that’s vaguely familiar—but that’s how half the imagery in Academy feels. I flip open the cover and the inside is mostly abstract drawings and short passages of curved, foreign script.
“Good luck deciphering that.”
He takes it back and snaps it shut with a clap. “Like I said. It’s for Rupert.”
The academic side of war is clearly not his interest. Not that he’s unintelligent, he’s just more brawn than brains. It’s obvious why. Physically he’s molded from the gods' personal clay, his body made of solid muscle. He’s too big for this tiny office, looking like an actual giant. A quick look at his hands and I’m surprised he didn’t actually snap my neck.
“Do you think he’s dead?” I ask.
“It’s a possibility, but Christensen is beyond the realm of physics. I’m not sure death is something that applies to him.” He and rubs his forehead. “I’m not sure what rules apply to him.”
“Well, I guess I’ll head back to my room.”
He nods and gestures for me to go first. I take a step, when I hear the door knob rattle. I glance up and see that Agis heard it, too.
He moves so quick, so fast, that by the time the lock springs on the door, he’s shoved me into the closet and closed us inside. The space under the door provides a sliver of light. It’s not a big space and we’re crammed in tight. Neither of us make a sound, because it’s one thing to be caught in here, it’s another to be caught in here together. A student and an instructor.
Especially with how close our bodies are right now.
“See if you can find it. I saw it on the shelf the last time I was here.”
I don’t recognize the voices—probably some lackey Roland sent to get whatever he’s looking for. Whatever he’s looking for, he takes his sweet time, because five minutes later we’re still smashed together, and my foot starts to cramp. I shift uncomfortably.
“What are you doing?” Agis asks in a low whisper.
“I have a cramp.” Again, I twist, trying to relieve some of the pressure. Agis grimaces and he reaches one hand up and places it on the ceiling, fingers clenched. I grab onto him, pushing upward, stretching my feet.
He mutters a curse under his breath. “Stop moving.”
“I can’t, I just—” I squawk, the pain shooting up my leg.
Again, he reacts with speed and agility, and two things happen at once.
One, he lifts me off the ground, giving my legs room to stretch.
Two, he plants a hand over my mouth, cutting off the sound of my pain.
“For the love of all gods, stop. Fucking. Moving.” He holds me like that, pressed against him, as the minutes tick by. His hand is warm. His body strong and unwavering. I don’t move a muscle, not an inch, because the look in his eye is deadly. I think he literally may kill me if I disobey.
I don’t know how much longer we wait, but whatever the person in the office is looking for is either found or he gives up, because eventually the outer door opens and closes, and the room grows still.
Agis removes his hand from my mouth, and we stare at one another for a moment longer. I see the flicker of something in his eye. Something dark and distant. He releases me and I slide to the ground. I don’t want to admit it, but I feel wobbly on my feet and instantly miss the way our bodies felt next to one another.
If he feels the same, there’s no way to know. When I get a good look at him in the light, his expression is tense. His jaw tight. I open my mouth to speak but he walks past me and opens the door. With a quick glance to the left and right, he’s gone. Vanishing down the hallway.
With a sigh, I follow, locking and closing the door behind me.
You’d think being locked in a small room with an ally would be a good thing—especially one so good-looking, but nope. Not with Agis.
If anything, I think things may be worse.
9
Agis
The short walk back to my room feels like it takes hours—but it’s nothing compared to being in the closed space with Hildi.
Gods almighty.