The Gray Institute (The Gray Institute Trilogy Book 1) Read Online Free Page B

displays deep age lines which actually serve to compliment his features. He's broad shouldered and well-built, a muscular chest beneath a crisp white shirt, his olive skinned arms dusted with thin dark hair. He's beautiful – like Diana and Malachy – but in a very different way. This man is authoritative and stern, his features wise and aged. His steel grey eyes are cold but at the moment polite – if not a little reserved.
    I suddenly feel embarrassed about my startled cat reaction and I straighten, rubbing my neck sheepishly. 
     
    'Think not of it, Miss Ryder. It's your natural instinct.' The man smiles kindly. He speaks in a crisp English accent but – though he hides it well – I detect a faint trace of Arabic. 
    He gestures to a wooden chair tucked into the desk and I hesitate before padding across the plush rug. I perch nervously on the seat as he gracefully takes his place in the arm-chair opposite. He regards me for a few seconds, his eyes sweeping – making an assessment – as I shift uncomfortably beneath his gaze.
     
    I'm painfully aware of my lacklustre appearance; my dirty clothes, greasy hair and – to put it politely – pungent smell. I'm the embodiment of his opposite with his crisp grey suit, black tie and cinnamon-smelling aftershave.  
     
    'Don't worry, Miss Ryder. I've seen much worse.' He smiles, reading my thoughts. I barely register the fact that he already knows my name, the fact that Diana already knew my name. My parents must have found me and put me here; I don't carry any form of identification.
     
    The man's eyes are truly a wonder to behold; a pale, almost translucent grey. But deep within his pupils – barely visible – is another colour, one which sends a cold shiver down my spine. A tiny, flickering green ball shimmers and glitters in the blackness, like an emerald under murky water. It swirls and spins – like a ball of fire – dancing with the intensity of his gaze. 
     
    'Miss Ryder, I'm afraid I must become serious with you,' His words jerk my attention from his eyes to his mouth and I grit my teeth, trying hard to focus through the haze of drugs.
    'I imagine you're feeling very confused and vulnerable. I extend my apologies for the nature of your arrival here.' His eyes are sympathetic, his words kind and concerned – but alarm bells are ringing in my head. Something tells me I can't trust this man, a gut instinct – one I can't ignore.
     
    'Where are my parents?' That odd sound that seems to be my voice escapes my throat again.
     
    'Your parents?' The man frowns deeply, narrowing his eyes. There's suddenly an underlying threat to his tone and I swallow a dry lump.
     
    'Yes, my parents. Didn't they bring me here?' I've been expecting to find my mum and dad waiting in a reception room just out of sight. Expecting a heartfelt reunion during which they'll beg me to come home and I'll apologise profusely. But the man's bewildered – and almost angry – expression suggests that my parents were never part of this.  
     
    'I do not know of your parents' whereabouts; just as they know nothing of yours.' He speaks slowly and carefully, gauging my reactions, but – although part of me had hoped that my parents finally knew where I was and what I had become – I'm pleased that they don't.
    I'm also not surprised at the news that they didn't put me here; I'm well aware that the government locks people like me up in mental hospitals on a complete whim, purely to get us off the streets.
     
    'Where do you think you are, Miss Ryder?' The man asks, leaning back in his chair and linking his fingers together, a look of amusement and interest on his face. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, shrugging my shoulders and avoiding eye contact.
     
    'A psychiatric hospital?' It's a question, not a statement and the man attempts to hide a smirk. Attempts – but fails. 
     
    'Why do you assume that?' He asks, raising an eyebrow as his eyes glitter, laughing at me silently. I shrug,