"Trust me, you shouldn't want anyone like me on your back."
"Maybe I don't want anyone like you on my back," His eyes darkened as he stepped closer, confining me tighter into barely any space as my back pressed against the wall.
"Maybe I want you. U...
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CHAPTER 4
THE TRAIN RIDE TO ILVERMORNY was everything but bleak. French landscapes, drenched half in the wrath of the incoming winter, and half by the stubborn hold of summer, spread out as far as the eye could see. And the deeper we went through, winter seemed to be coming our way by the mile.
Relief flooded through me as I realized I had packed accordingly, or rather, Bridgette had packed my trunk accordingly.
America would be delved into the mouth of winter, and the intensity of theHuntings of the Lock being made to restrict into the midst of winter, had just started to strick me. Having never seen an unwanted— or les dorés before except in leather bound books stashed in the Beauxbatons library, I gathered they must be possessed by immortal hearts, for them to overlook this brutality in history.
How does one forgive slaughter so easily? I had nothing personal against Ilvermorny, or the American government of magic, but something inside me wanted to see them beg for mercy on their knees in front of an unwanted, at the receiving end of a curse. But these games? they seemed like a poor excuse for redemption if ever there was one.
The trolley man came by our compartment for the fifth time since the train had left the station, two hours ago.
"What took you so long?" Gabriel Chevrolet snapped, eagerly examining the bustling trolley for the fifth time, as he made to grab some more items, tossing them over to Jean Dubois for safekeeping.
Items which included two more mini bars of Rick's granola squirt— designed to give the illusion of eating and getting rid of hunger, without adding to the body.
"Every half an hour, I said," Chevrolet emphasized, and the robust man looked merely at him with half lidded eyes that showed no signs of understanding.
"Bring this fucking thing around every thirty minutes, êtes-vous à court d'audition?"
"Chevrolet," I chastised, my eyes narrowing at him, before flitting to the trolley man.
"Je suis désolé, c'est juste un idiot," I offered the man an apologetic smile, which he took with no sign of acknowledgement whatsoever.
"He's the idiot here," Gabriel hissed, shooting the man a tight glare. "The management ought to get rid of such incompetence."
"No," Bridgette chimed in, from where she sat beside me. "The management ought to have brought Rick himself on the train to satisfy your need for his granolas."
"Is that supposed to be your idea of a sexual joke?" Gabriel raised a brow mockingly. "Or are you keeping track of what I eat, Monet?"
"It's hard not to when you've been stuffing yourself for the past two hours," Bridgette scoffed, turning away to look out of the window, declaring the end of the conversation.
