I found my sweatpants on the floor and slid them on.
Hoodie. Shoes. Phone. Wallet. Keys. The motions felt automatic, muscle memory taking over while I went over potential things the Sphinx could do to me.
Just as long as it doesn’t involve dead bodies, I thought, once again thinking of Parker’s trial. I could probably handle anything but that.
By the time I stepped into the hallway, my pulse had leveled into almost a game-day calm.
I pulled out my phone and typed out a text to Parker and Jace.
Me: Got a Sphinx trial. If I’m not back in two hours, try to find me.
Me: I forgot to take my bracelet off, so I’m making it easy.
Me: Parker, if you see this text first and can’t figure out how to track me, ask Darla.
I hit send, hoping one of them would see my texts.
The friendship bracelets had started as a joke freshman year, Jace’s idea, naturally. He’d handed them out with some dramatic speech about “binding our brotherhood in unbreakable thread” or some crap like that.
It wasn’t until Parker’s trials that we’d figured out the truth: Jace had built tiny trackers into them. Because apparently, in his mind, best friends didn’t just check in—they ran covert GPS surveillance on one another.
I’d been meaning to take the damn thing off ever since.
But after years of wearing it, I barely noticed it anymore.
And maybe tonight, that was a good thing.
I tightened my hoodie strings, locked the door behind me, and started toward the car.
The drive down to the river didn’t take long. Campus was mostly asleep, the streets washed in that eerie blue of late-night halogen and frost. My headlights caught the slow curl of mist rising off the Tennessee River as I pulled into the lot overlooking the docks.
The moment I stepped out of the car, the cold punched me.
Wind knifed across the water, biting enough to sting my eyes, and the air smelled like metal and wet wood.
The docks stretched out below, long wooden fingers reaching into black water. Everything was silent except the slap of waves against the pilings.
I scanned the docks, breath fogging in the cold, trying to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do next. Then something caught my eye near the end of the middle dock.
I squinted.
Was that…a package?
Of course it was.
I huffed out a laugh that turned to steam.How original. A secret society and a mysterious package. Never would have thought of that.
I was obviously being sarcastic.
Jamming my hands into my hoodie pocket, I started toward it, shoes thudding softly against the boards. Each step creaked.
When I reached the end, I crouched, frowning as I picked up the box. It wasn’t heavy, just wrapped in plain brown paper, no markings.
“This better not be some kind of?—”
A sound behind me—soft, quick.
I started to turn.
