I navigate my way through the halls until I locate the classroom I’m looking for.
This can’t be happening.
I must be dreaming.
Right?
Never in the past ten years did I think I’d be getting out of this place, to go to an actual home.
The cold, clinical walls of the institute have always felt like my cage.
The noise, the sterile scent of cleaning supplies, the buzz of the fluorescent lights that never seemed to stop—these were the things that defined my world.
Not freedom.
Not a home.
Yet here I am, heart pounding in my chest, trying to make sense of it all.
In my first few months here, I’d prayed that my mother would be found, that she’d come for me, sweeping me up in her arms and taking me far away from this place.
But as time passed, those prayers grew quieter, quieter still, until they were barely a whisper in the back of my mind.
And I accepted it.
I accepted this place as my reality.
But now, now everything is changing.
The thought brings me to a dead stop in the middle of the hallway, just two doors away from my destination.
My chest tightens, and a cold shiver runs down my spine.
The dull hum of the fluorescent lights overhead fades into the background as my pulse quickens, my breath shallow.
How am I going to explain things to Tilly?
The weight of the question settles heavily on my shoulders.
Would she understand?
My throat feels tight, almost as if I can’t breathe.
Would she kick me out when she finds out?
Panic bubbles up, but I quickly suppress it, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.
Oh God!
Would she kick Farrah out too?
The thought makes my stomach churn, and a wave of nausea rolls over me.
I shake my head, trying to shake away the thoughts as I take tentative steps forward, my feet dragging just a little, unwilling to carry me toward the inevitable.
I can deal with this.
One day at a time, that’s what mom always said anyway.
The words repeat in my head like a mantra, but they offer little comfort.
I knock on the door to our spells class, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet hallway.
Farrah’s probably going to be pissed at me for interrupting her during such a highly anticipated lesson, but there’s nothing I can do about it now.
“Ms.
Adams, so nice of you to finally join us,” Mr.
Thorpe’s voice slithers out, thick with condescension.
Ugh, great.
Mr.
Thorpe.
One of the worst teachers here—he’s got zero patience and a knack for making everything ten times more difficult than it needs to be.
Not to mention, he smells like a mix of lizard shit and toad pee, a nauseating stench that clings to the air even long after he’s left the room.
“Sorry to interrupt, sir,” I manage, my voice steady despite the sudden rush of anxiety, “but I was sent to get Farrah.
Headmaster requests her.”
At the mention of Headmaster, I glance over at Farrah.
Her face goes completely white, the color draining from her cheeks in an instant.
She looks like she’s about to faint, her eyes wide and searching, almost like she expects bad news.
Mr.
Thorpe, without a second thought, waves his hand dismissively, a “shooing” motion as if we were a couple of pests he wanted to get rid of.
Farrah scrambles out of her seat in response, knocking her book to the floor with a soft thud as she rushes to the door.
The urgency in her movements is unmistakable—this isn’t something either of us anticipated.
Once outside, I begin walking down the hall, deliberately ignoring Farrah’s barrage of questions.
Her voice is a frantic mix of confusion and irritation, each word sharper than the last as she sputters, asking why on earth the Headmaster could possibly want to see her.
But I don’t answer; I just keep walking, the weight of everything pressing down on me with every step.
At the end of the hall, I take a right toward the staircase, and that’s when Farrah suddenly stops, pulling to a dead halt behind me.
When I glance back, I see her face shift from worry to something sharper, something more frustrated.
The frustration practically radiates off her, like a storm building.
She takes two angry steps toward me and jabs her finger into my shoulder, her voice rising in exasperation.
“You cannot possibly be serious right now.
Today, of all days to be a rebel, and you choose today?
During spells?
How can you be so inconsiderate, Gen?
Like, come on!” Her words are biting, each one punctuated by the sharpness of her disappointment.
True to form, Farrah spins on her heel and begins to march back toward the classroom, her movements tight with irritation.
The sound of her boots clicking against the floor echoes down the hall as she walks away.
“Farrah, wait.” I call out, my voice catching the tension in the air.
She freezes mid-step, then spins around so quickly I almost take a step back.
Her eyes are practically flames, fury flashing in her gaze as she locks onto me.
“I’m not being rebellious, I have something to tell you, something really, really good.
I just wanted to be out of earshot of the nosy assholes around here.” I watch as her expression softens, the sharp edge of her anger flickering out just for a moment, replaced by curiosity.
Then, she actually looks at me.
Really looks at me.
The instant her eyes meet mine, I can see the shift.
She notices the excitement bubbling over in me, the way my smile is so wide it almost feels like my face is going to split in half.
I can’t contain it, not anymore.
It’s all spilling out, and I can’t stop it.
“Okay, cut it out,” she mutters, holding up a hand like she can ward off the excitement radiating from me.
“That smile is creeping me the fuck out.
Just tell me what it is.”
Her voice is laced with disbelief, but there’s also a flicker of curiosity now, and I can see it.
She wants to know.
I pull her further up the steps, my pulse racing as I lower my voice, the words spilling out in a rush.
I explain everything—about the Headmaster’s office, about Tilly, about what’s waiting for us.
The offer, the promise of a home, the chance to leave this place behind.
When I finish, Farrah just stands there, staring at me.
The seconds stretch, pulling tight, the silence so thick I can almost taste it.
She doesn’t say anything.
She doesn’t look happy or surprised or even excited.
She just… looks at me, like I’ve lost my mind.
The excitement I had been holding onto so tightly starts to slip away, and the doubt creeps in, cold and heavy.
I watch her, waiting for something—anything—but she doesn’t move.
She doesn’t react.
The silence between us grows louder with every second, pressing against me.
Did I assume too much?
Did I think she’d just want to go with me, like everything would fall into place?
The pit in my stomach grows deeper, and my heart thuds painfully.
Maybe I was wrong.
Maybe I misunderstood.
“Farrah?” My voice is small, uncertain, the weight of my words hanging in the air.
“Say something.”
“Say something.
Please?
You never go this long without talking, you’re starting to worry me.” I try to keep my voice steady, but it cracks under the weight of my uncertainty.
Then, before I can even brace myself, Farrah throws her arms around me, almost knocking me off balance.
My breath catches in my throat, and for a moment, everything around us goes still.
The warmth of her embrace sinks in, grounding me in a way I didn’t expect.
“I don’t know what to say.
Thank you doesn’t seem like enough,” she murmurs, her voice muffled against my shoulder.
I feel the weight of her words, and the pressure in my chest eases just a little.
She pulls back, her eyes glistening, and I see her swipe at her cheeks with the back of her hand.
A grin spreads across her freckled face, a mix of disbelief and joy that mirrors my own.
“Well come on, Gen.
Let’s get the fuck out of here.” The determination in her voice is enough to spark my own fire again.
She turns on her heel, taking the stairs two at a time, her movements full of energy and purpose.
I can’t help but follow, my heart swelling in my chest, the knot of worry finally loosening.
This is really happening.
I look ahead at Farrah, and for the first time in a long time, I’m not scared.
Believe it or not, the packing process did not take long.
Like, literally no time at all.
All we possessed were two pairs of canvas shoes, five uniforms, and two nightdresses each.
I know you’re thinking, “Y’all were rocking those Converse sneakers,” but no.
The canvas shoes were not Converse, Vans, or anything even remotely close.
They were plain, nondescript, the kind of shoes you forget you’re even wearing as soon as you take them off.
Farrah had actually never even heard of Converse until I mentioned them one day, and that seemed to blow her mind more than anything else I’d ever told her.
So, with our meager belongings packed into whatever bags we could find, we trudged back to the administration building to meet Tilly.
Grandma?
Gran?
I don’t know.
I guess we can figure that one out later.
There’s still so much I don’t know, so much that still feels like a tangled mess inside my head.
But right now, I’m trying to focus on the here and now.
We’re leaving.
We’re actually leaving.
I glance at Farrah, who’s walking beside me, her face lit with excitement and disbelief.
It’s like we’ve both been living in some kind of suspended animation for so long, and now—now we’re finally breaking free.
Even if it’s just for a little while, it’s a start.
Tilly couldn’t stop fawning over Farrah, and for once, Farrah seemed to be soaking it all in.
I had never seen her so shy before.
She’s usually the one doing the teasing, the one who could talk anyone’s ear off, but this time it was like Tilly’s words were magic.
The moment Tilly lavished her with compliments, it didn’t take more than two minutes before Farrah’s walls cracked open, and she was talking like she’d known Tilly her entire life.
It was… strange, but endearing.
When Tilly finally saw our one measly bag, her face tightened into a look I’d never seen before.
She turned her gaze sharply toward the Headmaster, and I could practically feel the pressure in the air.
Without skipping a beat, she waved a hand dismissively at the bag.
“Leave it,” she said firmly.
“We’ll get you proper things later.”
She ushered us out of the door quickly, her tone shifting from kind to commanding in an instant.
But before we were out of earshot, she threw one last remark over her shoulder to the Headmaster.
“I’ll be seeing you soon.” The underlying threat was as clear as day, and though she didn’t raise her voice, the weight of her words hung heavy in the room.
The Solus Institute, with all its secrets and sins, would soon be under investigation, and I had no doubt that the Headmaster was feeling that pressure in the pit of his stomach.
I couldn’t help but wonder if all the institutes were like this one.
The thought lingered as we stepped out into the open air.
I’d always assumed that maybe they were, but now, I’m starting to think there’s something uniquely twisted about this place.
If anything, though, I know that it isn’t the way these places are supposed to be.
So, two hours later, after a forty-minute drive to the airport and an hour-long plane ride, we find ourselves in yet another private car, this one sleek and far too fancy for my taste, heading to Tilly’s house.
Farrah, poor thing, looks a little green around the edges.
It’s no surprise; this is her first time outside the institute, and the first time she’s experienced anything like moving vehicles.
Her wide eyes flicker uneasily as she grips the seat and groans loudly beside me, one arm circling her stomach while the other covers her mouth.
I can’t help but bite back a laugh, even though I feel bad.
It’s just too amusing to see Farrah—usually so tough and unflappable—reduced to this dizzy, queasy mess.
I try not to smile too much, but the way her eyes keep darting between the windows like she’s about to be swallowed up by the world outside only makes it harder to hide it.
“Farrah, you okay?” I ask, keeping my voice light despite the amusement bubbling up inside me.
She gives me a pained look, clearly wishing I wasn’t so entertained by her misery.
“I don’t think I’m cut out for this whole… travel thing,” she mutters, pressing a hand to her forehead as if that will somehow stop the spinning.
I try my best to keep my expression sympathetic, but the corners of my mouth twitch.
This was her first step into the real world outside the walls of the institute—and it’s not exactly a smooth landing.
“I’m sorry, dear, we’re almost there,” Tilly assures Farrah, her voice a gentle balm to the discomfort I can see written all over Farrah’s face.
The car makes another turn, and Farrah groans louder this time, her hand gripping the seat as if it were her lifeline.
She’s clearly trying not to let her stomach get the best of her, but it’s hard not to notice how much she’s struggling.
Not long after, the car slows to a stop in front of a massive gate, towering and ornate, with wrought-iron bars twisting into intricate designs.
The driver leans forward, typing in a code, and the gates slowly swing open with a low groan.
A soft hiss of air fills the car as the driver eases the car forward, the wheels crunching over gravel as we make our way down an impossibly long driveway.
Then I gasp, unable to help myself.
The sight before me is exactly as my mother had described it all those years ago—the house, the grounds, everything.
My heart skips a beat.
The driveway is lined with vibrant blue hydrangeas, their blooms full and perfectly round, colors ranging from soft lavender to deep violet.
They’ve been pruned meticulously, each flowerbed carefully maintained.
The lawn is freshly cut, the smell of the grass wafting in through the open window, earthy and crisp, reminding me of spring mornings back home.
The scent of the trimming hangs in the air, fresh and clean.
In the distance, beyond the hydrangeas, rows of trees line the outer edges of the property, their thick branches offering gentle shade over the benches scattered below.
The trees are tall and evenly spaced, like sentinels standing guard over the land, their leaves rustling gently in the breeze.
And then I know, without needing to ask, that there’s a greenhouse tucked somewhere in the farthest corner of the property, hidden behind thick ivy and creeping vines.
It’s filled with every plant and herb imaginable—some common, others rare, and even a few that are strictly illegal.
I can almost feel the pulse of magic in the air, the potential of so many ingredients waiting to be used for a spell or potion.
The car continues its slow journey up the circular drive, the tires gliding over the smooth, polished stone with a gentle hum.
The fountain in the center of the drive comes into view, its waters trickling softly, the sound like a serene whisper against the quiet of the estate.
The fairy statue, delicate and lifelike, is perched gracefully with her outstretched arms, a bowl held in her hands as the water cascades down in a constant stream.
It’s the kind of detail that feels almost enchanted, as though the whole place breathes with an air of quiet magic.
As the car finally comes to a stop in front of the giant double doors, Tilly turns toward us, about to say something, but before she can get a word out, her door swings open.
Without missing a beat, an older gentleman appears and gently lifts her from the car, his movements fluid and practiced.
It’s clear they’re comfortable with each other, and as they share a warm, intimate embrace, he pulls her close and plants a smoldering kiss on her lips.
The kiss is soft but full of something deeper, something undeniable.
For a moment, they’re entirely absorbed in each other, and it’s almost like the world outside of them disappears.
Tilly’s hand is nestled against his chest, and she leans into him, her eyes fluttering closed, lost in the embrace.
For a heartbeat, I just stare, unsure of how to feel.
It’s not what I was expecting.
My eyes flicker to Farrah, and I see her doing the same—wide-eyed, an unspoken question hanging between us.
The moment stretches a little too long, a touch too personal, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve just witnessed something far more intimate than I was meant to.
The man, with his mop of silver-grey hair and twinkling green eyes, finally pulls back from Tilly, his hands lingering on her shoulders as if reluctant to let go.
He stands there for a moment, a satisfied smile playing on his lips, but that smile fades as his eyes slowly shift to Farrah and me.
His gaze sharpens as it locks onto mine, like he’s studying me from the inside out.
Tilly, still flustered from the affectionate exchange, seems to notice the sudden shift in the atmosphere.
She looks at us with a little more awareness now, her hands smoothing down her dress as if to compose herself.
Realizing the awkwardness, she waves us forward.
“Oh, that’s right.
Sorry girls,” she says, her tone apologetic, as if we were the ones who interrupted the moment.
I hesitate for a beat before stepping out of the car.
Farrah follows my lead, her face tense, clearly sensing the same unease in the air.
As we step out, the cool April air nips at my skin, and I fidget, shifting my weight from foot to foot, trying to quell the nervous energy bubbling in my chest.
But no matter how much I shift, I can’t shake the feeling that the man’s gaze is still on me, piercing, relentless, like he’s searching for something deeper, something hidden.
His eyes, sharp and searching, never leave my face as if he’s seeing more than I am willing to show.
There’s a pressure in the air, an invisible weight that I can almost feel on my shoulders, pulling me down.
It’s like he’s not just looking at me, but into me, into something I didn’t know I had to hide.
For a brief second, I wonder if he can tell—if he can see all the things I’ve kept locked inside.
The uncertainty is suffocating, and I feel small beneath his scrutiny.
Tilly’s voice breaks the heavy silence, but her words feel like a distant echo, barely reaching me through the haze of tension.
She gestures toward the man, her smile strained but proud.
“Genesis, meet your grandfather, Joseph.” She turns to him with a smug expression on her face.
“Sweetheart, I told you I’d find her.”