'm afraid he's unresponsive...

I'm afraid you're going to have to stay here...

Such a weird term for her to use. She wasn't afraid. She was inconvenienced, and she was concerned, and she’s eager to get this matter hashed out quickly to avoid it taking up any more of her time.

I, on the other hand, have been afraid for a very long time. This news changes all of that. It’s looking like I won’t have to be afraid of my father ever again. And that’s all thanks to Wren. I’ve floated through the day, so numb and detached from my surroundings, that I haven’t taken a beat to analyze whether I’m afraid of him now.

Worryingly…I don’t think that I am.

40

ELODIE

When I head back to my room, my bedroom door’s wide open. And there, sitting at the end of my bed, is Mercy Jacobi. She looks so out of place perched on top of my dusky pink comforter, but she seems to have made herself perfectly at home. She beams like a Cheshire cat when she sees me in the doorway.

“Before you start, I didn't touch anything,” she says, holding out her hands in a placating gesture. “I just wanted to drop off your costume for tonight.”

I scowl at her; it seems like the safest thing to do. “Costume? I don't have a costume.”

“Wren bought one for you, silly.” She jerks her head in the direction of a black and gold garment bag hanging from the back of my closet door. “I was at the house earlier, dropping off some booze and ice, and I