“And proof?” Cole presses. “That you’re innocent? We know that. The rest of the world wants a villain. They want blood.”
“Then I’ll give them a better story.”
I stand and move to the window. The street outside looks empty, but I feel the town pressing in—windows, phones, quiet watchers who think silence means permission.
“What’s the plan for the weekend?” Dante asks, redirecting before I tip too far.
“Game on Saturday,” I say. “We shut down State. We send a signal.”
“What kind?” Declan asks.
“That we’re still standing.”
“And Zoë?” Adrian asks. “What’s the move there?”
My reflection stares back at me in the glass. Tired. Wired. Dangerous.
“She stays close. Public appearances. Study sessions. Library. The Box. We sell consistency.”
“And if she gets tired of playing along?” Cole asks.
“She can walk.”
“You think she will?”
I think of last night—her stare, the way she stripped the bullshit down to bone, the refusal to back down.
“No.”
“Then make sure you’re worth the risk,” Adrian says.
He stands, shrugging into his jacket.
“Meeting adjourned. Go home. Sleep. And stop texting Rylan. You’re feeding the fire.”
“I’m not texting him.”
“Then someone’s tracking you,” Adrian says. “Because the Whisperer just posted a photo of your car. From last night.”
Cold floods my veins.
“What?”
“Outside the dorm,” Adrian says. “Zoë’s dorm. Timestamped eleven.”
I yank my phone out, fingers clumsy, and open the app. The image loads slow and ugly—a grainy shot of the brick façade, a third-floor window glowing yellow in the dark.
The caption is short.
Whisperer: Pretty little collateral. Tick tock.
Rage detonates—white-hot, blinding. Rylan was there. Watching. Saw me walk her to the door. Saw me touch her.
“Gio,” Dante says sharply. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“I’m going to kill him.”
“No,” Declan says, stepping in front of me. “You’re sitting down. You’re drinking a beer. And we handle security.”
