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He doesn’t answer. He just tucks his hands into his pockets and looks around the large space. “I have a studio on the other side of the building–visual arts corridor. I don’t think I’ve even been in here.”

“That still doesn’t tell me what you’re doing here,” I point out, cutting to the chase.

He nods down the aisle toward where Nettie is walking up. “I had something to tell her.”

“How about you tell me first?”

“How about you get off my jock and just be grateful I’m here?”

“Grateful for what?” Arianette asks, eyeing him warily as she reaches us.

I take the dance bag off her shoulder and hoist it over my own, then tuck my fingers into the waistband of her skirt, pulling her close against my side. Way too proud of the fact that I can do that now without losing my shit.

“I had some information I thought you might want,” Remy says, looking directly at her.

“I doubt that,” she replies coolly. She’s been icy toward him ever since their confrontation at the hospital.

“Fine,” he says with a lazy shrug. “If you don’t want to know where my dad is hiding out, that’s fine. I’ll keep it to myself.”

Arianette lurches forward, her hand wrapping tightly around his tattooed arm. Remy looks down at the spot where she’s gripping him, something dark and dangerous flickering in his eyes–like he’d be all too pleased to remove each of her fingers one by one. But she doesn’t let go.

“Ease off, Hex.” I gently take her by the wrist and pull her hand away.

“You know where he is?” she asks, voice urgent.

“I had a hunch once you said he wasn’t at the House of Night or the hotel. There was really only one other place he’d go.”

Arianette’s eyes widen, eager. “Well? Where is he?”

“I’ll tell you,” Remy says, shoving his hand back in his pocket and pulling it out with a folded piece of paper between his fingers. He holds it a few inches from her face. “But you have to promise me one thing.”

“Anything—” she starts.

“Not anything,” I cut in sharply, then sigh. “What do you want, Maddox?”

Remy’s smirk curls across his lips as he looks between us. “When you show up, make sure you tell him that I’m the one who ratted him out.”

It’s Friday night.

“We don’t have to go,” Ari says quietly, staring at the back entrance. Being with DK now comes with certain perks–like skipping the main crowd.

It’s the first Fury we’ve been to since everything went to hell. The last time we were here, Timothy was still with us.

“Yeah, we do,” Damon says, voice firm. “We’re not hiding.”

We’re not. Even if Timothy still is.

“We need to support Jace, too,” Ari adds, adjusting her hair over her shoulder. “He’d be crushed if we didn’t show. I know he’s nervous.”

Jace is fighting in the final round against some sophomore from PNZ. We don’t have to be here, but we are. Duty first.

DK looks every bit the King tonight–dressed in all black–from his button-down shirt to the leather pants clinging to his hips. His dark hair is messy in that intentional way, silver piercings glinting in his eyebrow, lip, and nose, with a line of them running down the shell of his ear. He doesn’t wear the King mask in public–he doesn’t need to. The energy around him has changed. He takes Ari’s hand, lacing their fingers together, and starts toward the entrance.

I don’t mind walking behind them. It lets me keep an eye on our surroundings–and on her. The hardest part is not getting completely distracted by the sway of Nettie’s hips in those tight black jeans, or the long, smooth stretch of skin revealed by the low-cut back of her shirt.

We’re waved inside immediately, and from there we’re in the spotlight. Heads turn. Whispers follow us like smoke.

Ari notices, too. She lifts her chin, but I can see the tension in her shoulders.