We piled into the car, doors slamming in near unison. I jammed the keys into the ignition, tires squealing as we tore down the empty road. The glow of the campus faded in the rearview mirror, alarms still wailing somewhere behind us.
Silence settled heavy over the car, only the hum of the engine filling the space. My pulse was still hammering when I heard it—crinkle.
I frowned. “What was that?”
Anothercrinkle.
I glanced back. Jace sat there, seatbelt crooked, hair a wreck, an Oreo halfway to his mouth.
He froze mid-chew, his eyes meeting mine. “What?” he mumbled around the cookie. “Along with stress eating, I also believe in recovery snacks.”
Parker groaned. “You’re unbelievable.”
Jace grinned, unbothered. “Maybe. But I’m calm, and you two look like you just aged ten years, so who’s really winning?”
I snorted and shook my head, glancing down at the ledger in my lap.
One trial down. One step closer to Sphinx membership and all it would mean for me.
But as the road unspooled in front of us, my mind drifted back to the other thing clawing at me…another puzzle I hadn’t solved.
My mystery girl.
I pressed my foot down on the gas, a faint smile tugging at my mouth.
Time to figure out her name.
CHAPTER 11
OPHELIA
The phone buzzed like it was trying to tell me a secret I didn’t want to hear. I let it sit in my palm and vibrate for a beat, which felt like resistance, and then I answered because my mother’s name didn’t allow for dramatic pauses.
“Hi, Mom,” I said in the voice I’d practiced with Dr. Whitaker for situations where honesty would be a liability.
“Ophelia.” No hello, no niceties. My mother always started like she was reading a report that needed auditing. “How are you right now?”
I looked at the tiger head next to me, painted eyes, ridiculous smile, and wished it could warn her off. “Fine. I’m about to go out on the field.”
There was a pause, but she didn’t ask about my game-day duties. She never did. My mom had never been to a game, never even pretended to care about football or school spirit.
Not that that was why I was doing it…
“You sound tired.” Her tone wasn’t gentle; it was clipped, controlled, the kind she used when she was assessing, not asking. “Did you reschedule with Dr. Whitaker yet?”
I hesitated. “I got busy.”
“That’s not an excuse,” she said, her voice going colder. “You’ll call tomorrow to reschedule. Do you understand?”
My grip tightened on the tiger head beside me. “I will.”
“Good.” Another pause. “And you’ve been keeping up with your grounding exercises?”
The word made something in me tighten. “Yeah,” I said after a beat. “I’ve been doing them.”
“You’re sure?” she pressed, that familiar edge of suspicion creeping in.
“I’m sure.”
