Declan goes rigid. A statue of fury and restraint. His body is still, his muscles coiled tight, his attention laser-focused.
He looks at me once—quick, sharp, steady.
Then he hits Accept.
And then he hits Speaker.
The room shifts instantly.
Clara’s hand clamps down hard on Adrian’s forearm. Zoë’s foot stops tapping mid-air, her whole body freezing. Dante shifts his weight, blocking the doorway just a little more, as if he can physically fight the voice on the other end. Even Maya stops typing, fingers hovering over the keys.
We all lean in. Every nerve stands on edge.
The line connects with a sharp, digital click.
For a second, there is no sound. Just the hollow, static hiss of an open line.
And then, the sound of a breath.
Chapter 28
Declan
Myfather’svoicefillsthe room. It’s not the cold, sharp bark from our last call.
It's amused.
The sound of it turns my stomach.
“Well, Declan,” Alistair Reid says, a light, dismissive chuckle in his tone. “I have to admit, I’m impressed. A ‘Poison Pill’ clause. A ‘merger.’ You've been busy. And you've allied yourself with the campus blogger. How... quaint.”
The wordbloggerdrips contempt. Like it's synonymous withirrelevant.
My hand is fisted on my knee. Knuckles white. Nails biting into the cut I made earlier. I can feel Talia's leg trembling beside me—tiny, involuntary shocks through the couch cushion—andunder my other hand, resting on her thigh, I feel her force it still. She’s fighting not to flinch for him.
“It's not a blog, it's an NCAA violation,” Maya snaps, voice like ice. She’s standing now, hand braced on the back of Genny’s chair, but I see the way her knuckles are bleaching white. “And a blackmail charge.”
“It's adraft, Ms. Maddox,” my father counters, amusement fading, replaced by a cold, bored venom. The shift is so fast, so familiar, it makes the back of my neck prickle. “A draft that will never see the light of day. Because if you dare publish that, if you even think about it, I will not just pull the grant. I will call the trustees, and I will have Coach Addison fired for gross negligence before your article even hits the server. And then, I will sue this university for slander, and I will sue you, personally, for libel, until you're begging for a job writing cafeteria menus. Am I clear?”
The threat lands, sucking the air from the room.
I hear somebody swear under their breath—Gio, probably. Zoë lets out a sharp, cut-off inhale like she’s been punched. Clara’s hand flies to her mouth. Adrian’s jaw flexes hard enough I can hear his molars grind.
Even Maya wavers. For a split second, the journalist mask slips, and I see the nineteen-year-old student underneath, realizing exactly how big the boot is that’s about to crush her.
“You think you're the first 'kid' who's tried to play this game?” he scoffs. “You're holding a grenade, but you're forgetting I’m the one who built the bunker. Bury it. Or I bury all of you. Starting withher.”
His emphasis is a knife.Her. Talia.
My fingers convulse around Talia’s thigh at the same time her breath stutters. She doesn’t make a sound, but I feel the flinch all the way through my ribs.
He hangs up.
The silence that follows is a tomb. Thick. Sealed.
No one moves. The only sound in the room is the faint hum of Genny’s desktop and the distant, muffled slam of a door from another apartment down the hall.
“Holy shit,” Gio whispers from the counter, voice stripped of its usual joking edge.
