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3. Freya

3

Freya

I vy’s kitchen had the smell of fresh coffee and the quiet hum of the refrigerator. She was hunched over the bar, a tower of textbooks around her, scribbling notes with fierce concentration. I sat across from her, fingers tracing the edge of the black card Rebecca had slipped into my hand last night. The letters on it shimmered in a strange, almost hypnotic way.

Ivy glanced up, her eyebrows knitting together.

"You're not studying," she pointed out, her tone a mix of concern and mild annoyance. "We have midterms in a few weeks."

"Ivy," I began, unable to peel my eyes from the card, "have you heard of the Imprinting Ceremony?"

"The — what?" She blinked, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, glancing over at me.

Without a word, I slid the card across the bar to her. She picked it up gingerly, as if it might bite. Her eyes scanned the text quickly.

"Never heard of it," she said finally, handing it back.

"Me either," I replied, slipping the card back into my pocket.

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Why do you have that? And why aren’t you focusing on Psych it was about navigating a world of power and corruption far beyond anything I’d imagined.

Ivy reached out, her fingers brushing against mine in a silent show of support. “Freya,” she whispered, her eyes filled with concern.

I squeezed her hand, drawing strength from her presence. “I have to do this,” I said firmly, meeting Liam’s gaze head-on. “I can’t just let Henry control my life.”

"If you want to fuck up your life, fine," Liam said indifferently. "Now, get the fuck out so I can fuck my wife."

"Liam," Ivy said, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling.

I sighed, beginning to collect my things. The weight of the card in my pocket felt heavier now.

"Don't listen to him, Frey?—"

"No, it's fine," I cut Ivy off, forcing a smile. "He's not wrong. At least about overstaying my welcome."

Liam leaned against the fridge, crossing his arms over his chest, his expression unreadable.

"You know," I told him as I slung my bag over my shoulder. "This is me playing the game."

Liam smirked. "I don't think you know what game you're playing," he muttered. "Nor do I think you realize who you're playing against."

"The society?" I asked, feeling a cold shiver run down my spine.

Liam shook his head slowly. "Henry himself."

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