Chapter 9

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Rowan by SILKETARA ^^^
 

The door creaked when Celaena opened the way to roof, unlocked, lucky for the door, unlucky for her lock picking skills.

Her eyes assessed the cemented roof and parapets, but no one was there.

She slammed it shut behind her, the old hinges whining in response and breathed a sigh of relief, the smell of pine and snow soothing her.

She could let down her walls, she could let herself have a moment of weakness.

The gravel crunched under her shoes, the wind whipping her hair out of the braid as she rested the palms of her hand on the parapet, gazing down at the school building.

The shirt stuck to her back with sweat, the cool air caressing it, as well the various scars on it.

Not just scars.

Scars, bruises, cuts and mostly, whipping marks.

Scattered across her back, reminder of her scarred history.

They didn't pain anymore. But what they represented did.

Seeing Sheriff Westfall bought all the memories back, the ones she never wanted to relive again. Being tied to the poles, whipping, the beating, the torture, the repeated questioning-

A strangled breath left her mouth, and Celaena was fiddling with her socks, pulling them down and-

There it was.

Her only hope to cope.

She opened the white box, ignoring the warning of cancer on the cover. She was an assassin, she dallied with death every freaking day.

Just one left.

Celaena took out the matchbox from her left socks-lighter being too risky and slowly lit the cigarette hanging between the lips.

Just one puff and everything will be fine again.

She sighed, ready to sneak a toke-

"There's a camera just behind you."

The voice startled her, the roll of tobacco slipping through her lips, onto the parapet, then tumbling straight down the roof.

Her eyes followed the trajectory of the falling cigarette, the jittery feeling in the nerves rising with every inch the white stick covered. When it touched the ground, Celaena could've sworn she felt it in her bones.

Okay, she was being a little over dramatic but she needed that cancer stick now.

She exhaled once, before turning a little, making sure that the camera didn't catch her face.

"Don't worry, I covered it when I came here." There wasn't any obvious humour in the tone.

The audacity.

She twisted immediately, eyes scanning the opposite wall for the camera, before the voice spoke again.

"It is on the door."

And there it was, the spot on the dark brown metal covered with a black cloth.

Thank the heavens. Celaena couldn't afford to get rusticated. She was doing a damn good job to ensure that.

Finally, she met the eyes of the intruder.

It was one of the senior jocks- the white dyed hair one. She'd asked Dorian about them, the cadre. His name was Rowan Whitethorn.

He was standing behind the right wall, in the narrow space with the boundary. He was standing perfectly still, with absolutely zero movement despite his bulk. No wonder she didn't see him earlier.

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