THE WARD

The panel of professors gave their decision precisely two weeks after the evaluation process began. More than three-quarters have failed the evaluation. It comes as no surprise that I'm on the rejected list.

"Well, that was expected," Aldo hums beside me while I take a moment to feel sorry for myself. All the work I've done has been in vain.

"Now, now, Mr. Friedreksen, that's no way to speak to a member of the order," my blood gels at the sound of his voice. Fortunately, I chose to look at the list when everyone was in class or doing something that didn't require wandering the hallways. Aldo laughs at my side; it is boisterous, loud, and incredibly annoying. "Who? Her?" Aldo doesn't even bother to hide the mockery in his tone and begins to laugh raucously again, slapping his thigh. I'm the joke of the century, I swear. If I stare at the notice board any longer, it will burst into flames.

"Yes. Her," I can say that Mason won't be earning any awards for eloquence with the answers he is giving. Aldo's laughter subsides slowly; he straightens himself and leans into me.

"It looks like whoring yourself did get you somewhere after all," he whispers into my ear, raising the hairs on my back.

Bristling, I slowly turn my head and measure him with a cold stare and choose not to stoop to his level. But the rage inside me does all the talking, as my fist lands straight in the middle of his face. Bone crunches under my fist; Aldo stumbles back, cupping his gushing nose and looking at me wide-eyed, bewildered.

Mason chuckles, heaving a heavy sigh a few feet away.

Smiling brightly, I give Aldo a cheery wave before I say, "And you have no manners. I hope that will teach you some. If not, you know where to find me." I turn on my heels with a pep in my step, but I don't miss the second set of footsteps trailing right behind me.

I know it's him. I knew it would only be a matter of time before he came back with a vengeance. Sadly for him, I'm still mad as hell, but a bit more cool about it. I can't change the past; well, I can, but I'd rather not relive this whole travesty all over again. It definitely doesn't require an encore; it wasn't that good. I keep walking, but the silence is a tad unnerving.

"So, are you going to follow me around like a lost little puppy?" I ask as I bound towards the stairs while he picks up the pace to keep up.

"I'm neither little nor a puppy, but I can be if that will get you to forgive me," he says behind me as we emerge into the yard. I don't care anymore if anyone sees us together.

"Try it," I smirk but keep walking. "A little humility may do you a world of good," I'm teasing. There is no world where any kind of humility would knock Mason down a peg. His self-confidence seems to be fire- and shatterproof. I wish I had that. All it takes to make me curl up on myself and cry is a girl with big tatas. He chuckles behind me but follows,

"Keep going. Don't stop until you reach the entrance to Zareen. I have a proposition for you, and I think you might want to hear it." Undeniably that piques my curiosity, and all of a sudden, I want to know what he has to offer. Knowing Mason, it will be good. He will not bother requesting negotiations unless he has something invaluable to offer. Listening to the crunch of gravel under my shoes, I keep going until I reach the entrance to Zareen. Only then do I turn to look at him and find his blue eyes pinned on me. There is a warmth to his gaze that I never thought I'd ever see again. Admittedly, our story has been a bit of a rollercoaster ride. He smiles but it's brief, lacking the usual shine before turning to open the door that is used to conceal the entrance to Zareen. Watching him go through the steps before gaining entry is rather painful. As he fishes the velvet pouch out of his pocket, I reach for the doorknob that I know conceals a wall and tug it open. Just like Shay's, my powers are evolving. They are becoming something new, and even though I have it handled for the most part, some of it is still sort of a mystery. Work in progress, I guess. When the familiar paneled hallway stretches before us, Mason chuckles at my side and shakes his head,

"After you." He gestures with his hand while he inspects the entryway for damage that I might've done. There is no damage. I've done this a dozen times, and each time everything remained intact. That's a bit of an exaggeration. I've done it twice: once when I left the temple and once by accident. Same difference. As we move along the corridors, hushed voices trickle through from various directions, and I'm starting to believe Frankie when she said that this place is haunted. The last time I was here, Zareen was more deserted than the catacombs of Fridole, which have skeletons in them. So, maybe not a good comparison, but still. When we reach the teardrop room, also named Zephyr, Mason opens the door, and I'm expecting to be greeted by a curmudgeonly crowd. It comes as a surprise when I look around the room, and there isn't a soul in sight. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts to my nose, and I'm instantly drawn towards the pot on the table, waiting to be savored. Mason pulls up a chair without saying a word and picks up two coffee cups off the tray. Proper coffee cups, with saucers and teaspoons resting on the side. I feel like royalty. Since I can remember, I drank coffee out of a mug unless we went out and about. I take the proffered seat while I wait for him to fill up the coffee cups and, hopefully, the heavy silence. We haven't spoken a word, but I have a minor inkling as to what this is about.