Page 92 of Twisted Elites

“You did?” I turned to my left and met Leopold’s sparkling, aquamarine eyes. “I don’t remember you saying any such thing.”

“You were sitting on my face at the time.”

The curtain flew open, and a furious-looking nurse glowered at us. “Boys, we have patients recovering from severe injuries. I’m going to have to ask at least two of you to leave.”

“My apologies.” Leopold guided the nurse out through the curtain and drew it closed.

Sebastian, Prakash, and I stared at each other in silence for several moments. This felt like Economics class, where Mr. Begg would send Leopold out of the room for an inappropriate comment.

Before I could ask Sebastian to text Leopold, he appeared through the curtain with a sly wink and a roguish grin. He’d probably charmed the nurse into letting them all stay.

Sebastian turned to me, his green eyes shining with hope. “With the worst of the bullies gone, next year will be different.”

Leopold smoothed down my hair. “We’ll stamp out bullying in Brittas Academy and recruit successors who will do the same.”

Prakash raised his head and gave me the warmest smile. “Will you help us?”

Leopold laughed. “Of course she will. She’s our queen regent. Our royal court doesn’t work without Willow.”

Epilogue

With its sprawling gardens, complete with a gazebo covered in pink and orange roses, Springfield Manor looked more like a spa than a secure mental hospital. But on closer inspection, it was clear that the institution was designed to keep people inside, rather than out.

From the inside, it was impossible to tell that the tall evergreens hid the eighteen-foot-tall walls reinforced with barbed wire. Or that the internal doors were reinforced with layers of security.

I walked into a small parlor room with a beautiful view of the rose garden. A lone figure sat at a table laden with cupcakes and scones already sliced and prepared with jam and clotted cream. He wore the khaki tracksuit of an inmate but had somehow managed to make it look formal.

My throat dried. Even though half a decade had passed, Cormac looked exactly the same as he did when I’d last seen him in the Aston Martin. He had spent months in Cumbria Royal Infirmary before the doctors had deemed him fit to stand trial.

When his lawyer used the defense of diminished responsibility, Prakash hadn’t wanted Cormac to languish in a state mental facility and paid for him to be sent to Springfield Manor.

“You came,” Cormac said in a voice full of wonder. He stood and gestured for me to sit opposite.

“I was curious.” I nodded to the two male nurses at the door leading to the gardens and walked around to the table.

Cormac’s eyes glistened as he watched me sit. I wondered if he remembered happier times when we sat together in the scholars’ common room, or if he even remembered all the torment he had inflicted on me in the name of avenging the suicide he had helped Corrine to commit.

“Did you read the letters I sent you?” he picked up a plastic pot of tea and raised his brows in question.

I offered him my plastic teacup. “Yes. I’m glad the medical team here have been so supportive.”

As Cormac poured the tea, no steam billowed out of the spout. Springfield Manor was careful that its inmates didn’t hurt themselves or others, no matter their level of recovery. Cormac filled my cup three-quarters-full and then picked up the milk jug.

With a smile, I let him pour an excessive amount of white liquid into my cup. Cormac grinned, but I didn’t fall into our usual banter about the preparation of tea.

Six years had passed, I’d moved on from Brittas Academy, and hadn’t allowed myself to dwell on the time I’d spent with Cormac. My life was already full, and it was about to become even more occupied.

Cormac’s face fell, but he smoothed out the disappointment and prepared himself a cup of cold tea. “It’s been good here. I realize now that Kashaayah was a scapegoat for everything that went wrong in Corrine’s life. Our problems started long before we joined Brittas Academy.”

I turned to one of the cameras in the corner of the room and shot it an I-told-you-so look.

Cormac scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Corrine finally thought she’d found love, and—”

“I get it.”

He blinked away his hurt expression and said, “MIT has offered me a scholarship in the States. It’s a bloody fortune compared to what we were offered at Brittas.”

I brought the plastic cup to my lips. “Congratulations.”