#britt writes

It was a chilly day in Wisayok, the kind of wet, heavy cold that clung to your skin and soaked into your bones. Rain tapped steadily against your cheeks—a welcome change after the brutal heat wave that had blanketed the town all week. It almost felt like the weather was trying to match the storm inside you, like the sky was doing its best impression of grief. Heavy clouds. Fat raindrops. Like the universe knew. 

Kevyn’s ratty old truck rattled beneath you, the engine sputtering loud enough to drown out whatever mumbled track was playing through the radio. None of it registered. You kept your head against the cold glass of the passenger-side window, watching trees blur past like they couldn’t get away fast enough.

When the truck lurched to a stop, you blinked back into the moment. The parking lot was mostly empty—figures, considering Kev insisted on getting there early. Claimed it was so you could get settled before the crowd rolled in. But you knew better. He wanted time to find his friends and get high behind the gym.

Not that you were one to judge. The cigarettes in your pocket might as well have been screaming your name.

Kevyn tapped the steering wheel, hesitant. You could feel his eyes on you before he even said anything.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked. “Dad said you didn’t have to rush back to s—”

You cut him off before he could finish. He’d been hovering like this since the second you showed up on their porch—arms full of your shit, face still streaked with tears after your mom died.

 Hell, he’d been like this since the day you were born, always trying to play the protector. Always a few steps too late.

“I’m fine, Kev,” you said, pushing the door open before he could argue.

The air outside felt thick. Stale. A few early arrivals were scattered across the lot, their curious glances sticking to you like static. You didn’t look at them. Didn’t have to. You already knew what they were thinking.

Kevyn showing up to school with a girl in his truck? That had to be news.

Most of them probably didn’t even know he had a sister.

You kept your head down as you made your way to the principal’s office, hoodie pulled up until the front desk lady barked at you to take it off. You did, barely, and dropped into the chair outside his door, arms crossed, trying not to look like you were crawling out of your skin.

You barely heard a word Mr. Whatever was saying once he ushered you inside. Something about pep rallies and school spirit and tryout dates. Your eyes stayed fixed on the clock. You didn’t care.

You were already missing your old school. Your old teams.

 Your old life.

The one where your mom woke you up with pancakes and you led your cheer squad to States. Not the waking nightmare you’d landed in two months ago, the one no one seemed able to pull you out of.

You felt dazed as Mr. Hampton led you through the halls, pointing out classrooms like it mattered. You half-listened, nodding when he paused in front of a door and told you to wait out first period in study hall. You barely nodded before slipping away the second his back turned.

You didn’t even think twice—just kept walking until you found somewhere away from all the unfamiliar stares, the curious whispers that made your skin itch.

There was a green utility box near the edge of the field, probably a generator or something, and you slid behind it without hesitation. It was just tucked away enough that you could hear the girls on the soccer field but not see their faces. Their laughter felt like it belonged to a world you used to live in.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the half-crushed pack of cigarettes, one already between your lips before you had time to second-guess it. It was a nasty habit you’d picked up at your last school, something casual that turned chronic once your mom got sick.

The first inhale was heaven. That familiar buzz in your chest finally quieting the noise in your head, just long enough to breathe.

A voice cut through the cheers—sharp, loud, unmistakably cocky. “Come on, that was barely a touch!”

You peeked around the corner, just for a second, catching the tail end of a blonde ponytail and a flash of athletic tape wrapped around lean fingers. Whoever she was, she’d gotten the attention of the whole field. You couldn’t see her face, not clearly, but the way she moved—confident, relaxed, like she owned the space—sent an odd flutter through your chest.

You shook off, retreating further behind the wall, taking another drag. Didn’t matter who she was. You were only here to keep your head down until graduation—then get far away from this shitty town and every bittersweet memory of your mom it held.

—----

The day passed quicker than expected. Bound to happen when you barely showed up to any classes, instead drifting between bathrooms and empty study halls. You learned fast: when no one knew your name, it was easy to disappear.

By eighth period, guilt, or maybe boredom, convinced you to show face. One class. Just enough to make it seem like you tried. And even if you’d never admit it, Art had always been your thing. A throwaway for most, but not for you. You took a seat in the far corner, pulling out your sketchbook—the worn, half-filled one Kevyn and your dad had given you for your last birthday. They’d been desperate back then, offering anything they could to coax out a smile. It hadn’t worked at the time, but now… now it was the only thing that made sense.

The teacher’s voice droned on with the usual first-day crap: rules, rubrics, supply lists. You were barely listening until the door swung open, and his sigh cut through the haze.

“Mrs. Scatorccio. Late on the first day. Off to a fantastic start.”

That voice.

Your head snapped up. And there she was. The same girl from the field. The blonde. Only now, she wasn’t just a blur of motion and laughter across the grass. Now she was front and center, and it hit… different.

She had that kind of presence that demanded attention without trying. A leather jacket slouched over her shoulders like she couldn’t be bothered to wear it properly, dark eyeliner smudged in a way that looked accidental but perfect. A half-lazy smile tugged at her mouth, like she found the whole thing amusing.

“Got a reputation to uphold, don’t I?” she said, voice smooth like honey laced with trouble.

The teacher rolled his eyes and waved her off, already over it. But before you could look away, her eyes met yours. Green. Bright, vivid, and just shy of brown if you weren’t paying close enough attention.

You looked away fast—too fast. She noticed. And then she was moving.

Straight toward you.

Your stomach did something traitorous. Not a flutter, exactly. More like a twitch of nerves you couldn’t quite explain. You told yourself it was annoyance. Or dread.

She stopped in front of your desk, plaid skirt swaying slightly as she tilted her head.

“You’re in my seat, newbie.”

Then, with a smirk and a gentle kick to the leg of your desk, she dropped into the chair beside you.

“But you look so cute back here, brooding in the corner. I’ll let it slide this time.”

Her voice was teasing—casual, like it wasn’t meant to stick. But it did. It lodged somewhere in the back of your throat, caught between a scoff and a shiver.

You tried not to stare as she pulled a crumpled sheet of paper from her pocket. No backpack. No pencil case. Nothing. That was what she was planning to draw on?

You glanced back down at your sketchbook, suddenly too aware of how tightly your fingers were gripping it.

Who even was this girl?

Her presence felt suffocating beside you, even though she wasn’t doing anything in particular. Just there. Scribbling across that balled-up scrap of paper like it was no big deal, leaning back in her chair like this was her living room, not a classroom. Something about the way she moved—loose, careless, like none of it mattered—itched beneath your skin. Like a splinter you couldn’t dig out.

She leaned in without warning, her breath brushing the side of your neck. It sent a cold shiver skating across your skin. You didn’t look at her. Refused to. You stared straight ahead, stiff as her fingers curled over the edges of your desk.

“Hey, newbie,” she murmured, voice low and lazy. “Can I borrow a sheet of paper?”

You exhaled hard, reaching into your sketchbook and yanking out a page with more force than necessary. Anything to get her to back off. You shoved it her way without making eye contact.

“Thanks,” she said, quiet but with that unmistakable grin threading through her voice. She knew exactly what she was doing. And worse—you knew she knew.

“You make a habit of showing up late and unprepared?” you muttered, trying to sound indifferent, even as your pencil dug too hard into the paper.

She laughed. A short, surprised breath like you’d caught her off guard. You could feel her smile shift from smug to genuinely amused.

“Nah,” she said, stretching her arms behind her like she couldn’t be bothered. “Only when there’s a cute girl I can bum some off of.”

You rolled your eyes, lips twitching despite yourself. Of course she was that kind of person—someone who could flirt with a brick wall and convince it to blush. “Smooth,” you muttered, voice dry.

She didn’t say anything at first. For a second, you let yourself believe maybe she’d finally lost interest. Maybe that was it.

But then, quiet and sure, her voice cut through again.

“Made you blush, though.”

The rest of class passed in a blur. Or maybe that was just your survival response kicking in—pretend you weren’t still hyper-aware of the girl next to you who hadn’t said another word but kept doodling like she wasn’t sitting directly inside your personal space.

You bolted the second the bell rang.

Your plan was simple: get to the parking lot before Kevyn so you could stare into space for a few minutes and maybe finish another cigarette before heading home.

What you didn’t expect was to see her there again.

Leaning against Kevyn’s truck like she owned it. Leather jacket still slung over her shoulders, plaid skirt hitched just enough to look deliberate. She was talking to him—fucking laughing, even—and whatever she said made him roll his eyes and shove her lightly on the arm.

You stopped dead in your tracks.

No. No way.

As if sensing you, Kevyn looked up and waved you over like this was completely normal. “There she is! Took you long enough.”

She turned to look at you, and that same lazy smile spread across her face like she’d been waiting for this moment all day.

“Hey again, newbie.”

You blinked, still trying to do the mental math.

Kevyn gestured between the two of you, utterly oblivious. “You met Natalie already? She’s been riding with me since sophomore year. Her car’s been in the shop since… forever, basically.”

Natalie winked. “I like the chauffeur service. Full perks, no gas money.”

You said nothing, just stared at her. This girl—the cocky, chaotic storm who called you cute in class—was Kevyn’s friend?

Perfect.

You didn’t respond, just let out a quiet huff as you chucked your backpack into the back seat and climbed in after it. Natalie’s grin widened like she’d won some kind of game, while Kevyn shot you a confused side glance, like he couldn’t figure out why the air had suddenly gone tense.

You turned to the window and prayed for a short ride.

They talked the whole time, laughing like this was just another Tuesday. You tuned most of it out, eyes trained on the passing trees, until the sharp smell of smoke hit your nose and made your head lift instinctively.

Natalie had a cigarette between her fingers, her elbow hanging out the open window. She caught your stare in the side mirror and smirked as she exhaled a long stream of smoke, slow and deliberate. Her eyes sparkled, amused and a little daring.

“Want a hit?” she asked casually, like it was nothing.

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers twitched anyway. Of course, she had to be the one to light up first, ruining your escape plan before it even started. Still, you reached out, fingers brushing hers more than you meant to as you snatched the cigarette.

Kevyn let out a half-hearted, “Seriously?” but didn’t stop you.

You took a long drag, the smoke hitting your lungs with a familiar burn. You leaned your head back against the seat, eyes fluttering shut, trying not to think about the way Natalie was still watching you in the mirror like she was reading something written on your skin.

“Nat,” Kevyn groaned. You could see him glaring at you in the rearview mirror. “Don’t start corrupting my little sister.”

You flipped him off without opening your eyes. “Relax. It’s just a cigarette.”

Natalie laughed under her breath, nudging him with her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I promise to be on my best behavior.”

That made something in your chest flutter, annoyingly light.

Kevyn muttered, “That’s not saying much.”

You let the corners of your mouth twitch before you took one last drag and handed it back, avoiding her fingers this time. Your eyes slid shut again, the warmth of the smoke lingering in your chest, and the feeling of her gaze still burning into the side of your face.

The house was still when you walked in, the door creaking on its hinges like it didn’t recognize you anymore. The stale scent of microwave lasagna and old cigarettes clung to the air, mixing with the distant hum of the television. Your dad was passed out in his recliner, mouth slightly open, the soft glow of a crime show flickering across his face.

Kevyn tossed his keys into the dish like always and headed to the kitchen. “There’s food if you want it,” he called. “What’s left of it.”

You didn’t answer. Your fingers toyed with the frayed hem of your sleeve as you climbed the stairs, each step heavier than the last. Your room was just as you’d left it—bare, except for the sketchbook on the nightstand and a laundry basket full of clothes you still hadn’t unpacked.

You collapsed on the bed, letting the weight of the day press into your chest. The sketchbook found its way into your hands without much thought. You flipped it open to the eyes you’d started drawing in class—sharp and bright, half-smirking even in pencil.

Green.

You snapped the book shut like it had burned you.

A soft knock at the door.

Kevyn didn’t wait before pushing it open. “Hey. Dad wants to do a dinner thing tomorrow night. Like... all of us. Actual table, actual food. He’s trying.” He gave a tired shrug. “Sort of.”

“Sure,” you muttered.

He lingered, rocking slightly on his heels.

“What?” you asked.

Kevyn scratched the back of his head. “Just… Natalie.”

You tensed. “What about her?”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, reading you like he always could. “She’s not someone you should get close to.”

That pulled your attention. You sat up a little. “Why? Because she bums cigarettes and shows up late to class?”

He crossed his arms. “Because I’ve known her for years. She’s a lot, and she’s not careful with people. She’s one of my closest friends, and I’m telling you: she’s a mess, and she’ll drag you into it.”

There was something sharper in his tone now, something that hit a nerve.

You scoffed. “You don’t get to tell me who I can talk to.”

He didn’t flinch. “No, but I will tell you who’s trouble. She’s not for you. Not now.”

You stared at him, heart thrumming for reasons you didn’t care to examine.

“I’m not asking for a lecture,” you muttered. “I’m just trying to survive a day here.”

Kevyn’s expression softened slightly, but his eyes stayed firm. “I’m serious. Just... be careful around her, okay? You don’t need that kind of chaos on top of everything else.”

He turned to go, hesitated in the doorway, then added, “I’m not trying to control you. I’m just—”

“Protecting me,” you finished, voice flat.

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. “Yeah.”

He left you alone then, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

I woke to a metallic taste on my tongue, my eyes readjusting to the darkness. I thought for sure I would be dead, but with my Saintsforsaken luck Mal or Tolya probably grabbed me before the roof of the chapel could collapse all the way. That thought was quickly chased away by the rattle of chains. I turned my head to the noise and froze when I noticed the clasp around my ankle; Grisha steel. I was alive…but so was he. I made some feeble attempts at calling for help despite knowing no one would be there. I didn’t know what was worse; the idea of rotting down here or the realization that he wouldn’t let me.

“My dearest Alina,” his voice was smooth as usual, but tinged with obvious annoyance. My head snapped up as he stood in front of me. I hadn’t even heard him come in. “I should have expected this.”

“You brought this on yourself. Do you really think I would actually help you with the Fold? Help you do destroy Ravka?” My voice was stronger than I felt, but I refused to be afraid of him any longer.

“Destroy Ravka? Is that what you really think I’m doing?” He watched me carefully, taking me in before moving to kneel before me. I flinched away as he gently cupped my chin and I saw the slightest flash of anger in his eyes before it faded. “I believe the otkazat’sya have done that for me. No, I plan to improve it. I once told you that the age of the Grisha was coming to an end, but it doesn’t have to be that way.”

He was right, mad, but right. With the new weapons that Nikolai was beginning to ship in and even create himself, the Small Science wouldn’t even begin to compare. But this war he was creating would only leave Ravka in ruins. The otkazat’sya would only fear us more and trust us less. The progress that had been made that allowed us just to even live in the Little Palace safely would be destroyed and he didn’t care. How could he? He didn’t even care about the lives of those in Novakribirsk when he used me to slaughter them all to prove his power to the Shu and the Fjerdans.

“Using the Fold to destroy whole cities just to prove you have power isn’t going to solve anything. If you even leave any of them behind what’s left will only fear us and-”

“Then let them!” he cut me off, that usually calm composure lost as he let his grip on my chin slide back to grab me by the jaw. “I lived for years under their rule. I lived by constantly moving, constantly changing names, praying to whatever Saints may actually be up there that we wouldn’t get caught up in a witch hunt and be slaughtered on the spot. I saw whole villages razed in the name of fear and so I’ll do the same to them.”

In that moment I could see the little boy that Baghra herself seemed to still see him as. I had heard stories about way back when of witch hunts, but the stories were as old as Ravka itself and they seemed like mere tales made up to scare Grisha children into behaving. Sometimes, despite it all, it was easy to forget just how long he had been in this world.