I turn slowly.
Raiden Blackwell is leaning against the doorframe, one powerful shoulder pressed against the wood. He’s wearing dark jeans and a black henley that clings to his chest and arms in a way that should be illegal.
His dark hair is slightly damp, like he just got out of the shower.
In his hand, he’s holding another piece of the broken tubing. He tosses it lightly, examining it with those piercing blue eyes.
“This was deliberately damaged,” he says, his voice low and certain. “See how the metal’s compressed here? That’s not from a fall or structural failure. Someone bent this with force.”
I can’t move and can’t speak.
And totally can’t process the fact that he’s actually here.
“What are you doing here?” The words come out sharper than I intended.
He looks up at me, and something flickers in his expression. “You volunteered me, remember?”
“I didn’t think—”
“Didn’t think I’d actually show? I keep my commitments, Patton.”
The room has gone completely silent. Everyone is staring at us.
Karolina steps forward, her voice cautious. “If someone damaged the equipment, who would do that? We’re the only ones who’ve been here.”
“Not the only ones,” Raiden says, still looking at the broken piece. “This door was open when I got here. Anyone could have walked in.”
“The door was locked,” I say. “I opened it myself this morning.”
“It’s open now.”
I turn to look. He’s right. The side entrance—the one that leads to the old corridor—is standing slightly ajar.
“I swear I didn’t open that,” Christie says.
A chill runs through me. Someone was here.
“Well,” Raiden says, straightening up and walking further into the room. “Looks like you’ve got a saboteur.” He drops the broken tubing on a nearby table and turns to face the group. “Who wants to tell me what we’re working with here?”
“We?” I echo.
“Yes. We.” He looks directly at me, and there’s a challenge in his eyes. “Unless you want to explain to Professor Whitmore why the Christmas party failed before it even started.”
He’s right, and I hate that he’s right.
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “The compressor system needs to be fixed or replaced. We need to figure out who—”
“I can fix it,” he interrupts.
“What?”
“I said I can fix it. We’ve actually got a full workshop at the hockey facility. I’ll take the parts, weld them back together, and have it working by tomorrow.”
I stare at him. “You know how to weld?”
Something dark crosses his face. “I know how to do a lot of things, Patton.”
The way he says it makes heat pool low in my stomach.
