The walk to my room took forever. I folded my arms around my chest as if I were drenched in rain. The stares felt like a thousand piercing needles. I lowered my head and hurried my pace, almost running.
When I finally made it to my room, I leaned my back against the door and tried to steady my breathing. I crouched to the floor, breathing as slowly as I could.
Director Rousseau and Dmitri's father's words kept playing in my head. I skipped dinner as I spent the rest of the evening locked up in my room. I wondered whether I should take up Dmitri's offer or quietly pursue the "California program". I was so lost in thought that I didn't know when I drifted off to sleep.
I woke up around 5:30 am. Going back to sleep felt impossible. I decided to go for a walk around campus before St. Aurelia wakes up. I dropped by the music hall but the main door was locked.
I made my way back to the dormitory. I had just turned into the hallway when I saw a figure standing at my door, knocking softly. I froze. Someone was standing there. I couldn't see them properly as I was at the far end of the hall. Before I could speak, the figure dropped something on the floor and walked away.
"Wait!"
I ran, but by the time I reached the door, the hallway was empty. The box was sitting there.
I sat at my desk, staring at the box. It was a velvet case, smooth and polished, with delicate gold edges that caught the early light. No return address. No note. Just my name written in that cramped, fancy handwriting that made the hair on my neck stand up.
I didn't touch it. I just looked at it. My skin was crawling because I remembered the last "gift" from Arabella and her "Saints." That one had a dead rat inside and a voodoo doll with my name on it in red ink. To those girls, I was a bug to be squashed. After that, every box was a threat.
My fingers shook as I opened it. Inside, under a bunch of yellow tissue paper that smelled like cedar and old basements, was a brooch. A gold phoenix with ruby feathers and tiny emeralds for eyes.
I forgot how to breathe for a second. I'd seen this before.
Years ago, Sister Marianne sat me down in her office. She showed me the blood-stained blanket I was wrapped in when someone brought me to the orphanage in 2005. Pinning that silk together was the twin to this brooch. The Sister kept the original for "safety," but I'd spent a thousand hours sketching that bird in the corners of my notebooks.
I was trying to figure out if this came from the orphanage when my door slammed open. The jewelry rattled in the case. I nearly jumped out of my chair. For a second, I thought the person had come back, but it was Dmitri.
I should have known it was him the moment the air got cold and weird.
"Don't touch that," he hissed.
He was across the room in three steps. He didn't ask any questions. He just grabbed my wrist, hard enough to leave a mark, and yanked my hand away, as if it might burn me.
"Dmitri, let go," I snapped. I tried to pull back. "You can't just—"
"My team was supposed to scan everything," he said, ignoring me. He was staring at the brooch like he wanted to set it on fire. "Someone got past them. Someone got to my floor."
"My floor. My room," I corrected him. I twisted my arm, but he wouldn't budge. "And it's mine. I think that belongs to my mother. It's the first real thing I have that isn't just a shitty memory."
Dmitri finally looked at me. He looked pissed, but under that, he looked frustrated that the world wasn't doing what he told it to.
"It's a trap, Isabelle. Someone's telling you they can touch you whenever they want. They're playing with you."
"Then let them," I said, leaning in. "I'm done hiding. And I'm done with you deciding what's safe."
"You don't know what safe is," he snapped. A muscle in his jaw was twitching. "The second you wear that, you put a target on your back. And mine. You think I've spent this much time and money just so you can make a scene?"
That hit like a slap. Resources. Investment. I wasn't a person. I was a project again.
His hand moved to the back of my neck. He was holding me in place. He forced me to look at him. He smelled like mint and that metallic scent that always follows him.
"You're alive because they thought you were dead," he whispered. His voice was vibrating. "You put that on and you're telling my father that they missed a spot. You're asking them to come back and finish the job."
"Maybe I want them to," I shot back. "I want them to see me. I want to see their faces when they realize I'm still standing here."
The silence was thick. Dmitri searched my eyes for a way to make me shut up. That was our whole deal. He wanted me in a box. I wanted to burn the box and use the soot to write my name on the walls.
"You're a complication that belongs to me," he said, like he was stating the weather. "Nobody interferes. Not Viktor. Not some ghost. I'm the one in charge here. I offered you the best plan I've got but you chose this instead."
The ego of this guy was unbelievable. It wasn't about me, it was about his control. My life was just a side story in his world.
"Oh, fuck you and your stupid 'best plan'. You can go to hell with it and don't forget to take your pride with you. You'll need it!" I spat back.
"You're an idiot," he growled. "You think this is about pride. It's about blood. My father doesn't do loose ends. If I have to lock you in this room myself, I'll do it."
"You wouldn't dare," I whispered.
"Try me," he said. "Step outside with that brooch and I'll have you kicked out of this school before lunch. I'll take you somewhere nobody can find you. Not even Julien."
Bringing up Julien was a low blow. It reminded me that I was just territory to him. I wasn't a girl with a life, I was a trophy he had to guard.
"You don't own me, Dmitri," I said. My voice was shaking, mostly from anger, but also from that terrifying pull he has. "You're not my protector. You're just like everybody else, trying to take my name away."
"I own your safety," he said. "Which means I own your choices."
He squeezed my neck for a second, then let go. He stood up and fixed his blazer like we hadn't just been screaming at each other.
"I'm the only reason you're still breathing," he said, cold and calm again. "The package is confiscated. My team will trace it."
"You can't take it!" I stood up, reaching for the velvet case, but he was too fast. He swiped it off the desk and shoved it in his pocket.
"I can," he said, heading for the door. "And I will. You want freedom, Isabelle? Freedom is for people who aren't being hunted. As long as I'm watching you, you're staying alive. Even if you hate me."
"I do hate you."
He didn't look hurt. Just annoyed, like my hate was another math problem he had to solve. "Stay in your room. I'll send up food."
He didn't wait. The door shut with a loud, final click. He just took my stuff and expected me to do what I was told.
I sank into my chair. My heart was thumping against my ribs. The room felt tiny. The smell of cedar still lingered, reminding me of the gift that had already been taken twice. My wrist ached where he'd grabbed me. He saw my history as a "tactical risk."
I watched Dmitri's dark shape cross the courtyard with his guards.
The war wasn't just against the people who burned my house down. It was against the boy who wanted to own the wreckage.
I touched the scar on my palm.
Dmitri thought he took my weapon when he took that brooch. He was wrong. He just gave me a reason to fight harder. I didn't need a gold phoenix to know who I was. I didn't burn with the rest.
I opened my laptop. If whoever was behind this wanted to play games, fine. I'd give them a show. I was going to find out who sent that box and I didn't need the "Demon Prince" to permit me. It's time to take matters into my own hands.
The chapel bells started ringing for first class. I grabbed my bag. I wasn't staying in my room. To hell with him and his protection.
I stepped into the hallway, moving through the sea of blue blazers. Let him see me. Let him try to boss around a river of whispers. He was about to learn that paying for someone's safety doesn't mean you own them.
By the time I got to the library, the plan was ready. Dmitri could keep the brooch. He could keep the guards. But he didn't have my head. And in this place, info was the only thing that actually mattered.
I was going to find the person who sent that phoenix. And I was going to make sure they knew the last Valois wasn't just remembering the past.
And this time, I wasn't staying quiet.