Twenty minutes later, we're pulling up to Columbia's campus. Emmanuel parks on Broadway, and I release a heavy breath. This is perfect.
"Do you need me to escort you?"
I shake my head. "No," I say. "I'm going right in and meeting Sera at the café inside."
Emmanuel frowns and puts the car in park.
"I'll wait here."
Internally, I'm screaming. On the outside, I'm cool as can be. "It's a no parking zone."
He frowns, and I hold up a folder. It's one I stuffed full of paper in the hope of looking legit. "How about you watch me walk in?" I ask. "I'm going to be talking to my former advisor for at least twenty minutes."
Emmanuel sighs. "Fine," he says. "But I'm tracking your phone."
"I know." I hold it up. "Student center café. I'll be there for at least thirty minutes." I slide out of the car. "You can head back. I'll text you when Sera's ready to leave."
His eyes narrow slightly, and I know he's surprised I'm calling out the tracker I know is on my phone.
"This isn't my first rodeo, Emmanuel." I walk toward campus confidently, ignoring the frown on his face.
Campus is a great place to lose myself. And this isn't the first time I've ditched a guard. I make my way to the student desk. "Hey, Heather," I say, greeting the girl who sits behind there.
She smiles. "Long time no see."
I pull out two hundred bucks. "Don't forget to walk around occasionally. I'm supposed to be at the café."
She smiles. "No problem. I'm off in twenty minutes, and I've got a final to study for."
"Where will you be?"
"Butler Library, probably. Third floor."
"Perfect. I'll come grab it when I'm back." I hand her the phone. "Just walk around the café area occasionally in case he's tracking it."
She pockets the phone and the cash. "Got it. Same as always."
I slip out of the student center through a side entrance and make my way to the subway.
My hands are shaking as I swipe my MetroCard. This is insane. This is reckless.
But underneath the fear, there's something else.
Power.
For the first time in a week, I'm not waiting for Saint to decide my worth. I'm not sitting in that bedroom wondering when he'll remember I exist.
I'm acting. Choosing. Taking.
And it feels fucking good.
The train comes. I get on and head toward Williamsburg.
Toward Eclipse.
Toward Alexei Morozov.
Eclipse is different during the day. The strobing lights are off, replaced by harsh fluorescents. The dance floor is empty except for staff setting up for tonight. It smells like stale beer and cleaning products.
