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The cold indifference in his gaze when he looked at the girl beside me made my skin crawl. “You’re the unexpected new student of Hartfall, aren’t you? A Miss Ember Ellis.”
“That’s me.” Her eyes narrowed.
Oh. It’s Ember.
As if anyone is supposed to remember that.
Clave’s gorgeous lips curved. “Miss Valence, were you at all aware that Miss Ellis took the last available spot in the new freshman class? Her whole trial was quite fascinating. She just barely scored higher than one of the most promising new students, pushing him out of the running completely. Her luck has been incredible. Almost… unbelievable.”
The girl froze. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Clave’s stiff collar flapped in the breeze. “Only that Mr. Highland has a right to be confused about how a girl with minimal training and a drastically bland bloodline managed to best his younger brother.”
The pieces clicked together now. The Highland asshole blamed her for his brother’s failure.
Her bicep flexed in my hand as she stepped forward, but I locked her into place beside me. “Are you saying I cheated?” she hurled.
“Probably,” I cut in. Fighting with this arrogant prick wouldn’t do her survival probability any favors in this school. “But unless he can prove it, he’s just saying it to be mean. Let’s go.”
As we turned our backs to him, Clave called, “Miss Valence?”
Despite myself, I paused.
“Do try to stay out of trouble. Otherwise, your future may look rather… gray.”
Static filled my vision. My head turned on its own accord. I needed to see him, needed to know.
As soon as I caught the triumphant, cruel smile, I did.
Professor Clave knew.
He knew exactly who I was.
Chapter Fifteen
“Woah, woah! Slow down!”
“I’m not a horse, Elena,” I barked, stomping back toward the administrative office.
She caught my wrist and stopped me. “Ember. It’s Ember. Just hang on a second. You’re squeezing my arm way too hard.”
I released her, surprised at my knuckles aching and the angry red imprints in her skin. Even still, I struggled to calm myself down. What could possibly be more important than the fact that an archangel prick knew who I was? Who my adoptive family was?
Ember smoothed her brilliant hair back. “I want to know why you’re here and why your name is not Gray Wilder.”
Another jolt of sticky, poisonous fear laced my nerves. “My name isn’t Gray Wilder,” I said mechanically.
“The sign-in sheet at your little cafe desk said different.”
Oh. That’s right.
“I’m working as a community coordinator now,” I hedged. For some reason, connecting her words to the cafe lessened my terror.
“With a fake name.”
“My real name. Gray is a nickname. So… call me Isra.”
Ember narrowed her eyes. “Sure. Whatever. Your weird secrets are not my problem. Why didn’t you tell me you were working at the school?”
