I scan the café. Conversations shift. Heads turn a fraction. The energy thickens, static before a storm. A couple people don’teven bother pretending—eyes dropping to their screens, thumbs moving fast.
“That’s the rumor?” I deflect, keeping my tone light, like I’m amused by my own headline. I feel the weight of her stare like a hand on my throat.
“It’s the one with teeth,” she says, eyes narrowing, gears turning. “Someone got hurt. And you’re involved.”
The words hang there. Heavy.
My stomach knots. Irritation bubbles under my skin, sharp and immediate. It’s a move—a strategic poke at a sore spot. She’s checking the damage, sure. She’s also probing for weakness.
“People talk,” I shrug, giving her nonchalance I don’t feel. “You know how it is.”
“Yeah, but this is different.” Her voice drops as she leans in, building a small bubble around us. “You might want to clarify things before it spirals.”
Steady. Urgent.
My skin prickles. I glance around again. Snippets of conversation. Laughter that slides past my ears like it belongs to another room. Eyes on me now. A performance I didn’t sign up for.
A notification flashes on a nearby screen when someone tilts their phone—Briarcliff Whisperer—and I don’t even need the whole headline to feel it land.
Rossi. Paralyzed. High school.
Public. Packaged. Ready to spread.
“I don’t have to explain anything,” I say, sharper than intended. “I’m not the one spreading rumors.”
Maya doesn’t flinch. She holds my gaze, unyielding.
“No,” she says. “But you’re the one who has to handle the fallout. This won’t blow over.”
There it is.
It isn’t gossip. It’s a weapon. Deliberate. Aimed.
Fuck. Great.
My irritation simmers. “I’ll take care of it,” I say, forcing certainty into my voice as the ground shifts under it.
She nods slowly, reading the tension in my posture. “Just remember what’s at stake, Gio.”
She isn’t worried. She’s measuring cost.
“Thanks for the warning,” I say, letting the words hang there. A thin line drawn in sand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to deal with this.”
Maya steps back first. Not retreating. Just done. Message delivered.
I push off the wall and don’t look around. If people are watching, that’s their problem. I don’t owe this place anything.
The rumor isn’t noise. It’s placement. Timing. Someone moved a piece to see what shook loose.
And I can feel the hand that moved it.
Rylan’s voice threads in, uninvited—last time we were face-to-face, his grin too casual, his eyes too mean. Guess I’ll find another way to get noticed.
Good. Fucking good.
If he wants attention, I’ll decide the shape of it.
Without urgency, I cut through the café. The murmurs can travel without me. They always do. By the time I shoulder out into the cold, the shape of it is clear—what they’re saying matters less than why they’re saying it now.
