We reached the lockers. Avery moved toward hers, but her body stayed turned toward me like she was reluctant to leave me unguarded. I understood that feeling too well.
“I’ll see you at lunch,” she told me, more statement than plan.
Jax stepped in at her side, draping an arm over her shoulders with easy familiarity.
“I’ll be there,” I promised.
Luke’s fingers loosened then curled around mine again as he leaned closer, his mouth near my ear without touching it.
“Text me if anything feels off,” he murmured.
I let out a quiet breath. “It already does.” The quiet from Elise had stretched too long. It never meant peace. It meant preparation.
Luke’s breath warmed the side of my neck, and the sensation should not have mattered as much as it did.
“Text me if anything changes,” he replied.
He didn’t step away immediately. His hand stayed at my waist as we moved down the corridor together, slow enough to look unhurried, deliberate enough to be seen.
He stopped outside my classroom door. “I’ll see you at lunch,” he said.
I met his gaze. “You will.”
His thumb brushed once over my hip, subtle and grounding, then he stepped back and turned toward his own class. He walked like the hallway belonged to him. I watched him longer than I should have. Then I squared my shoulders and went inside.
First period went by in a blur of equations I did not care about and students who kept glancing at their phones under their desks. I tried to focus, to make my mind cooperate, but it refused.
I kept thinking of Darren’s notebook. Of Luke and the way he refused to let me step backward.
He didn’t know everything. Not yet. But he knew enough to look at me like he was already bracing for impact.
By second period, the rumors started.
They were not shouted. They were threaded through the air the way perfume moved—soft at first then suddenly everywhere.
“Did you hear…?”
“My dad said…”
“Something’s going on with King Enterprises.”
I heard the name without meaning to. It caught in my chest like a hook.
By third period, half the senior class had heard some version of it. Parents had talked. They always did. At Blackwood, the boardroom and the breakfast table were often the same room.
Conversations clipped shorter. Phones appeared between classes. A name surfaced near the lockers—King—before dissolving into lowered voices.
No one needed details. At Blackwood, perception moved faster than truth. When money shifted, alliances did too. That was how Blackwood worked.
Someone behind me laughed, too casual. “Wow. Rough week to be a King.”
Another voice answered, “Maybe but it couldn’t happen to a nicer family.”
I didn’t turn. I didn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing my reaction. But I did feel my pulse steady into something colder.
I met Avery on the way to lunch. When we reached the next hallway, where students spread out again, I saw Elise.
She stood near a column with two girls at her side, her posture composed, her hair perfect, her face tilted in a way that allowed people to look at her without it appearing like she wanted to be watched.
