"Go back to your dorm for now," Ethan says in what I bet he imagines is his kind voice. It still sounds like an order.
Mason nods. At least he's not crying anymore. He walks away down the hallway, his sneakers barely making a sound against the linoleum. He looks back once before turning the corner. I lift my chin at him, smiling, and then he's gone.
Ethan and I stand there in the empty corridor. I imagine he wants to murder me, but he says:
"You're surprisingly good at that."
"At what? Being charming? I'm always charming, you should know that. Aren't you mad at me?"
“I guess I deserved it,” he says, and smiles. “Doesn't meanyou won't pay for it.”
¦
We get to his office. It's just a chair, a desk, a shelf, and a file cabinet, but it even has a window that's not barred. So fucking official and special.
I sit on his chair. It’s old and creaky, but it spins, so I spin around in it, and he shoots me an amused look. I thought he’d tell me to stop, but, instead, he’s focused on something else. He goes to the filing cabinet.
“Every leader gets a copy of every new kid's folder. It's classified.” He pulls out a specific beige folder. I raise an eyebrow.
"Are you allowed to show me this?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
"No. So don't tell anyone."
"Breaking rules, Mr. Leader? I'm a terrible influence on you."
He ignores me, but he's smirking, full of mischief. He flips the folder open. I lean forward, craning my neck to read over his arm. Mason's intake photo stares up at us, same red hair, same green eyes, but he looks three times more scared.
I scan the basics. Mason Riley. Eighteen. Prior offenses: petty theft, grand theft auto.That's a badass crime, I should have gone for that.Mental health assessment pending. Education: eleventh grade, incomplete.
Then Ethan turns to the assignment page, and I watch his face change.
It's subtle; Ethan's not the kind of person who shows his emotions. But I've been watching this particular face for weeks now, and I see the shift in his microexpression. His jaw sets. The muscle at the hinge of it flexes. His eyes go flat and hard.
"Who is it?" I ask.
He closes the folder.
"Ethan. Who's his leader?"
"Don't worry about it." He slides the folder back into the cabinet and pushes the drawer shut with more force than necessary. “You don't know him.”
"That's not an answer."
"It's the answer you're getting."
I stand up. "Come on. We just found that kid crying in a hallway because his leader spanked him, and you're not going to tell me who did it?"
"His name is Reed. I don't like him. Case over." He turns to face me, arms crossed over his chest.
“Reed? From our MMA class?! Why don't you like him?”
Reed is one of the best fighters in the Academy, maybe the best. Maybe that’s why Ethan doesn’t like him. He’s always being praised by Griff.
“It doesn't matter.”
“Tell me!”
“No, or you won't get off my fucking back.”
