“Me? What the hell are you doing here?”
“My trial, dumbass. I’m supposed to retrieve the portrait of the founders hanging outside Professor Thorne’s door.”
“What the fuck? Same. Are we supposed to work together?”
My heart sinks as Parker looks at me, hopeful. Why the hell does he have to look so good? Why am I suddenly seeing him that way? And why do I care that I’m about to disappoint him?
“No, we’re not. It’s a race to see who can successfully complete the task first.”
“Are you fucking serious? Why do they want to pit us against each other?” he asks. I look around quickly, even though it’s the middle of the night, I don’t trust that they’re not watching. Thatsomethingcould be watching.
“Because, like I’ve explained before, it’s a test.”
“Okay, but what about the brotherhood? Is that not a thing here?”
“No. Every man for himself, serve the Veil.”
“That doesn’t work for me.”
Is he serious? He can’t just change the rules. “Well, too bad. I was here first, so piss off.”
“Fuck you. I’m here now. I say we say fuck the Veil and we get it together. Maybe it’ll surprise them. Dare you to do it with me.”
A dark laugh escapes my lips. Fuck the Veil. I wish. My eyes meet Parker’s, the green barely visible in the dim light of the moon peeking in through the trees. His blond hair is purposefully disheveled, and I have the strongest urge to run my fingers through it. What would it be like to be more carefree? Not to do things exactly as my father has told and trained me to do. Maybe working together would surprise them; maybe that’s the goal to begin with. Can we put our own gain and focus aside to work together to complete something? I quickly weigh my options while Parker leans casually against the stone wall. He’s exuding an air of indifference, but then I remember his confession, and I know that’s not true. He wants to learn more about himself, and the way to do that is by getting through these trials and understanding where his lineage comes from. There’s no evil at Corvus, I believe that much; the five founders must have worked together to create such a strong foundation that’s prevailed for hundreds of years. You don’t do that by working against each other. Maybe my dad has it all wrong, maybe the legacy at Corvus isn’t just taking your rightful place in a line of succession. Maybe they put such a strong emphasis on lineage because that’s created through . . . well, something greater than hate.
My eyes trace over the strong features of his face, lingering a little too long on his lips.
“The way you’re looking at me, baby, I’d be careful.” His warning pierces my thin armor, my dick taking notice. Fuck,when he calls me that. It makes me want to drop to my knees, makes me want to do things that would change everything.
“Let’s do it together.”
“Thatta boy.”
“Do you know where it is? I’ve only been in here twice, and that was freshman and sophomore year.”
“Last I saw, it was hanging right outside Professor Thorne’s chamber door. I have no idea how it’s on the wall, but I can get us there.”
“I’m trusting you.” Parker reaches out and gently taps the side of my cheek with his palm, the spark that lights making our eyes connect. We’re quick to brush it off, but the tension humming between us makes my head a foggy mess. He sends me a wink before moving in front of me, leading the way into Thorne Hall.
All the academic buildings are open twenty-four-seven, but the professor’s private chambers will always be locked. Hopefully the portrait hasn’t moved since the last time Parker saw it.
We weave our way silently over the aged, stone floors, the flames in the sconces dancing wildly as we pass, as if the school itself is happy with our choice. With renewed confidence, I step closer to Parker, keeping us together, following him into the depths of the building.
Rich leather and sage, the scent of incense burning, fills my nose as we find Thorne’s chambers. An ornate frame hangs next to his door on the stone wall, much larger than I was anticipating. A portrait of the five founders,Abel Thorne, Edmund Mortwood, Francis Harrow, Isabel Ashcroft, and Cecelia Grimsley, looks back at us. Each is dressed in crimson robes, the hoods over their heads, the only visible features their eyes that look empty and hollow, void of life.
Parker and I stand shoulder to shoulder, looking at it. “What’s that mean?” Parker asks, pointing to the tiny script in the bottom right corner.
“Veritas latet. Latin for the truth lies hidden.”
“How the fuck are we going to get this out of here? It’s huge and heavy.”
“We’re going to remove the painting from the frame.” Parker looks at me like I’ve lost my goddamn mind. And maybe I have. But there’s no way we’re getting this frame out of here unnoticed.
“What if we ruin it?”
“We won’t. I’m an artist, I know how to handle artwork.”
Parker arches a brow, his eyes darting all over my face. “Now that makes much more sense than whatever science bullshit you’ve been studying.”
