I shrug, one shoulder lifting. “You tell me.”
She laughs because we both know I aced it. Engineering is clean and logical, with problems that have answers if you work them long enough. It’s the rest of life that refuses to resolve, no matter how carefully you calculate.
“I heard about the body,” she says, like she’s talking about the weather. “You guys found it?”
“Yep.” I run my hand through my hair. “It was rough. Did you go to the vigil?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
My mind jumps backward, to the last time we talked outside of class. Not about circuits or load calculations, but about what’s lurking in Forsyth.
Her voice had been tight then, controlled in the way people get when they’re afraid they won’t be believed. She told me about the drink she stopped halfway through because something felt off. The way another patron, a man, lingered inside just long enough to watch her leave, then followed five minutes later like it was coincidence.
Average face. Baseball cap. Nothing distinctive enough to holdonto. Could’ve been any frat boy on campus. Then the messages started. They came from blank profiles and burner accounts. We checked.
You looked beautiful in blue.
I like how your hair smells.
Working late again tonight, Sofia?
Too specific to ignore. Too vague to pin down.
Campus security told her to walk with a friend. Change her passwords. Be more careful. The cops said their hands were tied unless he touched her. Like fear didn’t count unless it left bruises.
She’d rolled up her sleeve and shown me the tattoo on her arm–a coiled snake, in dark ink. The KNT sigil. Counts. She said her half-brother, Bruno Perez, forced it on her before his death.To keep her safe,he’d told her.
The pattern is getting harder to ignore. Whoever’s behind it is hunting Royal women. North, South, East, West, and our plot of land snaking between them all. And Sofia falls into that category, whether she claims it or not.
“Anything I need to know about?” I ask, keeping my voice casual. Neutral. “Anything off?”
She hesitates. Just a beat too long. Barely there if you aren’t looking for it.
“No,” she says. “Nothing new.”
My gut tightens. “Are the Dukes providing protection?” They agreed to it, but Sofia definitely has an independent streak, and I’m not sure how much she’s cooperated.
“They’re keeping an eye on my apartment, and I recognize the guys trailing me on campus. I’ve told Lavinia it isn’t necessary.”
My eyes flick briefly to the road, to the dark stretch beyond the lights. “I don’t think that’s a theory I’d want to test. Every female in Forsyth needs protection right now, and with North Side in a complete meltdown, Lucia may be the closest thing you’ve got to an ally.”
She exhales, a tired little sound, and gives me a look that’s half gratitude, half resignation. “Lavinia doesn’t want anything to do withthe charred remains of her father’s kingdom.” She snorts softly. “I don’t blame her. Anyone left is hopped up on Scratch and bad decisions.”
I don’t tell her that there are four frats working together right now to make life better for the children in Forsyth, even if it’s just for one day. I know it won’t matter because I witnessed the dysfunction of North Side myself. I haven’t forgotten about the blood I scrubbed off my boots after picking up the kid’s body. Or the smell of the warehouse that wouldn’t quite go away, no matter how hot the water got. One bad decision among many, all stacked on top of each other, leaving women like Sofia Martinez alone.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” she adds quickly, like she’s cutting off the conversation before it digs too deep. “I’m fine. That guy was just a fucking creep.”
The pump jerks hard in my hand, and I release the handle. When I turn around, she’s already climbing into her SUV. I watch the red taillights flare as she pulls away, swallowed by the dark beyond the station’s glow.
I stand there for a second longer than necessary, cold seeping into my bones.
Then I get back into my truck and crank the engine.
My mind drifts to where it always does lately–to Arianette. To the idea of her alone in a place like this. No House of Night. No King’s shadow stretching over her shoulder. No army of Shadows quietly watching from the dark.
Just her.
How easy it would be, how fast someone like her could become another name. Another face on a flyer. Another body cold and posed in death.
