Her fingers are freezing, especially the ones wrapped around the tower's metal frame. With her other hand, she shields her eyes against the too-close sun, and she squints, trying to see beyond the haze that clings to the city.
She can't. Around her and below her lies Opelucid, an endless labyrinth of industry, and she knows that even if the smog were to lift, she would see nothing beyond its borders. She sighs – the one thing she can see is her breath. It billows and then dissipates into the wind, and she shouts, hoping her voice will be carried away, too, to home.
Officer Jenny's voice crackles up to her through a megaphone. She is small from where Iris stands, but Iris can picture the expression on her face: a mixture of worried, annoyed, and exasperated.
"Iris, listen to me! Come down here!"
Iris' fingers really are very cold, and she thinks on this detachedly. She imagines them breaking off one by one, snapsnapsnap, like icicles, and sending her into free-fall.
Free-fall, but not freedom. There is no way to leave this tower that will grant her that: once her feet touch earth – or, rather, Opelucid's shiny chrome replacement for it – she will drag herself back to the Academy. She will bear it for a while, and then once again she'll draw on the walls or say something wrong or be too loud, too rough, too much, too little, and she will climb the tower to search for a village beyond her vision.
Iris cannot continue doing this, she knows, or else one day she might just let go of the tower. She needs to leave, before the city destroys her. But even here, touching the sky as she is, so much keeps her grounded. The money, for one thing. The Elder has paid every penny of this in advance, and Iris has eavesdropped enough to know that Opelucid Academy doesn't believe in refunds.
The weight of expectations is far more persuasive, though, the ball-and-chain keeping her captive. The citizens of the Village of Dragons nominated her, and her alone, to come here. They are rooting for her. To give up simply because of homesickness – she snorts – would be to rob them, and she has a strict policy about stealing: only the tangibles, like the crayons from her classroom. Only things that she can give back.
So she climbs down the tower. As soon as she hits the ground, Officer Jenny bustles up to her. "Young lady, we cannot keep doing this. I want you to stay off the tower from now on – it's not safe, it's not a toy – or else I will be speaking to the Headmaster again. Understand?"
Iris nods. Officer Jenny's eyes are tired; she probably wants to go home, too, not chase after a dragon-girl who can't even fly back to her nest. Guilt warms Iris' cheeks and she drops her gaze to her shoes. "I'm really sorry," she says, her voice small. "I won't do it again."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
This is the first of her promises to be spoken aloud. If she remains as she is, with faith shackling her to the school, then it will be the only one she will break.
She crosses her fingers for good luck, and just to be safe. The invisible chain drags behind her, scraping against the ground, raising sparks.
Weakening.