“Assigned?” My stomach dips. “You don’t get to choose?”
“Our job,” he says, his voice dropping low, “is to obey. Do what’s expected. What’s required.”
“If you don’t?” I press. “What if you choose something else? Somethingyouwant?”
He reaches out and I flinch, just a fraction, but he catches it, his eyes narrowing like he’s filing that away for later. Slower now, more deliberately, his thumb drags across my lower lip. My breath hitches. The room sucks in, gets smaller. The air thinner. Every nerve goes tight.
He lifts his hand and shows me the smudge of toothpaste he wiped away.
“What I want is irrelevant.” His voice is low, deadly calm. “There’s only one job. Obey.”
I swallow hard, but he isn’t done.
“I obey The Order.” He takes a step closer, gaze steady and unblinking. “And you obeyme.”
My breath catches. It’s not a request. It’s a declaration.
I open my mouth to protest, to tell him I don’t obeyanyone,but before I can say a single word Carrson leans in close enough for me to feel the heat of him, the controlled threat simmering beneath the surface.
“You don’t have to like it,” he murmurs. “Youdoneed to understand.” His eyes lock on mine, cold and certain. “Your life, and mine, depend on it.”
Chapter eleven
Laurel
I obey The Order. You obey me.
I obey The Order. You obey me.
I obey The Order. You obey me.
Carrson’s words from the morning cycle on repeat in my mind all day. The more I think about our conversation, the more questions I’m left with.
What exactly isThe Order? Who runs it? What happens if someone disobeys? Are my professors in on it, since they’re giving Carrson A’s for not showing up? Is Carrson at the top of the pyramid or just a well-dressed pawn with great abs? What doesmoremean? More power? More control? More what?
It’s like I’ve been dropped into the middle of a novel everyone else has already read, every twist spoiled, every character assigned, and I’m the only person still flipping through Chapter One, trying to catch up before the ending blindsides me.
My unease isn’t helped by Stevenson, who follows me around all day. He’s creepy as hell, always lurking ten feet behind, blending in with shadows and dodging around trees. Close enough that every time I look up, he’s there but too far away for me to talk to him.
In lectures, one of Carrson’s brothers always ends up near me. Front row. Back row. Two seats over. Doesn’t matter. I used to overlook them, just more entitled jocks in letterman jackets, but now that I’m paying attention, it hits me. Not a single class passes without one of them present, and the way they cluster around me doesn’t feel random. No. It feels planned or, worse,assigned. Like there’s a “Watch Laurel” chore chart taped to the wall of the frat house, and they each get a gold star for taking a shift.
A few weeks ago, I was sulking about how no one knew or cared about me.
Now?
I’d give anything to go back to that sweet, carefree anonymity.
In my organic chemistry class, I take a seat near the back. One of the fraternity brothers sits down next to me, the closest any of them have gotten so far. I recognize him. He was right behind Carrson on that first night when I delivered the pizza. Smaller build, light-brown hair, hazel eyes behind dark-rimmed glasses. He gives me a brief nod and then faces forward with his hands neatly folded as he waits for the lecture to begin.
All day, these frat guys have stalked me, but none of them have actuallyspokento me. I decide it’s time to change that.
I twist in my seat and stick out my hand like I’m running for Student Council. “Hi! I’m Laurel.” I beam, giving him my bestlet’s be friendssmile, the one I haven’t used since senior prom. It feels weird on my face, like a mask I forgot how to wear, but I force myself to hold it.
He startles like I’ve thrown a knife instead of a greeting.
After a long blink, he hesitantly reaches over and shakes my hand, his grip gentle like he doesn’t want to hurt me. “Thomson. Nice to meet you.”
“You live in the house, right? The plantation-looking one. With—uh—me?” I ask, like I’m not fully aware we’re technically roommates, or housemates, or whatever.
