I try to shake away the nagging sensation and grab a mug from the cupboard, my side burning from the reach. Inhaling a soothing breath, I pour myself a cup of black coffee, and take a seat at the edge of the table. My body screams when I lower myself into the chair, but I don’t let it show. I scan the room. Quinn is at the head of the table, calm and steady like always. LC at her side, flipping through her phone while she eats. You’d never know the three of us are carrying a secret of thismagnitude by looking at them. A few of the girls drift in and out, carrying plates, loading up on food before training.
One of them, Hydra, starts to make a joke about me being up but Quinn slices her a look and the joke dies in her throat. The small mercy lands and misses its mark at the same time.
And then there’s Riot. She’s not slouched loose like she usually is, not leaning back with her boots propped and that half-smirk daring anyone to test her. She’s sitting forward, shoulders tight, her chair pulled just a little off-kilter from the table. Not angled for comfort, but so she can see everything. One hand grips the edge of the table, knuckles pale, while the other hovers near her phone like she’s waiting for it to go off. Every so often, her eyes flick up, scanning the table, the room, the door.
It’s subtle, maybe nothing to anyone else. But to me? It’s wrong. Riot never looks like she’s bracing herself for a fight against us. And that’s exactly what she’s doing now. The question is why?
She pockets her phone when she notices me watching.
“You really should stay in bed a few more days.” Riot’s voice cuts across the table. Her gaze skates my side, catches on the way I hold myself a little too careful.
“I’m fine.” The lie comes easy but I’m sick of telling it. Riot should know better than anyone that I won’t be kept down.
Her brow furrows. “You don’t look fine.”
Before I can snap back, Mama Ru bustles in from the kitchen, a faded apron tied around her waist and a steaming plate of biscuits balanced on one arm. Her short gray hair is sticking up like she didn’t bother with a comb and her sharp eyes catching everything.
“Leave the girl be, Riot,” Mama Ru scolds, setting the plate down in front of me. “Girl’s upright, that’s half a miracle already.”
A few chuckles ripple around the table. She narrows her eyes on me, then slides the biscuits closer. “Eat something before you fall over. Coffee’s not a meal.”
Mama Ru’s always been like that. Gentle where the rest of us are jagged, a soft heart holding a hard world together. She does more than keep our house in order, she’s the one who reminds us we’re still worth saving.
“Yes, Mama Ru,” I say, tearing a piece off just to humor her.
She pats my shoulder, gentle but firm. “That’s my girl.”
Only then does she straighten, wiping her hands on her apron and moving on to scold Rogue and Nyx for leaving dishes in the sink. The moment she’s gone, the room feels heavier again.
I swallow the biscuit and chase it with coffee that sits like gravel in my stomach. A few of the others are making conversation about one thing or another, but I barely hear them. Not with my focus locked on Riot. Not when she won’t look me in the eye. Not when her plate is still untouched, her hand twitching toward her pocket like she wants her phone back in her grip.
She catches LC watching her and smiles a heartbeat too late. I file it away as paranoia and take a long swallow of coffee, forcing myself to glance away. If the others notice anything off, they don’t show it.
By the time I make it to my office in the back of the gym, every step feels like it drags barbed hooks through my side. My hand finds the doorframe, steadying me as I push it open. Dust floats in the strip of light spilling through the blinds, drifting over the desk where Quinn and LC left everything yesterday.
I lower myself into the chair, the pain in my side refusing to dull and spread the papers out with shaking hands. Intake forms, scraps of notes all of them carrying the weight of thegirls who walked through our doors, girls who trusted us to keep them safe.
I want this to be a mistake. A set-up. Anything but betrayal.
My stomach twists. A mistake doesn’t explain what we found in Riot’s locker. Heat crawls under my skin. I press the heel of my palm to my eye, trying to force the thought away.
A knock makes my spine lock, then the door opens without an invitation. Riot slips inside, her usual smirk missing. Her gaze drops straight to the desk, to the mess of papers spread across it.
I don’t move the papers. I don’t cover a thing. Let the test come.
“Left my phone charger in here.” Her throat works once. Her eyes flick to the desk again, not to the outlet.
My gaze tracks her as she crosses the threshold and moves toward the desk. Her eyes linger on the paperwork a second too long before snapping back to mine. She crouches low near the outlet, her hand brushing against the desk’s edge as she unplugs the cord.
“Why are you digging through all that?” she asks, her voice pitched light, but I see the way her eyes drag over the forms before she forces them back to me.
“Catching up on the filing,” I answer, dragging a folder closed, my movements deliberate. “Guess I let it get sloppy.”
Her laugh is thin, quick, nerves showing through the cracks. “Sloppy ain’t like you.”
I meet her eyes, pinning her in place. “Guess I’m slipping.”
Riot shifts her weight, the charger cord coiling in her hand like a lifeline. Her gaze skates across the desk again. Concern creases her brow, real enough, but there’s tension threaded underneath, her shoulders too stiff, her jaw too tight.
