The waiting area outside Headmaster Williams's office felt like a prison cell, too small, too bright, and far too quiet. I sat with my shoulders hunched, watching Ryder pace like a caged animal, his footsteps creating a maddening rhythm against the polished floor. Five steps one way, turn, five steps back. Cole sat across from me, silent and withdrawn, his mismatched eyesfixed on some distant point only he could see.
We'd been here for nearly an hour, waiting for Hannah Kensin to arrive. According to Ryder's breakthrough, she was the one who had been sending fake texts to Cadence's grandparents, possibly the same person who had been threatening her before her disappearance. The linguistic analysis had been conclusive: 99.8% match. Hannah Kensin, Archive House's Consort, is somehow involved in Cade's abduction. The thought of Cade sent a familiar pain lancing through my chest. I hated that I had almost given up on her, almost given her up for dead. It still didn’t mean she was alive, but this was our first real lead since she was taken from us.
"They're here," Cole murmured, nodding toward the entrance. The door swung open, and Hannah entered, flanked by her parents. Mr Kensin was a tall, thin man with thinning blond hair and an expensive suit that screamed old money. Mrs Kensin was a carbon copy of her daughter, or rather, Hannah was a carbon copy of her, all highlighted blonde hair and practiced smiles that never quite reached her eyes.
Headmaster Williams stepped forward to greet them, his demeanour obsequious and nervous, a stark contrast to his usual pompous authority. Ever since Bruce Turner had entered the picture, Williams had been a shadow of his former self, constantly looking over his shoulder as if expecting The Gavel to materialise behind him.
"Mr and Mrs Kensin, thank you for coming on such short notice," Williams began, wringing his hands. "I apologise for the interruption to your holiday-"
"This is outrageous," Mr Kensin cut him off, his voice sharp with indignation. "Dragging us back from Verbier in the middle of ski season for what? Some baseless accusation against ourdaughter? Hannah has been with us the entire break. She couldn't possibly be involved in whatever this is about." Mrs Kensin nodded in agreement, her perfectly manicured hand resting protectively on Hannah's shoulder. Hannah herself looked pale and drawn, her usual polished appearance slightly dishevelled, as if she'd been rushed out of bed and onto a plane.
"I assure you, Mr Kensin, we wouldn't have requested your presence if it wasn't a matter of the utmost importance," Williams replied, his tone placating. "A student has been missing for over five weeks now, and we have reason to believe that Hannah might have information that could help us locate her."
"Missing student?" Mr Kensin scoffed. "And you think my daughter is, what, an accomplice to kidnapping? This is absurd. Hannah, tell them you know nothing about this."Hannah opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a word, the door burst open again, and James Killingham strode in. His presence immediately filled the room, commanding and cold. I'd never seen him look so furious, his aristocratic features tight with barely controlled rage.
"Sit down, Mr Kensin," Killingham said, his voice deadly quiet. "And I suggest you adjust your tone. Your family holiday is the least of our concerns right now." Mr Kensin bristled, drawing himself up to his full height.
"Do you know who I am? I'm a major donor to this university, and I won't be spoken to like-"
"I don't give a fuck who you are," Killingham cut him off, stepping closer. "A girl has been missing for five weeks. Not just any girl, a Consort. And your daughter has information about her disappearance. So you will sit the fuck down, and Hannah will cooperate with our investigation, or I will personally see to it that your entire family spends the next year in the Hole." The threat hung in the air, heavy and palpable. The Hole, theTrivium's private prison, reserved for those who violated their most sacred rules. Even I had only heard whispers of it, and the rumours were enough to make my skin crawl.
I raised an eyebrow at Killingham's intensity. I'd never seen him this rattled, this openly aggressive. But then again, he had Bruce Turner breathing down his neck. The Gavel's return had sent shockwaves through the entire Trivium hierarchy. Even my father had been on edge since Bruce had entered the picture. As soon as I told him who Cadence’s grandfather was, he had sworn and commented that he knew he liked her. Mr Kensin continued to bluster, his face reddening. He pointed at us with disgust on his face.
"This is outrageous! The girl isn't even a Legacy, is she? Some scholarship trash who shouldn't have been a Consort in the first place. Maybe this is nature's way of taking out the-"
"I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you." The voice was smooth, almost amused, and it sent ice down my spine. Dominic Blake stepped out from the shadows of the corridor, his elegant figure seemingly materializing from nowhere. He moved with the fluid grace of a predator, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"Perhaps you'd like to share those sentiments with the girl's grandfather," Blake continued, his tone conversational but his eyes cold. "Although you might know him better as The Gavel." The effect was immediate and dramatic. Mr Kensin's face drained of all colour, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Even Mrs Kensin seemed to shrink back, her perfectly composed facade cracking to reveal genuine fear.
"The... The Gavel?" Mr Kensin whispered, his voice barely audible. "Bruce Turner is The Gavel. And he hasn’t been seen for fucking years."
Blake's smile widened, showing teeth. "Indeed. And Cadence Turner is his granddaughter. And he's very interested in finding her. Very interested in speaking to anyone who might be involved in her disappearance. I'm sure he'd be fascinated by your perspective on her value." The threat didn't need to be spelled out. Everyone in the room knew what it meant to be on The Gavel's list.
Mr Kensin swallowed hard, then turned to his daughter, his earlier bluster replaced by barely controlled panic.
"Hannah," he said, his voice strangled, "you will go with Mr Killingham and answer every question they ask you. Do you understand me? Every. Question." Hannah's eyes widened, fear flashing across her face.
"Dad, I can't-"
"You can and you will," her father hissed, gripping her arm hard enough that I saw her wince. "Whatever they ask, you tell them. I will not have this family on The Gavel's radar. Not for you, not for anyone." Hannah looked like she might argue further, but one look at her father's face seemed to quell any resistance. She nodded mutely, her eyes downcast, shoulders slumping in defeat. Killingham nodded to Blake, then gestured for Hannah to follow him toward the interrogation room. As they passed by us, I caught Hannah's eye. There was something in her expression, not just fear, but a desperate, cornered look that made me uneasy. She knew something. Something she was terrified to reveal.
Ryder surged forward, clearly intending to follow them into the interrogation room. Before he could take more than a step, Sebastian Lynch materialised in front of him, blocking his path. Lynch leaned in close, whispering something in Ryder's ear that I couldn't catch. Whatever he said had an immediate effect. Ryder's entire body went rigid, then seemed to deflate all atonce. He nodded once, sharply, then sank into the nearest chair, his head dropping into his hands.
"What did he say to you?" Cole asked, breaking his silence as Lynch followed Killingham and Hannah into the interrogation room, closing the door behind him. Ryder looked up, his eyes bloodshot and glistening with unshed tears.
"He said I'm too close to the situation. That we all are." His voice cracked slightly. "That's why we've been missing things. Too busy seeing the trees and missing the forest." Cole and I exchanged confused glances, but Ryder had already retreated back into himself, his head dropping once more into his hands. I shrugged, too exhausted to push further, and settled back into my own chair.
It felt like time was crawling as we waited for the interview to be conducted. Through the glass window of the makeshift interrogation room, I could see Killingham sitting at the back of the room, his posture rigid and watchful. Lynch leaned across the table toward Hannah, who was already crying, tears streaking her makeup. I couldn't hear what was being said, but Lynch's body language was intense, focused, like a hawk zeroing in on its prey. After a few minutes, Killingham pulled out his phone and made a call, his expression grim. I watched Hannah's face grow increasingly distressed as the interrogation continued, her blonde head shaking in what looked like denial or disbelief.
Ten minutes later, Harrison and Andrew, two of Archive House's Regents, strode into the waiting area. Harrison was tall and lean, with dark hair and serious eyes, while Andrew was shorter and broader, with the confident swagger of old money and privilege. They both looked concerned but also irritated, as if they'd been pulled away from something important.
"What the fuck is this about?" Andrew demanded, looking directly at me. "Why is our Consort being interrogated? And whywere we called in like we're suspects in some crime?" Before I could respond, Killingham opened the door to the interrogation room and fixed them with a cold stare. "Come in, gentlemen. We need to speak with you." Harrison and Andrew exchanged glances, then looked to me for some explanation. I could only shake my head, as much in the dark as they were. With visible reluctance, they entered the room, the door closing behind them with a final-sounding click.
For several tense minutes, there was silence. Then, abruptly, Andrew's voice rose in a furious shout, audible even through the closed door.
"Tell us who the fuck else it is!" I jerked to attention, my gaze snapping to the window. Inside, the scene had transformed. Andrew was standing, looming over Hannah, his face contorted with rage. Harrison sat with a stack of papers in his hands, his expression devastated, almost ill. Hannah was sobbing openly now, her makeup completely ruined, her body shaking with the force of her distress.
I recognised that look on Harrison's face. It was the same expression I'd worn when I believed Cadence had betrayed us, when I'd ordered her punishment without proper investigation, without listening to her desperate pleas of innocence. The memory hit me like a physical blow, stealing my breath. I saw it all again: Cade tied to that post, her back striped with blood, her screams echoing through the woods as I brought the whip down again and again. The sizzle and smell of burning flesh as we branded her with the Covenant sigil. Her broken, tear-stained face as she realised we'd never believed in her innocence.
