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And right now, he was somewhere in the States, enjoying his life far away from this messed-up town.

“I'm coming back.”

My eyebrows remained raised.

“Don't feel like spending your two semesters abroad anymore?” I laughed, confused. “Or do you miss the drama?”

I thought I heard a snort on the other end of the line.

“I'm coming to clean up,” he finally muttered. “I'll be back tomorrow.”

Surprised, I frowned.

“Wait... You're in Blairville?”

“Surprise,” he replied dryly. “But keep it to yourself.”

The thing about Wheeler was that you had to know him to know when he was joking. Otherwise, you’d probably be offended by him around the clock.

But he was solid, and I didn't want to miss him in the pack.

“Whatever,” I laughed, surprised by the fact that he was obviously ending his second semester abroad early to come back here. “See you.”

Those were my last words. Then he hung up.

Chapter 13

Larissa

Lonely Boy

The Black Keys

I took off my motorcycle helmet and shook my hair – grateful that the roads were no longer slippery, just wet, so that, with enough caution, I could ride without complications – before looking around the parking lot.

It was the usual chaos: Flying footballs among the shirtless Copelands, even though it was freezing cold. Quatura gossiping under their white Victorian gazebo. Ravens chasing each other or chilling on the streetlights. A girl from the Catholic prayer group shouting something about the devil and the Messiah into her megaphone. Rich people from Blairville's Harbor District parking like reckless idiots. And a group of baseball players who were listening to loud music in their spot of the parking lot while laughing and joking loudly.

The campus was covered in melting snow, and several students walked around in coats.

Every normal person – and, of course, how could it be otherwise, every single one of the ass-kissing, rule-abiding Quatura – wore the uniform. Most recently even the Transformed we had accepted into the Receptum,

I still hadn't been able to figure out why or how long they would be staying with us.

Bastien and Tristan were in charge of them. That was all I knew, and that was because Bastien knew how to keep secrets.

Harlow had spoken to Bastien yesterday, which had resulted in us having to continue wearing the uniform with the Vanderwood crest and having to listen to the wannabe director announce over the loudspeaker that the DeLoughrey crest had no meaning here and that wearing it would have significant consequences.

Fuck that crazy hag.

I didn't give a damn about that stupid uniform. Neither the roses nor the two wolf heads with the dagger were part of my wardrobe – except for the Vanderwood hoodie, because it was comfortable and reminded me that I had found a new home here.

My all-black wardrobe – the boots, the ripped black jeans, my leather jacket, and the long-sleeved skin-tight bodysuit I was wearing underneath today – was my preferred style, and that rusty nag Harlow wasn't going to change that.

I violated her dress code. And every time she saw me, she punished me with a look that implied she would like to skin me alive.

Why hadn't she done it yet? Maybe she pissed herself just as quickly as everyone else in this town at the mere thought of my grandfather.

At first, Bastien had tried to talk some sense into me because this woman was constantly pestering him, but since Miles and even Adrian had also skillfully ignored this dress code, he left me alone and Harlow left Bastien alone.