“He should’ve blocked,” Dre mutters.
Jasper’s jaw ticks as he signs something clipped and fast. I can’t catch what he says to him even from here.
Dre looks away.
The atmosphere down here has been like this since the election.
We have Evie’s truth burned onto a USB drive. We have a president-elect who thinks he’s untouchable. We have a girl with a ring on her finger that might as well be a shackle.
We’ve got a lot of reasons to hit something.
My phone pings from the bench where I tossed it.
Beck is closest and he glances over, seeing the screen light up. “Hey, Reed.”
“Probably spam,” I say, walking over and wiping my face with a towel.
“I think it’s PornHub, or a notification from your mother,” he says. “Either way, I’m not touching it.”
I snort and grab the phone, thumb swiping the screen. One banner sits at the top, bold and smug:
PRESIDENT-ELECT BLACK ANNOUNCES ENGAGEMENT PARTY FOR DAUGHTER MARA AND CHASE HARRINGTON – DEC 27TH
For a second, I don’t process it.
The words sit there, bright against my sweat-slick thumb, and everything in me goes still.
Engagement party.
Of course.
Of course they’d throw a party for their celebration.
Behind me, Dredyn says, “What?”
The word has weight, like a gun being cocked.
I don’t answer right away, I just turn the screen so they can see.
Rook mutters, “Fuck,” under his breath, pushing himself fully to his feet.
Beck lets out a low whistle, finally closing his laptop. “Well,” he says, “that’s one way to ring in the New Year.”
The phone buzzes again in my hand, the group text lighting up.
Links. Screenshots. An invitation.
“Read it,” Dredyn says.
I skim the information, bile rising as I go. “Blah blah... ‘intimate yet glamorous affair’... ‘celebrate love and stability during a time of national transition’... guest list includes every rich asshole you’ve ever wanted to punch in the face... open bar.”
“Love and stability,” Beck repeats dryly. “Bold choice of words for a guy who sold his daughter to the highest bidder.”
I drop onto the edge of the mat, elbows on my knees, phone dangling from my fingers. My heart is pounding again, but not from the fight.
“We got invited,” I say. “The whole fucking fraternity.”
Beck leans back in his folding chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Security will be insane,” he says. “Secret Service, Syndicate muscle, probably a couple of ex–special forces guys. Cameras at every entrance. Metal detectors. Facial recognition.Full guest list that will most likely be run through a dozen filters. You try to sneeze in that building, they’ll know about it.”
