RAVENNA

Part 8

*picture credit goes to respective owner*

Nieve's POV

The stabbing news spread like wildfire. Buzzsphere had already sunk its teeth into it, twisting the story however they pleased. The halls hummed with theories—

She stabbed her because of a boy.
She was jealous.
She was hateful.

Jealousy. Hate. Rage.

Jealousy is the cruelest demon—you become your own executioner. Hate? A burden that scars the hater more than the hated, blinding you to even the right thing. And rage... rage is nothing but destruction waiting for a match.

The whispers didn't bother me. What did bother me was Esmé.

My joker, my encyclopedia, my constant shadow... ignoring me. Moving to another table at breakfast. Sleeping early. Cutting conversations short. And Rob? Down with shingles, locked in the infirmary. Which left me sitting alone.

I had never eaten alone before. My grandparents never allowed it. It felt... wrong.

~

"Hello, lady."

I looked up. The late-night dinner boy slid into the seat across from me, smiling like he belonged there.

"Hi," I mumbled, instantly aware of the stares. Not what I wanted. My gaze found Esmé—she didn't smile. She glared.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

He blinked. "Eating, of course."

"Why this table?"

"And why not?" He shot back, chewing lazily.

"Because everyone is staring." My voice came out sharp.

"Let them," he said easily.

I pressed my lips together. He wasn't going to budge. So I finished my food quickly, stood, and stormed out.

"Hey, lady!" His voice echoed behind me. I didn't slow. But then he caught up, steps heavy against the stone. "What's wrong? You're not going to be my friend anymore just because I'm... my father's son?" His smile faltered. He sounded disappointed.

I shook my head, waving a hand. "I don't care about that." My voice softened. "As long as you don't care." I jabbed a finger toward him, then dropped my gaze to the floor.

"Then why do you look disappointed?" he pressed, tugging me gently aside in the corridor.

I clenched my fists. "Because you've got admirers. A lot of them. I don't want them to get jealous and—stab me." The words spilled harsher than I meant.

"Stab you? Just for that?" He tilted his head, as if I were being dramatic.

"Ha." I laughed bitterly. "Are you joking, or are you really that oblivious to what's happening around you?"

He hesitated. Stared into space. Then rubbed his chin, like the thought only now occurred. "You mean yesterday's incident?"

I looked away.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "So... you're scared someone's going to stab you?" His lips curled in amusement.

That did it.

I stepped forward. Close. Too close. His breath caught.

"I'm not scared of dying," I whispered. "I've already been there once. Near-death isn't the terror. It's not the blade. It's not the blood. It's the person who stabs you. That's what stays with you."