“I’m deeply respectful,” he deadpans. “Practically reverent.”
“Good.”
I scan the table. Adrian and Clara trade silent looks. Declan watches Talia like she’s gravity. Dante tracks the door. Cole and Maya argue over salad dressing macros.
Domestic and feral.
Exactly what keeps me anchored.
“Saturday,” Adrian says, pulling us back on track. “State’s coming for you. They’ll try to get inside your head.”
“Let them.”
“They’ll go low,” Declan adds. “Dirty hits. Bait.”
“I skate clean,” I say. “Smart. I score. We win.”
“You always bite,” Dante says.
“Not this time.”
“And the Whisperer?” Maya asks. “What if they post mid-game?”
“Then they post,” I say. “I’ll be on the ice.”
“The crowd won’t be,” Zoë says. “Neither will the scouts.”
“Let them watch,” I say. “I want them to see exactly what’s trying to tear me down.”
I cover Zoë’s hand on the table. Possessive. Intentional.
She doesn’t pull away. Her fingers lace through mine—small, deliberate.
The impact lands deep.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” she says.
“I’m playing to win.”
“Winning assumes an end,” she says. “This escalates.”
“Then I escalate with it.”
My grip tightens. She squeezes back.
Around us, the dining hall swells—voices, laughter, clatter. At this table, in this circle, the air holds.
We are the Titans of Briarcliff.
And we’re done hiding.
OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 17
Zoë
The arena air hits like metal and sugar—cold poured over heat, popcorn grease clinging to wool coats, beer breath and sharp perfume tangling together. The student section is already loud, the kind of noise that pretends it’s casual while it hunts for something to turn into a story.
