“Someone’s been watching you.”
Amara blinks. “Yeah, I mean, lots of people are. It’s normal, didn’t you say?”
“It’s not,” Eve cuts in. “It’s Roth. Julian Roth.”
There is a pause, and I taste the silence on my tongue. Amara’s face goes paper-white.
“Roth… as in Governor Roth’s son? I don’t even know him,” she whispers.
Eve shrugs, shifting her weight. “Doesn’t matter. The Board picked you for him. He’s playing with you because that’s what he does. If you don’t push back, he’ll gut you just to see how the pieces fit together.”
She says this with the calm of a surgeon discussing a routine amputation. I admire her for it.
Amara recovers quickly. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because if the Board wants you hunted, someone should teach you how not to die.”
“I… I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
I step into the open, clapping slowly. Both girls freeze.
“Such nobility, Miss Allen,” I say, an amused smirk spread over my face. “It’s touching.”
Eve turns, gaze flat and unfazed. She’s shorter than I remember, but she projects force like a nuclear reaction. “I don’t recall inviting you.”
“I thought I told you to stay out of it.”
“She needs help, Julian. It’s not fair she has to walk the halls alone. You know what the legacies are like. Colt says I can, so you can take it up with him.”
I ignore her, fixing my attention on Amara. “You should be careful with your friends, Miss Marcus. Some of them are more interested in your survival than your happiness.”
Amara stares at me, lips parted. Her eyes are huge and unblinking. She doesn’t flinch when I move closer, but there’s a shallow pulse in her neck.
“Why are you doing this?” she asks.
“Because I can’t help it.” I let the truth sit there, unadorned.
She blinks. “And if you could?”
I smile, slow and deliberate. “Then I’d do it anyway. Only it would be less of a game.”
Eve steps between us, her arm angled protectively in front of Amara. “You don’t scare me,” she says.
I lean in, just enough for Eve to close her eyes and inhale sharply. “You should learn to distinguish between fear and respect. One’s a survival instinct. The other is an invitation.”
Eve’s jaw flexes. “She deserves to know what game she’s in.”
I circle them, studying them both. Amara’s fingers clench her book. Eve’s stance is defensive, but her chin is lifted, eyes level. The dynamic is exquisite: Eve knows I could flatten her. I’d have to deal with Colton, but if she doesn’t piss off, that’s a consequence I’m willing to toy with.
I address Amara, not Eve. “What makes you think this is a game?”
She holds my stare, and something in her eyes shifts. Not anger, not fear, just hunger for understanding, the same hunger that drives me.
Before she can answer, I turn on my heel and walk away. I feel their gazes burn my back, one in confusion, the other in pure, distilled rage.
I like the way it feels.
As I round the corner, I check my pulse. It’s elevated. Not from fear, but from anticipation.
