Did the students burned beneath King Clymeus’ final assault spend the nights leading up to it lying awake, too? Listening? Waiting? Knowing it was inevitable, just like Saffron did every night he swore something moved in the corridor outside his room? Cylvan had come for him while slowly suffocating in the trunk—but would he be there every other time? Saffron opened his mouth to speak, never hating the silver choker more than in that moment. He wished to explain. He could see it on Cylvan’s face, confused why Saffron looked at him with such a mix of disdain and heartbreak. They used to teach
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